James Hart / Fiction

If fiction is dead, reality is not far behind.

James Hart

James Hart
Location
Be Home Soon,
Birthday
December 31
Bio
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. ******************************** ******************************** In a high stakes forum such as this you'd think I'd get the spelling right. Wish I'd a quarter for every time I've misspelled guarantee. I go through a little sing-song, much like that alphabet tune: m-n-o-p-q-r-s-t- U V dubya x why zee " a U in guarantor, boo-hoo Cat Ballou too don't forget the U too Sioux." I envy good spellers. Words like Sheriff? I think of F&F cough drops. Occurring? CC rider on the railroad. Now this experience with rigor mortise, door 'tis closed, nothing more. I'll just chalk it up to Thanksgiving weather for Easter. May a sonnet be in your _____. Frills upon it, yay! ********************************

MY RECENT POSTS

FEBRUARY 14, 2013 6:01PM

Open Salon: Hart's Valentine's Day Flashy Poesy '13

Rate: 6 Flag

 
 
 
            silver winter light turned his mind to song
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 




Makes me want to go out and buy dental insurance :)



of course I played Doc Severinsen's MacArthur's Park, the '77 Jack Jones version-the television 

clip-not feeling this goodwell, hot, damn:

since I got the swing away sign from the 3rd base coach in 1965; the 

conjunctive wind at X + Y knots on my cotton cloth shoulders from due west justas the Rawlings 

horsehide must have found the sweetest song-likespot between the trademark Louisville Slugger 

& unblemished blondie tip of the 34" stick.  Between 1st and 2nd he ran the blessed wind danced

up inverted oft hot June turf farouthighover leftfield. Even his parents, the colored early summer

spectacular stasis of suspended love, awe, the updraft spent, sailed the ball ever higher---strong
 
hands over brows---the pointed electrocuted gasp of people on those weather-worn bleachers 

bent up hailing on their feet: where? how high? The boy pussyfooted 2nd base, the glint of the 

pillow's cleat at 3rd--poofwide--now running faster than the yelling


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I'm glad you got to third base. A cool take on Valentine's day. R
yo, GA always a pleasure ... now if that
Tanqueray® Gin doesn't harm Mrs. Hart's
ice maker ... more technology in the kitchen nowadays than
Krushchev ever dreamed of getting his paws on!
like that Russky "meteor"
J. Ρ, glad to read you again here...
C'mon home! That ball is...gone!
I had to deduct two style points for Doc Severinsen and MacArthur.
Дамон,Поссибле ареа 54 redux; Цратер Лаке, Орегон час нвер бен эксплаинед то мы сатисфацтион, эйтхер!
Stahi-Stahi! Γεια ξένος!

Matt--alas, although the baseball was never recovered, the hit was ruled 'foul' as it disappeared through the tops of the beech and sycamore trees--the velocity was such that it ripped through the dogwood and gooseberry bramble on the bluffs--possibly impacting the wet sands of Lake Michigan. So high, far and gone, those glory days...
Laureate Chapman--you may have something there regarding style points and punts. The experiment (under kind advisory) was with search engine optimization (SEO) as a 'title' using "Open Salon", often lends itself to the so-called internet viral phenomenom. Experimentally, I'd an ice pack on my left brain. My supposition was to more or less numb rationality, in order to unleash the 'war horse-like' romp of the right brain. All the while I was tangentially 'plotting'
a wonderful circumference tour of the whole country--retracing Walter Cronkite's route. Now that you mention it, your critique is 'valid'. But my current premise is to delve in honesty of expression, rather than be restricted by the erudite factoids posited by the Beloit
College. As an example, recently BC claims that 84% of Americans adults under 30 have never licked a postage stamp. So I'm thinking that America doesn't have adults under 30!
Stahi-Stahi! Γεια ξένος!

Matt--alas, although the baseball was never recovered, the hit was ruled 'foul' as it disappeared through the tops of the beech and sycamore trees--the velocity was such that it ripped through the dogwood and gooseberry bramble on the bluffs--possibly impacting the wet sands of Lake Michigan. So high, far and gone, those glory days...

Laureate Chapman--you may have something there regarding style points and punts. The experiment (under kind advisory) was with search engine optimization (SEO) as a 'title' using "Open Salon", often lends itself to the so-called internet viral phenomenom. Experimentally, I'd an ice pack on my left brain. My supposition was to more or less numb rationality, in order to unleash the 'war horse-like' romp of the right brain. All the while I was tangentially 'plotting'a wonderful circumference tour of the whole country--retracing Walter Cronkite's route. Your critique maybe 'valid'. But my current premise is to delve in honesty of expression, rather than be restricted by the erudite factoids posited by the BeloitCollege. As an example, recently BC claims that 84% of American adults under 30 have never licked a postage stamp. I bet America doesn't have adults under 30!
Mrs. Joesph Heller:

regardless the freedom of Saturday, Monday has its own guarantee, of statues in the park, night wind northwest, 1305 miles, Denver to Seattle, then south a day or more, into the warm. Or Route 61, later tomorrow south, south south! To the Padre Islands, a drink or two in New Orleans, then over to Orange, its high waves, Navaro Beach, where Jaws was filmed, to Tampa St. Pete its excellent bridge (Bradenton, Anna Maria Key) if not warm, Naples, toward Alligator Way, to Key Largo, lets find a cove to play, south to the Keys, already the days an hour longer, another sundown bar, the fresh catch supper

wow, tamborine
Mrs. Joesph Heller:

regardless the freedom of Saturday, Monday has its own guarantee, of statues in the park, night wind northwest, 1305 miles, Denver to Seattle, then south a day or more, into the warm. Or Route 61, later tomorrow south, south south! To the Padre Islands, a drink or two in New Orleans, then over to Orange, its high waves, Navaro Beach, where Jaws was filmed, to Tampa St. Pete its excellent bridge (Bradenton, Anna Maria Key) if not warm, Naples, toward Alligator Way, to Key Largo, lets find a cove to play, south to the Keys, already the days an hour longer, another sundown bar, the fresh catch supper

wow, tambourine
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SgJxpr_8eOY