Friday, October 30, 2015

Camouflage Kid

—Poems by J.D. DeHart, Chattanooga, TN
—Artwork by J.D. DeHart


I was and continue to be.
And one day will not be.
But let's not dwell.
Who I used to be was a
camouflage kid, never the life
of the party, just trying to
blend and make a few jokes,
put himself at ease.
Who I now try to be is the guy
that sometimes speaks, but is
comfortable with quiet.  Knows
but knows it's okay not to know.
Reads, but can't read it all,
loves and believes, sees limits,
and who I may become is one
who always speaks calmly.



Creature of softness
willowed down before me,
my fingers are not small
enough to touch without
crushing, injuring.
I cannot step without jarring,
cannot even leave without
upsetting a balance, so sit
in what passes for delicate
interaction, whispering.



A smash of atom,
refusing the presence of fiber,
not listening to the inner voice,
conflagration, unexpected.

Some create beauty and art,
others create force
and dull the edge of reason.

 —Art by J.D. DeHart


He is an image
made of lines.  You can
even see the blank spaces
between features.
One you might see
at the corner of an on-ramp.
One crouched, running
away, asking for an odd
number in change so he
can abuse fictitious bus rides
home and still wind up
in the same sidewalk spot.



He's a raving man
who carries a door
across the street.  Why?
To add it to his pile,
of course, where there are
also old crosses, his old
life, and bits of his guilt,
gloves, a radiator (I guess
is what that is), tables
never sat at, drinks never
enjoying, growing hair
in the sun.

 —Art by J.D. DeHart


We consider, correct
read and reread, notice
the levels of confidence.
It is a wise person who approaches
all with a healthy sense
of skepticism.  Even proof
is never proven.  Always pushing,
questioning, reconsidering
for the new context, the new
envelope of experience.


Today’s LittleNip:

Reality only reveals itself when it is illuminated by a ray of poetry.

—Georges Braque


—Medusa, with thanks to today's fine contributors!


 Old Jacks
—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis, CA