Walks

Our walks began at the old house
later burned by my uncles, and location
of the rust-reddened refrigerator that trapped
my oldest brother, nearly killing him.
Then our feet would continue past the tin sheet
that covered the old dog’s unseen grave
then to the place with swinging grapevines.
In my early years I walked behind my father –
as my legs grew stronger, we reversed.
After the vines, we headed into thicker woods
where once sturdy houses became rubble,
just a pile of stones and family names.
Around we would go, knowing the trails,
occasionally seeing snake or mutt
or being stung by rogue bee swarms,
legs moving in instinctual succession
forming the bones of stories in my mind.

By JD DeHart

 father and young son walking together in forest


JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His poems have appeared in Gargouille and The Other Herald, among other publications. DeHart blogs at JD DeHart – Feature Poems.

Photo by Jozef Polc

Daylight’s Break

Light emerges from
windows, an invitation
to a new day.
Like condensation rising
from bright emerald grasses
to form steam, yesterday’s
thoughts disappear
into the air. No one is up yet
except those early morning
travelers whose slamming
car doors and woes were
enveloped in the early dark.
It will quiet a while longer
before everyone else notices
and politely accepts
this welcome to be warmed.

By JD DeHart

house with lighted windows


JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His poems have appeared in Gargouille and The Other Herald, among other publications. DeHart blogs at JD DeHart – Feature Poems.

Current

The fast moving stream
has slowed to a dull lumbering
movement, the waters
shuffle and scuffle by, a calm
lull of sound

This is the place I held
on while we waded, unaware
of who I would be, what
life would bring

Dew on the grass, chirping
all around us, the lap
of water offering a constant
natural baptism.

By JD DeHart


JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His poems have appeared in Gargouille and The Other Herald, among other publications. DeHart blogs at JD DeHart – Feature Poems.

Roses in the Fall

Don’t they know
that ice is on the way?
A distinct chill has hung
in the air like an azure
curtain all week long,
now they have bloomed,
petals that hopefully have
the fortitude to outlast blasts
of frigid air, responding
to the world with an
admirable tenacity.

By JD DeHart


JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His poems have appeared in Gargouille and The Other Herald, among other publications. DeHart blogs at JD DeHart – Feature Poems.

Freshwater Cadence

I do not speak
the bubbling language
of fish underwater

I do not even speak
the language of the caster,
selecting lures, keeping
hooks out of low-hanging
branches

My voice is the one
that stands, wading, still,
right by the shore, watching
a school of waving shapes
float gently by.

By JD DeHart


JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His poems have appeared in Gargouille and The Other Herald, among other publications. DeHart blogs at JD DeHart – Feature Poems.