Thursday, August 13, 2015

J.K. Durick- Three Poems

J.K. Durick is from Vermont, where he teaches writing and tutors writers online for the Community College of Vermont. His recent poems have appeared in Madswirl, Eye on Life, Yellow Chair Review, and Leaves of Ink.

          Another Day
The way they are distributed,
Sequenced seems all wrong.
There’s always this newness,
Mornings like to pretend to,
It stirs and even enlivens us,
But then, after that, they go on,
As we know they will, like laws
Chiseled out in stone, hardened,
Immoveable, as predictable as
Noon or a change in the weather.
Another day, like its predecessors,
Ticks along, clicks along, a parade,
An army of hours marching by,
In step, eyes front, flags furled,
Silent bands stepping cautiously,
Ominously disappearing in the end.
Another day darkens later on, brings
Us full circle, home, the same dog
Barking, left overs reheated again, and
Then, what it has become, television,
Harmless conversation, perhaps some
Popcorn, a nightcap to wear us, bear us
Off to bed, off to dream about another
Day, the one we just left, or the one
Coming on, the one coming on, coming on.
In a very real way it’s just another day.
                  Full of It
It’s at the bottom of the hill, of course
Right next to that patch of dead grass
And it’s at the top of that same hill
As he starts out, and stays with him as he
Races down, letting gravity have its way
Pulling him, his feet barely touching as
He runs from it, to it, with it along for the ride
And, he’s sure, the next time they open
His skull, as they do from time to time
To probe and touch to test his reflexes
They’ll find it next to the section where
He keeps childhood memories and the taste
Of strawberries and if he’s awake while
They’re at their work, he usually is, he’ll hear
Them say, hey look, it’s here where we least
Expected to find it in such large quantities.

I have spent hours with doors
I have stood In front of doors
Behind doors
Spent time indoors
Some outdoors
Opened them, Held them
Wished them open
Slammed them Closed
I’ve painted a few
Planed the bottom of one
Replaced the screen
In yet another
I’ve locked ‘em, kicked ‘em
Peered around Some
Hid behind others
I’ve spent hours on doors
Decorated some, used them
To say important things
I have owned some, sold some
I have knocked on a few doors
Made metaphors of others
I answer them, greet my guests
At them
I have sat for hours
Staring at them, waiting
Reached for the knob, hoping
I have hours of doors
Doors of hours
I have finally become a door
Part opened, Part closed
But a door nonetheless.

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