Temporal, Forest Paths & The Fringe. 3 Poems by JD DeHart

Temporal

 
Everyone I talk to lately
seems to be mediating on the passage of time.

 It goes so fast, they say. Almost in chorus.

 It’s the greying in all of our hair, or
the effect of being holed up for two years,
twenty-four months that have felt like
a decade of worry and anticipatory grief.

 Of course, we are creatures
that have an inevitable terminus. There
are a variety of words for this truth.

 Crapshoot and shitshow both come to mind.
Funny how scatological such terms are,
indicating how we truly feel about the ultimate

 away and, in some cases, our lodging here.

 I munch another bite of the remnants
of a creature that met its demise to
sustain me for a few more hours.

 I contemplate how the past is not real
anymore, and neither are my speculations
of the future. The body bears the mark of all

 but everything eventually becomes
memory or a vague sense that someone,
even someone much like us,

 used to be here.


Forest Paths

 
I can still trace
the way our feet fell
where few other feet stood,

 I would walk further
ahead, always drafting in my mind.

 The comic books and adventure
stories I built with each step,
while you, my father, walked

 just behind me, the sound
of our family hunting dog
lapping and sniffing.

 That time when I was younger,
when you threatened to cut
our walk short. I must have
deserved it, but said:

“If I come back without you,
no big deal, but if you come back
without me, you’re in trouble,
mister.”

 What was I thinking to speak
to you in such a way, but you
and Mom laughed about that
for years, probably still telling
that story whenever you can.

 Did you know I still go back
when life is full to those quiet places,
where I can hear wind
moving through the trees of memory?

It’s true.

 My brain still finds that place
where the forest grows denser,
past the well-trod path,

 rounding curves and bends,
being careful of stray dogs
and spiderwebs, to go to places

 few others go.

 I will always be
a creature of the woods.


The Fringe

 
So, here I am.
Always on the edges.

 Wondering what word
captures me. Belonging and never
belonging.

 Maybe I’ve always fit in somewhere
and just haven’t seen it yet.

 A figure from the fringes, do I
love? Of course I do, trying my best to

 hold the affection for neighbors
that I ought to hold for myself (that I work
on holding for myself).

 Yet, always at the edge, somehow,
at the corner of the room, looking in.

 A describer’s heart, an ethnographer’s
mind. 

 

 
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His latest poetry collection, A Five-Year Journey, is available from Dreaming Big Publications.

Gutter Artist & Poems by JD DeHart

 
 
Gutter Artists
 
 
Catch us
streaming beside the street,
just below, out
of sight, see our message
in flashing lights
of liquid ink color splash
on the spare spaces
(even some taken spaces),
squint,
see if you can make out
what we have to say.
 
 
The Empress
 
 
regal
are the stars
in the lesson we learn
slide by slide
about ancient
history.
 
 
The Root of Who I Am
 

is in hillsides, valleys,
and rocky mountainsides,
is in surviving illnesses
and five feet of snow.
 

My life used to be rough,
but maybe I’ve grown tender.
Still my roots reach
way down to the stirring
foundations of the earth.
 
You can see them
as the river runs by, eroding
the land around, but the roots
reach up like gnarled knuckles,
stationary and purposeful.
 
 
Because We Were Stars
 

we could barely see
the earth.
How could we know
what was teeming beneath
us?
 

By our own brightness,
we missed some sights.
If you look to your left…
If you look to your right…
 

We learned to gaze
around and not simply
ahead or at the distraction
of what seemed bright
 

at the time.
 
 
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. He blogs about books at dehartreadingandlitresources.blogspot.com and publishes poetry at onpossibilitypoems.blogspot.com.
 
 
 
 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University)

The Truth about Snails. Collected Poems by JD DeHart.

Editors Note: About the Author
 
In 2014, over the course of some snow days, I put together a collection that would become The Truth About Snails. At the time, most of the writing I was getting to was speculative and science fictional (I guess that’s a word) in nature. So the first collection of poetry I put together reflected this.
 
Poems were inspired by years as a comic book reader and sci-fi fan. They were not fan fiction, really, but reflected larger themes of science fiction and fantasy that I enjoyed.
 
This is the text that appears on the back of the book:
 
“Ordinary objects take on a new form, and myths become real and move next door in the verses contained in this collection. Whether it is a recasting of the myth of Sisyphus, or the titular truth about the origin of our shell-bearing planet dwellers, each poem offers a new view of an old friend. Much of the writing was inspired by the comic books and science fiction, and on concepts beyond the scope of the real world, and cast firmly in the supernatural.”
 
My hope is that this book can be the first of many. I am already at work on a second collection, which is out for review now, as well as a variety of articles, reviews, and prose works. I reprint some of my favorite poems at jddehartfeaturepoems.blogspot., write reviews and post them at http://dehartreadingandlitresources.blogspot.com/, and tweet @jd_dehart.
 
Whether you check out this chapbook collection, a future book, or just read my work around the web, I appreciate the read!
 
The Truth About Snails is now available both on Amazon and Red Dashboard, the publisher’s website at http://cms.reddashboard.com/j-d-dehart/
 
 
Vigilante
 
 
Pardon me for attempting to be
some kind of hero or otherwise
savior figure. My mistake.
Pardon the garish appearance
of the costume I crafted (it was
a last minute low budget choice)
and pardon my lack of sophisticated
intelligence, weaponry, or astounding
martial arts skills. I am just a guy
who used to read comics, wanted to be
somebody’s emblem, and now find
the feeling of this cape rather awkward.
 
 

 
 
Bio:
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His poems have recently appeared in Dime Show Review and Cacti Fur.

 
 
Cartoon-Molecules/paperback/Robin Ouzman Hislop
 
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
 
[email protected]

Now, Don’t Tell. A Poem by JD DeHart

 
Our voice, the party line,
the wrinkled cord
of what telephones used to be,
whispered, hush-hushed voices
spilling bits of story,
lead poisoning, an explosion,
an “I have it on good authority,”
and even a “I can’t believe that,”
all followed by
“Now, don’t tell anyone
I told you.”

 
 
jddehart
 
 
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available from RedDashboard.
 
 
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com
[email protected]
[email protected]

 
 
goodreads.com/author/show/Robin Ouzman Hislop
http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm
http://www.amazon.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop
www.lulu.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop
https://www.amazon.com/author/robinouzmanhislop
http://www.innerchildpress.com/robin-ouzman-hislop.All the Babble of the Souk

Negation. A Poem by JD DeHart

I am known by what
I am not.
I am defined by the world
around me, its vast
surface of opposites.
I am an existence framed
by the lack of existence,
a person of binary terms,
not female, sometimes
not kind, often not
hospitable, not in love
with the sound of my own
voice, but in love with the
sound of another’s.
Not what I was and yet
not what I will be.

 
 
jddehart
 
 
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available from RedDashboard.
 
 
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com
[email protected]
[email protected]

http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm
 
 

http://www.amazon.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop
www.lulu.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop

The Other. A Poem by JD DeHart.

 
 
Heidegger wrote about this Other,
the self that brings its being
to our work.
He (she) reads the words,
uses them, cuts them and mends
them as needed.
But we must allow that process,
we must allow play with our
sentences, must allow the reader
to recline on the pillow we make
with verbiage.
We must be open when we write
so that the reader came come
inside the word and take a peek.
 
 
jddehart
 
 
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available from RedDashboard. Please find one of his several blogs at http://spinrockreader.blogspot.com.

 
 
[email protected]
[email protected]
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com