James Hart / Fiction

If fiction is dead, reality is not far behind.

James Hart

James Hart
Be Home Soon,
December 31
Hart will have maintained this blog for One-hundred-sixty-nine million, nine-hundred-forty-eight thousand, six-hundred seconds through 31 May 2014. ******************************** ******************************** ******************************* A carpenter's level designs a calm sea. ******************************** ******************************** Violent movies and prime-time TV shows ought to have disclaimers as reality checks during curtain calls. The cast could gather for a bow and civil handshake and or cheek kisses in order to demonstrate (to the least sophisticated among us) to let us know that the aforementioned carnage was make believe. A fiction. An entertainment. Such reality checks (and stage craft tribute) would well serve a fairness to the deranged among us who are prone to confuse the fantasia of entertainment violence as 'acceptable reality behavior'. There are legions of empty vessels awaiting sustenance about 'how' to react. With sure-bet frequency, the ubiquity of guns and conditioned criminal reflex results in aberrant behavior with subsequent ruinous acts of violence. We see it along the road. We read it and see it and hear it in the news. Such a paradigm! Odd that bow and bow and bow and bow are the same word. One for thank you, one for protection (?}, and the other to stay off the icebergs ... and of course there's the shoe tie, and gift wrap and that bloke from Saginaw, reading USA Today on the Greyhound. Here's a limerick from my Average Guy series: Of all emotion, the grin 'n frown, the best among us, stand down. ******************************** Here's a paragraph from my Average Guy: a couple of satiate dinner guests had ensconced themselves on the living room sofa.* * Whoops that was an abandoned paste, thanks, Merriam W. }One Moment{ Like all boys they wanted everything: the wild treetops and Tarzan hollers, then back to the soccer game on Channel 9 with their buttered microwave popcorn and tough-guy toothpicks. The painted fancy news ladies, in high skirts. Slivered clapboard was a place to carve initials. Not far, canaries built their own thatch nest, hunkered and still against the wind from all directions. An onyx black crow its wing tips torn of feather like a shrapnel-wounded plane, stood watching. Until it was yellow and black, a flurry of woven grass and fallen scatter of shadowed ruin. A swooped escape of yellow dots and the black clawing predator of powerful wide wing, its bright beak triumphant to the sunshine, the white fluff chicks burst within merciless gripped coil. A quick flight toward 3 o'clock backward through nascent Linden buds. An automatic trick spiraling, a mystical bullet, the motion at once there and gone to stellar over soul of weathered naked branch. Its prize of canary chicks: a satiation to the endless March blue. ******************************** (more) Average Guy Then the Old Spiced Fuller Brush man shows up blowing Lucky Strike smoke rings, Dinah Shore had her own hour, and ol' Ike poured concrete, coast to coast. Sundays? Victory at Sea, Archbishop Sheen, Groucho Marx, I'm never sure, such awhile back, weren't the Commies about to attack? Then who'd blink first, Nikita or Jack? ******************************** She spoke of life she did. I'd a fascinating 'eye in the sky' riff' invoking the richly named Auden, at midnight: A to F, clamored-clack of generous muse, nearly always helmeted faces appeared, dusty in white powder, an encounter along the parallel hedgerow , of dog-eared tome, her lips an alabaster meow: some kindling, Edward R. Murrow, the who, what, where when and howl Another magnolia time, first daffodils, another year from June, cold-level ferns as white knuckles; O the color of yellow sugared Chuckles. a sow with piglets, upon the soil: where oil prisms the mud, A new day, so near insane, this autumn an abject postpartum; O bacon, o eggs, why did I start'em? Now I have to eat, the ceiling fan, an aeroplane prop, a yolk slurp, one more word, perhaps a fast break, maybe a dark hour, nothing but cake ... a belly ache ... cooler by the lake. &ah:It's a bit early, Oxford level though, as I'm left, in our adage: truth may vary. If only Aynie would have used "Atlas Mugged", as real utopian form. Keep those Dreamliners rollin'! Until greed and fear return to the dictionary, beyond the zone of human nature. Operative words above: OXFORD & ADAGE &/or: PEOPLE WE GOT THE POWER


JANUARY 8, 2015 9:56PM

Eagle Eye

Alone again. Changed filters.  Box too loud.  There’d be no taking of this cold.  No way.  An avoidance of the work.  Forty-three plays for a sawbuck.  Tomorrow, a time right.  Comes a now. That powpow-wow.


What’s this text?


&Read full post »

DECEMBER 5, 2014 7:43AM

Deer Sighting Without Notes


Deer sighting without notes 1):


 Down the way through glass sunlight broke a fortnight of silver where the buck stood shoulder-height high as a bookcase, his snorting rack ample-wide enough for twenty straw hats of summer within the garden turned bramble before the frost. I said IRead full post »



NOVEMBER 10, 2014 7:25AM

General Work
















He'll remain unsure,

doors on the cul-de-sac

pastel bright,

the coast
clear this eventide,
no end near
no black coat warm enough
flashlights, cha… Read full post »
OCTOBER 30, 2014 1:11PM

Game Seven

That cool lit night in Kansas City - penultimate pop-up - a wind stung inside curve at gripped knuckles. Decades from sweet spot, such sorcery, so close and tight his zone, winners and 'so-closers', part ways, save the day, a final play: no beeline tween second and third; no line drive… Read full post »
SEPTEMBER 8, 2014 12:47PM

Very Many

+ I got a bad feeling on this one so pardon me, boys and girls.  Yes that was the sound of a pop top and howabout that dust storm obilterating Phoenix?

Good day!  Read full post »





                            (visual aniticipated please see Wikipedia)




[The Lord is My Shepherd, oil canvas, circa 1863, 16.625 × 13.125 in (42.2 × 33.3 cm) Smithsonian A… Read full post »

JUNE 1, 2014 8:49AM

Voter Registration: go USA go

My current goal is to REGISTER VOTERS in the United States of America.
So-called loyal opposition is running scared, grasping at obstructionist straw men, and simply using every method of computerization to trump out and disenfranchise as many centrist left of center liber… Read full post »
Few women own Lear jets
yet we listen and listen
as they fall
on the
and mom and dad
can hardly wait
makes you burp
we are going in the shade
not to be burned
meanwhile the plane
bent in 1/2
and the fire
could not freeze
there was… Read full post »
MAY 21, 2014 12:11PM

Gloria's Morning After Blues


You do it.

Something about not humidity in and of itself

Chapter eight

Mop up with encouragEment nthousiasm

& a right cross

sorta a DangerRanger riff

if I had your


I'd ,move to TX

(slams table top)

gone figure

typing and math focus

Which explains how you wound… Read full post »


At  >>>>>>>>

________ Dawn

An Anglo-Saxon word:

PROJECT= paternal; 

Mystics 0, Linguistics 1  

An interpretive ADAGE 


Farther/further, urgency 

Finally, ETERNAL;

Doom door donkey Dante

An opposite effect;

perched croRead full post »

     At high noon Pennie had myOmy strikingly groomed and brushed.  She led him toward the pines.  She’d scarlet ribbons braided throughout his mane.


     From the balcony OM panned and then zoomed focusing upon the diamond white marking betRead full post »

 Galahad jogged behind OM as they returned from the Quonset tool shed.


OM rode his All Terrain wheelchair. Fully relaxed, his feet elevated off the snow path, he then maneuvered from the path climbing and purring, riding into and rolling over drifts. He stopped. And then accelerating he… Read full post »

     Galahad’s dog whistle awoke OM.


     OM wide-eyed Galahad through the southern wall. Betatrice, Pennie and Penny, their heads turned down, surrounded the shirtless Galahad as he posed on the palomino. His hair bun the only hair not disheveled in the sno… Read full post »

FEBRUARY 23, 2014 2:52PM

Gloria's Morning Glory Manor {Chapter 3}

The driver telephoned explaining that he could not risk navigating the driveway drifts of GMGM. “What can we do? Your gates open you know."

Pennie adjusted the half-snow covered gate camera and steadied a close-up of the man who sat on the truck’s chrome step lady’s side. She swive… Read full post »

FEBRUARY 11, 2014 4:52PM

Gloria's Morning Glory Manor {2}

They grilled bacon over apple wood before the fireplace where a Union rifle from the Battle of Manassas rests on the mantel. OM, with one eye and ear on ‘Meet the Press’, kept glancing over at the screen Penny held showing off photos of her air quote fortnight air quote inRead full post »

FEBRUARY 3, 2014 11:18AM

Gloria's Morning Glory Manor


Even beneath his wraparound sunglasses the hot lamps blinkered OM’s eyes.  One by one upstairs and then upon the lower level pale yellow hued windows on Gloria’s Morning Glory Manor broke the darkness throughout the pre-dawn woods. Cloud wisps whispered across the moon.

 Read full post »

JANUARY 27, 2014 11:21PM

Rustbelt Winter

An orange yellow lit V plow bigger than Rib Mountain thundered through curbside. What must have been a frozen solid stag tumulted - hoofed stick legs and mossed antler rack toppling snapping - a blur of blood, slivered bone points and creased fur skull split to the blood-balled nostrils in a strRead full post »

Jake Blake ate
baked Christmas
he did partake
wound up with
a bellyache,
for crimmeni

Girls in blue
frosted air
sparkly shoes,
all the news
near lion lair

Skipped-… Read full post »
DECEMBER 17, 2013 9:11AM

Leopard, Shepherd {POEM}

Alive and cold here, snow covers all horizontal. Windless dawndark. A great silence like a speechless child. Heat machines spark, burn and ravage flame. Pent up warmth, a leopard prowls through tin, then its fog wisps a moon walk, vanishing, words unspoken. Slant snow too high for the tongu… Read full post »

Verbatim without consent.


What is the Peace Corpse? Whoa. Wrenched thumb hereon.


What is the Peace Corps? {Back Cover of .50 paperback 1963}

Copyright 1963, by Paperback Library, Inc.

A Paperback Library Original First Printing, June, 1963

Printed in the United States of America

What is… Read full post »

NOVEMBER 10, 2013 10:56PM

November, November ---POEM

they will know you by your staying away
 a hall hook, spare, where is your hat?
 on plank bowed peeled paint porch, vacant chair
 toward gravel mud along glistened brook
a boot heel, then 3 now 4 all 4 then 3
NOVEMBER 8, 2013 4:07PM

Long Time Passing


.... OS Fiction Club...









Before the child’s internment, it happened like this, before all else:

He madly raced to the ER the opposite side in the revolving glass quad behind  ____,  her

mama’s  big b… Read full post »

NOVEMBER 4, 2013 10:49AM








                          This space reserved for Harley Fischer






dank of wet forest

we feared she'd lost

the brash


rosey with silk scarf,

another… Read full post »

for Jackie Wilson. Missing Di

Ann + JOann and yeah yeah yeah.

Clement Zablocki VA center,

MIA flags.

A gal named CeeCee, O' Susanna, Dale Evans, June Lockhart

Fundamental problems patients, Absolute Rum.  Why did JFK jokeabout

an Abomb in the Russia Embassy....kareokee deep purpled at ____

ATT c… Read full post »