JPHart / Fiction

If fiction is dead, reality is not far behind.

J.P. Hart

J.P. Hart
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Birthday
December 31
Bio
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_a0zOLMAfw *Maybe there's an efficient way to manufacture solar lights from clear plastic water bottles.

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JULY 24, 2012 10:20PM

Boot Heels

Rate: 3 Flag

 

 

 

 

                                            Clouds carry rain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They are.

Doing something.

Upstairs in the projection area.

I've a Good and Plenty.
 
I've Bombay Gin in my right boot.
 
I think of nodding a nap.
 
I am disguised as Walt Whitman.
 
I have an iPhone flashlight.
 
I must reach you.
 
I have put eye drops in.
 
It is crowded.
 
I searched for you on the web.
 
I turned up the same bar and grille.
 
I act young at heart.
 
I wrote something on a PBR coaster.
 
I timed the rain before.
 
I listened.
 
I heard your car door.
 
I stood smoking.
 
I wondered of silent birds.
 
I can see in the dark.
 
I do not have money in the Alps.
 
I do not have words in my fingers.
 
I thought of sleeping.
 
I destroyed commas to hear.
 
I could not count the raindrops.
 
I described it as accelerated grief.
 
I could not read the news.
 
I thought of forgetting.
 
I do not know what that symbol is.
 
I saw a face in it.
 
I could not find you.
 
I could not reach the hanger dry.
 
I could go there for the weather.
 
I have a film on me.
 
I have not thought since 1967.
 
I found golden horses.
 
The raindrops were fine.
 
The raindrops mocked the red paint.
 
The raindrops became noise.
 
The raindrops fell on the green valley.
 
The raindrops reddened the rolling hills.
 
The machines rediscovered sound.
 
I faked sleeping for a good while.
 
I thought of clean reflections.
 
I was alone.
 
I wrote quips for the TV.
 
I snapped my fingers just so.
 
I threw my knife perfectly.
 
I touched my left knee with my right elbow.
 
I touched my right knee with my left elbow.
 
The day before.
 
I prayed like a saint.
 
I wished I were a butterfly.
 
I wished I saw through the sun.
 
I wrote a check to the Red Cross.

 

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poem 7:02 a.m. 24july2012

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It hasn't rained around here lately....except metaphorically. Very evocative. R
Gerald Andersen
July 25, 2012 08:44 AM
Made me think of a soldier writing by tracer light or the rocket's red glare. Fear and wonder.
Damon E Walters
July 25, 2012 10:37 AM
Fear and wonder and ready. Being ready can not be under estimated.
catch-22
July 25, 2012 08:58 PM
Thanks for commenting. As the most mis-employed man since Robert E. Lee, allow me to devise a cogent reply. [for all I know sites like us are a petrie dish for the hard right. Or the mean spirit driven by thoughts of perpetuity creates it's own vernacular. All if it deep in remsleep code. IE; genius ought to be reserved for medicine, and not calculated art such as literature. Yay: presumably silence does not occasion the Bible, but mercy hogs the limelight. OTHO, in other words (IOW)
J.P. Hart
July 26, 2012 05:53 AM
as mentioned, ive no wrds in my fingers, e i e io, well then this just re-discover from Howard Fast:
FLIGHT TO FREEDOM
August, 1879, Unable to survive any longer, a tiny village of half-starved Cheyennes quit their blighted reservation and begin an incredible 1,000-mile trek back to the land they'd once called home.
The Army's orders: reason with the savages, imprison them, murder them all if necessary, but at all cost__keep them from breaking the white man's law.
Thus begins one of the most remarkable struggles in America's history. Against impossible odds, three hundred "heathens"__
men, women, and children--pushed their way northward, Preferring violent death to surrender, they headed home...in a moving testament to human dignity and freedom.

back cover spellbinding drugstore chrome-racked carousel 75cent paperback THE LAST FRONTIER
HOWARD FAST author, 'a Signet novel New American Library,
Times Mirror
J.P. Hart
July 26, 2012 06:07 AM
Ohi
Catch let us begin, then. Be careful out there. For all you know
I'm that friendly stranger in the black sedan. The next generation?
Always a hall a way.
Whose your favorite poet right now?
J.P. Hart
July 26, 2012 06:32 AM
I kinda can hear you, now that you mention it.
The most recent poeta I'm diggin' on Mara Pastor...she is an island poet. Salty words on the wind...
catch-22
July 26, 2012 12:07 PM
...and Stephen Dunn and Nicanor Parra.
catch-22
July 26, 2012 04:13 PM