Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Slithering Through the Garden

—Poems by JD DeHart, Chattanooga, TN,
Accompanied by Miscellaneous Anonymous Fractals


Speaking to some people
is like nesting beside a microphone,
every sound and mistake broadcast
across grandest expanse.
Samson slew an army with the jawbone
of an ass, and it is easy to see why.
How I used to believe in perfection,
graceful human kindness, but have too
often tasted the singe of others’ tongues,
not cast in altruism, but wearing the azure
shade of the serpent’s underbelly,
calmly slithering through the garden,
searching for innocence to lose, sniffing
to see if the fruit has yet to be tasted,
reporting the latest bit of juicy gossip
among the blue hairs and bonnets.



A youth in smoking jacket
Lighting up:
You should read Henry Miller
I do, and it blows my mind
I listen to a college class on Thoreau
I decide I want to be this man
Disillusionment sets in when I realize
            Only one night in prison
I consider row upon row of lit mags
Climb the campus up and down.


Our conversation was
Born on the back of
Elizabeth Bennett, and I,
A rare figure in a rural
Town who had read
Sense and Sensibility, and
You explained to our friends
What the novel was
Explained what I was.



Frantic and fervent, the creature
attempts to attack its offender, the self.
The poor creature has not learned,
as we have, that it can never escape
its own body.  The move to warmer climate
did not matter, the devoted promising
fell short of true change, and the figure
staring back in the mirror is an assemblage
of the same fears and half-truths.
The result of not wrapping my arms around
that poor insecure being is dizziness,
perhaps a sudden fall due to the exhaustion
of the mindless, absurd chase.


I feel the climb in my legs
to this day
and remember how I felt
immortal like Icarus before
my rise

I looked down on earth
from that great height
and realized my limits
too late, the earth
spinning below

my body tensing
my mind closing
as if entering a cave.



Bubbled and sudden
the reaction unfurls in front
of us, two tables across.
It is the loud conversation
from another room, never
exposed under full view
of light, a wriggling salamander
of social situation, his face
turning crimson and hers
a wool blanket of embarrassment
giving slow way to its own
blush shade, erupting of its
own, two volcanoes floating
in a sea of passing appetizers.


they do not know
where they are going
as they stand at the gate
although they are stamped
for anywhere

until someone comes
to take them
hold them back from flight
above the earth
and across continents

slamming them back
into reality and bars.



Wisp of white, delicate flower fabric
from the 1970's, and one final remnant
of who mother was, we were incredulous
to find the family had given the dress away.
So we planned a midnight secretive search,
poring through the wares peddled at local
consignment shops, and now the rescued
part lays spread on our own mannequin.


from first line born
with a slight cracking
to the last punctuation
punch line

with just the right pause
and the necessary
inflection there

there was no way
to predict
a silent room response.


Today’s LittleNip:


With cog and whir,
the invention began to love
until jealousy grew,
pulsing, and jealousy found
the off-switch.


Our thanks to JD DeHart for his fine poems today. He writes that “Steep” and “Passport” have been published at
Bold Money, the others at Commonline Journal.


 Celebrate poetry—and spring!

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