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

Saturday, August 8, 2015

From This Plane

I want to jump from a plane
and fall for falling free from form
at peace with the journey to Earth
where attraction takes me into the
defined, as gravity: a one direction.
Velocity has answers graphically
approaching the endless line bound by
orbit -- the same force holding true.
To fall, however, far, one must rise
even in a system of inevitability --
balance is the only Truth --
we must rejoin from whence we came.
The pull accepted in a priori comprehension
as that to our orb by bodies first
is but our charge, our will, acceptance
regardless verity within -- so to jump
from this plane is to fall away
toward the home beyond all homes
without need of the chute on our backs.
No wonder we fear and accept such lesser
as Truth.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015


Fire drawn over skin
Sinking waves pulling the heart
Drums thrumming inside bone

They speak of moments
both then and now completely
without holding reason to cause

Perception allows reality's presence,
perspective frees us from antipathy.
Pain is momentary, unless desired.

I Can Feel A Pulse Within

I can feel a pulse within,
awakening slumber, providing dreams --
Dare a smith create a gift from without?
Heart to head, heart to hand,
the blood runs black upon the light
bearing mind into the world;
bringing beats upon the still.
Coded messages in a will unknown,
feral hopes, sacred desires, shallow dreams
emanate from one to an other
in perspective learned and shared.
I feel. I fear. No words are there.
And yet the drum sounds on,

Where has it gone?

Once roots reached deep into the world
seeking such nutrients only darkness manifests.
They built paradise and life, a haven for the mind
where words stained a naive leaf
and reality flourished in sun-drenched canopies.
All that was seen was merely created.
All that was reflected what could be.

Yet, as even the Sahara dried over time,
my roots see, bound and shallow
like settled cacti in sun-drenched sands.
A longing for the sea to fall upon land,
for life to flourish as once perceived.
Selene pulls life out by night, where
waves of vision reach into our eyes.

Even barren, life relegated into minimalism,
the cactus flowers and smells sweet.
Though roots wade the warmed earth
and feel light without the touch of water
for life prevailing in the desert -- but strokes away
from lush perseverance and endless artistry.