You have entered the realm of a writer.

Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Monday, April 11, 2011


The trees are dead.

Brittle grass, dried from a rainless sky
scorching even the death
under desert skins: golden and treasured.

Sitting in the new chairs, black and ergonomic,
the smell of putrid, fetid
wafts from the grass as it
masticates its fallen brethren.
Thumping in my chest increases,
breath staggers in the throat,
fingers claw for splinters
     --painful relief.

He said after eight years:
"I have no idea who you are."
He said while holding my heart:
"I have plans, but thank you for the offer for a ride."

The cloudless sky
smog ridden and brown tinted
churns as the cold front moves in.
          I'm alone on the hill
          Waiting, wanting, wallowing
          in the heat of the sun.

It's spring.
The world feels grasped
by skeletal hands.

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