Three Poems
by JD DeHart






The flapping tongue

who stands at the front of the room

before all the Emerson roving eyes

trembles through articulation

being careful not to salivate.




a black line





I’m sorry to make

you cry when I told

that joke about



It seems so silly now,

like most things do.


Other words I have forgotten


(like pessimism when I

was defensive, riddles

that drove my audience crazy,

the sly comments I would make

to not-so-deftly avoid insult)


but I remember the lovely

smile that became tears.


That day, we shuffled on our

way, but seven years later

I have to reconsider.  I have

to wonder what ever became

of the girl who was on the other

side of that jab.




a black line





I'm still a comic book guy,

even in my late thirties.  It

started when I was barely

an embyro, I'm sure.


I used to fill empty pages

of notebooks with squares,

then infuse those spaces

with badly drawn characters.


Since adulthood, it's still

about filling spaces.  Figuring

out the right images to

include.  I wanted to be a

superhero.  I'm something else,

I think.


No costume here, but I still

read about those who are

brave enough to put them on.



a black line


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