The Balloon Walkers, Master of the Backyard, and Pedagogue

Balloon Walkers, Master, and Pedagogue

The Balloon Walkers

They can be observed, suspended in air

for miles around, the tiny figures

dancing across a wire, poised between

the bulbous royal blue spheres

(a man told me once how he moved on

from the loss of his wife by writing

her name on a balloon and letting it go)

All is fine and well for walkers until

a sheer wind rose through, the barest

turn and, seconds later, chutes opened

skydancers dropping to some safety.


Master of the Backyard

Squeal of insect or rattle

of neighbor, knocking of the tree

sounds, invaders not welcome here

Can’t you see the posted signs?

So, to the rodent, I offer impaling

On the spike of my small ego.



He is now climbing the tree, tasting

the sky, and now edging sideways

out onto the slick rock, held up only

by a single twig, asking about origins

of waterfalls, and now reading

about Dresden, now reciting Lilith myths,

now standing, clapping, pontificating

measuring the content of young minds,

lapping the stream of consciousness

like a well-dressed canine.


JD DeHart is a writer and teacher.  His writing has appeared in a number of journal publications, including Eye On Life Magazine, The Commonline Journal, and The Literary Yard.