http://slow.writerscafe.org/James%20Jones The original writings of author Clockwork en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775968760 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Losing count again--Violets climbing the hillfaster than we walk http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/2774093/ Call the fire department. Tell them to evacuatemy whole home town--I’ve syphoned keroseneout of the heaters in the barn again.The aching in the mine shaft of my heartignited like coal fires under Centraliawhen they cremated your body.I became an arsonist, a flamethrowerexhaling an eulogy of na.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1900189/ Theconcrete slab of our front porch Became a runway for me to strut new Summer hand-me-down fashions. A black garbage bag was my wardrobe, Providing a bigger bounty of outfitsThan the clearance rack at K-Mart. This was the largest collection of clothesDestined for my body, b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1898145/ I'm back from the dead. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1897678/ Ournames are a bouquet of balloons.Sheloses her grip on the strings Inthe K-Mart parking lot.  Eachglobe rises above her head, ascending Intothe atmosphere until it punctures, Poppinglike a cluster of soap bubbles.  Fragmentscascade back to gro.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1509150/ NewYear’s first sunset--Myneighbors’ voices fading Behindour fence line  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1493124/  LandscapesI use to validate my lifeArefrozen in a state of emergency. Thefamiliar shine of street lampsOnthe silver rails of the Green LineAreblotted away by whiteout conditions. Carsin their traditional parking spacesAlongthe avenue .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1479401/  Childhoodsculptures on public Beachesare like scribbles on anEtcha sketch screen. Childrenborrow hieroglyphsFromepisodes of adulthood,Splicingthem into kingdoms.  Theybuild sandcastle empires Inthe crater where honeymooners.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1471997/  I’veleft so much of myself OnCommonwealth Avenue under Vacantseats on the Green Line.  NoCharlie Card is requiredFortransit through the subwayTunnelsof my mind.  ExpiredT Passes with florescent arrowsPointtoward all my old.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1466623/ Details about my first collection of poetry. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1456600/ The workshop is full of the unrepaired.Peanut butter jars packed with buttonsSuccumb to the dementia of disuse.  Toothless shirts flap their gums On the clothesline, slack-jawed, gawking At every male mover who hefts a box, Forgetful of the contours of his torso. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1439224/ Punxsutawney Phil fears his shadowAs much as I do, but every winter Morning is Groundhog Day for me.  I don’t know how to accept My naked body, but I know Which fashions to wear this season. Even though I shatter the mirrorsIn my house, my silhouet.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1430754/  I hear my baby teeth chattering In my grandmother’s cabinet of curiosities.  They search for an empty set of gums to cementMy old fears into the world--gnash themselvesinto Newborn sentences by consuming my lovelanguage.  A new mouthful o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1360725/  Icatalogue caricatures of your body when Everythingis dark side of the moon and starry night. Itrack your snow angels like mile markers Betweenthe metropolises on the turnpike.  Iexcavate your mummified Glovefrom the grasp of your petrified .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1358422/  If Van Gogh had the breath to paintThe dawning of this day, he’d name itA morning in the wilderness of manhood. The landscape is monochromatic, A collection of blotches bundled In winter layers--flatbeds of steelIn the stock yard, and forests of l.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1357056/ Gently sloping hill polished Smooth by the nor’easterThat became a blizzard. A boy’s face before manhood’s Barbs peak through his cheeks  Like dead grass.  His father’s hands haven’t Indoctrinated him into the apost.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1357046/ Santa -- please save a space in yourSleighfor a few spare lumps of coal.Ina town of coal miners daughters, I’mthe child without enough to fillAsingle stocking.  WhenI exhale in our living room,Mybreath becomes the stream of white Steamthat spe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1293443/ For TS and RZ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1224268/ Thereis an orphanage in purgatoryFullof the unborn children I neverHadthe chance to baptize with my wife.  Iwear transparent I.D bracelets withTheirpotential names next to the Dog TagsFromthe boys my platoon lost.  Weall got shafted by Agent Or.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1224237/ Iride the pine in the dugoutAtthe little league fieldInfront of the public library. Thesun crouches behind home plateLikean umpire calling balls and strikes.  Threehouses from the left field fence, Mothergives the Lance Corporal Twoth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1223411/ A string of scraps written on envelopes, notepads, and grade-school composition books over the last few weeks... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1220943/ For JP http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1220197/ For JP... RIP. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1218229/ Idiscovered the vestibule of an UndergroundRailroadstation beneath the dirt floor of the garden Cottagewhere a Quaker family lived. Therewas a compartment large enough Fora grown man or a mother and threeChildrenbeneath the rotting trapdoor.  .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1217178/ Something new...an experiment written on scrap paper at 5:30 am after waking up from a dream... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1214793/ Weplayed chicken with freight trainsForthe cheap thrill of transforming thePenniesin our pockets.  Railroadtracks along the Keystone LineGleamedwith a copper luster under light Fromthe Dog Star and the solstice moon.  Thoseslivers of metal beca.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1214372/ Asevening arrives, I struggle to remember Themother she was before the suicide attempt.Imake a pilgrimage to the barbed wire fence Atthe county airport, and watch planes prepare for takeoff.  Weassembled skeletons for squadrons of construction Paperk.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1213227/ For Dana http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1212666/ Sheis not a paper doll pressed betweenSheetsof cellophane in my notebook forTheworld to undress with their eyes. Sheelbows me out of dreams featuringPeterPan with his Lost Boys, and leaves Abruise the shape of Illinois on my ribs.  Shesews .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1211966/ Thereis no skeleton key for saleInany pawnshop in the Keystone StateWiththe ability to decode her love. AllI have to give her is a handful of dust,Thegray hairs from a black Labrador Retriever, Andmy growing beer gut.  Ilost her heart-shape.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1211409/ This is the start of a project to make a "time capsule" out of my memories using the Haiku/Senryu forms of poetry. I'm attempting to capture the essence of the place I've called home. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1211230/ There will be meditation,quietmoments where strengthisgiven in measured cups--therewill be the companionshipofmy same-course brothers. Butis this enough?Willthe towers fallatthe sight of her beauty,leavingme disembodied?   &nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1208905/ For SKS http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1208753/ Longest poem I've written with the summer...please bear with me. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1207517/ Ifeel pain for my neighbor as he Yanksout his baby teeth to pay Forhis sweetheart’s sweet tooth.  Lastweek, he rubbed a pinch of salt Onhis gums, and tied an incisor to a Brassdoorknob--he ran the opposite wayTowardher shadow.  Threenights ago, he took a tumble Down.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1206931/ Afternoonwears the silver overalls OfA Pennsylvania thunderstorm andAcap of mist, like campfire smoke. Headlightsshine through the chain-linkFenceof the stainless steel factory forThefirst time in three months.  Therewere summers when packed fl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1206331/ Iam an empty prison cell with rusting nails Protrudingfrom the walls and wrought Iron Barswelded to the windows.  Spectersof confinement are carved Inmy concrete skin--Tally marks define timeServedand initials hint at her name.  Moundsof mo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1205034/ I thought I would give it a try... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1205025/ I’ma seedless apple core in a Nestof knotty roots at the climax ofTheSeptember harvest. Shepicked me when I was ripe and Swallowedtender morsels of my flesh Soshe could feast on what made me grow. Insteadof devouring me in one rendezv.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1204416/ I am the eggshells drippingYolk onto the kitchen counter  As breakfast is devoured.Youpoach all my memories Ina large skillet and serve them toStrangersin patchwork coats of shadows.  Theyconsume every flavor youFeedthem without the presumption of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1203711/ Whoeversaid New York is the onlyCitythat never sleeps should visit a Steeltown to witness a graveyard shift.  Convoysof men climb into old Chevypickup trucks with dented Tinlunch pails at sundown. Theycarry leftover home-cooked Meals and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1202525/ Every Monday, I meditate with a group of about 10 people. Just before one of our sessions, the Boston Marathon Bombing occurred. This poem is an adaptation from that meditation session. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1201527/ Piece number two of what will probably transform into a four part series. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1200774/ For Ali Guerra's "The Daily Haiku Group" haiku a day challenge http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1199892/ For Ali Guerra's "The Daily Haiku Group" haiku a day challenge http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1199888/ Ibelieve the universe will make something ofMewhen I die--call it God or science, but energy Isneither created nor destroyed. Thebulb in my porch light burned Outa month ago--I left the socket Bearand the live wires exposed. Sparrowsare nesting in the glass Domebelow--a spa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1197531/ Iclimbed the magnolia tree last monthAndfished for the super moon with Yourrainbow trout net. Scaleslanded on the leaves of the Highestlimbs as I flailed my armsIntothe mouth of the solstice sky. Eachlost scale shimmered like Seafoam at s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1197109/ Allthe guard dogs are asleep in Theshed--even the beagles hush theirJunkyardrhapsody at the last fire whistle. TheJuly heat lightning that lit the Tracksgives way to a horizon darker Thana Pennsylvania coal mine. HereI am pressed into your .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1195888/ A response poem to Eglantine's poem "Gullible" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1195879/ Shedoesn’t see the rusted pickup Truckwith no tags and a confederateFlagembossed into the grille. She’sheading back from Wal-Mart Whenthe last light before home flashes red--Shedoesn’t know the stars and bars can still kill.  .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/James-Jones/1195655/