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. ******************************** ******************************** 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

MY RECENT POSTS

 

 

 

                             This Space Intentionally Left Blank

                              O.S. Fiction Club, Nearly Autumn

&… Read full post »

AUGUST 17, 2013 11:00AM

Fifty-Five Words, Snappy Poem

  A case of Saturn rockets
a flotilla of sprockets
need I a wrench
for theft of duplicity
a knawed phrasology
a vagrant e for the
signifier stream
yet I hear the saw
Saturday, new wood
all things squared
not one star
plumbed, nor punked
a free thing here
unless one… Read full post »
AUGUST 10, 2013 11:43AM

Leave It Off

 

[Odd the machinations of the dank jungle tunnel, a broken sleep.  A certain eye itch. Time is an agreement at high noon, a concurrence that most love Paris every moment.  A glimmer of history, too humid for a new golf shirt, qued behind honeymooners from Saginaw, shuffling elbow to… Read full post »

JULY 17, 2013 6:47PM

Aerial Stasis {Poem}

  I'm checking the clock.

Certain dreams to punch out.

Inaptly, a furious sound, distant motors and
gears, shrill solitary bird, an inhibit
ion of  Y-s fading to I-s, an electric moment of deep ety
mology, despite the digitized, the group of
ten, that pitch and toss, my quiet dreams
Read full post »

JUNE 26, 2013 5:43AM

Time is Now--A PoeM

Allow the waking

when still dark

when the birds

how they sing

how the wind

who alone

who swoons

what happens

what feels

where the light

where the night

rejoices the

essay 

our 

thought

prayer  Read full post »

JUNE 13, 2013 11:33AM

Once Upon a Sunday 30NOV69

It’s Sunday morning 6am.  I’ve been up for an hour making beds and sweeping the floor.  Breakfast is at 6:30 so I’ll try and get out a few lines to my favorite people.  How’s everyone?  I’m half way through so I’m feeling pretty good.  Trai… Read full post »

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
As I Lay Me Down To Sleep                                     &n… Read full post »
MAY 7, 2013 10:45AM

Hart's Open Call

MAY 4, 2013 9:17AM

Parade Rest

Yeomen poets might be intimidated, the editors apparently at rest, but from what I know, none of the above, then a teeter-totter, a twix yet twain, what about the balance, a stasis of motion, a leveling of circumstance wherein art is not history, art is the future, a sculpture: two people,Read full post »

Let me die running.  I was overdue @____, the fog inhibiting even the rough inkling of a thought to drive riskly.  Before too long, though the park was littered with compost, the shop was cold and the door locked with OPEN vs. CLOSED, the brass antique handle somewhat grimy as though… Read full post »
APRIL 21, 2013 2:51AM

Spirit In The Sky - Norman Greenbaum

 

 

      

     d0 not idly think of crossing my bow at this moment  Read full post »

Comments are now closed for this post.
APRIL 16, 2013 1:00PM

Please Come to Boston

I take exception to callous bloggers' reckless endeavor to argue vague ethnocentric agenda at the expense of grievously harmed people. 

The other day, one of the OS resident historians downplayed capacity and range of DPNK's missile delivery system.  

Such loosening of the genie'sRead full post »

APRIL 15, 2013 10:11AM

Dark Glass (Haiku)


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Triad ducks fly high
 
Grey gray clay silver noon sky
 
Lone mallard, mournful 
 
 
MARCH 31, 2013 6:33AM

Ascension

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A man arrives on time and logically senses he will not double his existence, his time on God's green tundra. 


Quiet desperation. A funny thing happened on the road to utopia. He realized that all he could do is make people… Read full post »
MARCH 8, 2013 12:34PM

Whittle March

 

 

 

                      he spent a good hour alert to the clearing, his verdant lens of no justification to the false heat of the bright winter's day.  Now rain was promised, the salt supply too low; especially afterRead full post »

FEBRUARY 23, 2013 4:08PM

Blue Train Blue

He wrote a new song, never got the gong, sipping his song, never gone for long
then carpal tunnel, the sky in a funnel, the PO on four days, his diet, frito lays
he couldn't sell a damn thing, let alone sing, so he took to champagne, hisself to blame,
Reader enjoys Squirreling.

Reader slips and slides over Google Images: Squirrels with Weapons.

There are several Squirrel, er, subcategories, including Squirrels with Lightsabers, Squirrels with Coffee, Squirrels with Bazookas, Squirrels with Nuts, Squirrels with Rabies, Squirrels with all ver… Read full post »

 
 
 
            silver winter light turned his mind to song
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 




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



of course I
Read full post »
FEBRUARY 11, 2013 1:34PM

More Rain

 
 
 
 
      In his father's galoshes, he shaloshed the garbage cart
curbside in deep blackened winterish water and bright ice, thinking of when he was a boy, and the sound of his speed skates. Later, he would review the spelling of 'shallossed' on MerrRead full post »
FEBRUARY 6, 2013 2:57AM

Two Haiku

               

 

                              Things were essentially okay, but then violent winds burst snow out of a fog bank that may have been a cloud swiftly rolling past groRead full post »

I read Ayn Rand probably sometime in 1964. Essentially,I was attracted to the term 'intellectual'. Just boys, a few of us calculated that intellectualism had to offer a tad more enrichment and fresh air than working in the drop forges or at the slaughter house.
Now, paging 'For the New Intellectual' c… Read full post »
JANUARY 31, 2013 6:45AM

January Thaw

                      yo-yo like, the tempurature varied by 95 degrees

                    snow, icy  freezing rain then salty slush froze, melted

         … Read full post »

JANUARY 14, 2013 1:04PM

Remembrance

 
                   
 
 
                                 too cold to snow
 
 
Years!

Now you've caught my long distance run on past the w… Read full post »
JANUARY 12, 2013 1:38PM

I Should be Changing the Oil

 

 

                          winter rain punished the snow cover

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm not sure of any of it.

Not a day wastes to nether without stumbling upon a hitherto 'unknown' with slick buzzRead full post »

DECEMBER 29, 2012 11:38AM

Bluster

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gloria Maryann and I packed everything we needed even as the sooty detrital and oily frozen slush on the garage floor would mess up the possibility of a warm and dry ramp to the X-way.

"Let's leave the… Read full post »