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

Friday, October 28, 2011


Poetry uses
Sighs from hearts without concern.
Will I survive it?

It is always

like morning rises against
the essence of night,
I'm breathless in Your eyes
Your arms, Your touch;
the amber, violet, whites and reds
strewn majestically in battle:
the wild forest of darkness
succumbing to effervescence from
between two lungs.

The sunderings well my eyes
as the salve of ardor
lilts softly, gently
like breath in the pines.
We sway in the words:
rocking on the ties of
linkages between the trees.

You illuminate my shadows
the tears I hold,
of hearts, of exuberance, of fear,
cry joy and love and
every second with

I breathe to feel
an emptiness filled,
the emptiness You fill
whenever thoughts travel to You.
It is always

Tuesday, October 25, 2011


A hollow, broken Hallway opened dole
like echoes sounding off the ghostly pane.
Through cloth his howl died. Muffled by a pull
of air drawn taught so close to where she reigns.
Atrocity by lips alone had come
and sought alike the essence of his blood:
the pulsing hum akin to beating thrum
which builds a battered thought for stopping floods
of well and wanted breath between two lungs.
He drew away the pillow from his mouth
to look for eyes where burning hatred hung
behind the iris known so long in youth.
Sole darkness found oppressive means to choke
with hands whose reach in sightless mode took hold
of heart, his heart and with one final stroke
dissolved small ties with her who left so bold
in words whose fangs did suck the hopeful sight
of morrow speak to rest again by way
which known to kin their soulless bane by night
the drinker’s spoil rejuvenates their stay.
“She’s gone for good to make another heir,”
he told the blood stained pillow through his teeth.
The touch, so gentle on his neck just there,
where she had taken back the gift of teeth
and stole the essence of his livelihood,
still ushered forth the cold that held him in.
he placed his blood soaked fingers in his mouth --
And choked. And gagged. And spat. And gasped for breath.
“This is -- cannot be possible for me!”
His lips drew back in terror of the spoiled, 
such rancid, putrid, bitter taste a fee
for arbitrary words to be recoiled
as snakes, their venom pierced by fangs alone
to kill the living hopeful into cold;
but now the living blood flowed back to one
with warmth the pallor changing from such bold
and steely blues to match his victim’s hue:
pale white and staunch while screams escape the last
in breaths, he knew, were labored and so few.
He felt himself begin to slip ‘nto past.
Above the doldrum of his piercing pain,
the silent echo shuffled through the dole,
returned wholehearted, dripping from the rain
in darkest light she stood and feigned to pull
attention from his death to speak once more.
“How dare you question our laws eternal?
And question leaves you --”
“-- Give it back, you whore!
Before... before life takes me back with all
the beauty death holds dear!” He crawled toward
one lonely hope so shrouded behind eyes
held distant, cold and dead. She spoke one word.
He stopped, a wetted answer on his lips.
“I speak of what and want the sole of lies!”
“Enough! The sacrilege has done its worst
and never ‘gain shall you partake the thirst
and see the world with eyes that beg to live.
Your death is done, don’t think we dare to give
the lasting life to those who wish to rise
ever and more to stand beside the born
as master to their kind. It’s you despised
and we have made to teach a lesson: scorn!”
He let the limp take over entirely,
the slack of limbs a weight upon his world.
He felt the ending of the sand. Blindly
such sift did match the drip, drip, drip unfurled
into his sense of self and life returned.
Complacency begot his surrender
and, under stares from his creator, learned
his view of life eternal in error.
He whispered once as near drew farther down,
The hall stretched darkly as the sigh flew out:
“Forgive me, love.” The hurt fell through the ground.
He watched, saw her stand still, come close about,
diminish, far and small, kneel beside. Touch.
Such dark in hall replaced by one so fresh.
His warmth began to fade. She stood from crouch.
“Adieu, mon cher.” She turned from feel of crush,
though no escape would bar her dreaded dole
as shed in tears like skies beyond the pane
when ever soft her feet began to pull
and leave the damned, the dead, where once she reigned.