Monday, November 10, 2014

J.D. DeHart- Three Poems

Lady among the Stones
She lets them scrape her
too often, falling down upon
them as if they are her bedrock.
I want to tell her these stones
look sharp, their edges not
rounded, another selection
would be better.  But she always
wants to build on them,
never wants to leave them,
even until the end of her name.
A thousand small spiders
creeping across the page.
Laden with errors, one voice
says, while another uses the word
Wit and still another says
Nowhere near ready.  Send more,
Send less, Quit sending.
A thousand shards of glass,
a thousand bitter barbs and a few
and that’s the work ahead.
Blackboard Poem
They would tuck him
in the corner if his words
came too profusely.
Thus he sat and listened
to the tick of curricula,
the turning of tomes,
leafing through the pages
of tests and quizzes.
The din of voices and future

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