James Green
Bio
Weaving words into captivating worlds, this author's storytelling will transport you to realms of imagination and leave you breathless.
Stories (326/0)
SLEEPING VILLAINS
In the shadow of the night the wings built of steel and might, villains asleep from sight; victory for those whom you shall fight, for there, maybe times of triumph ahead, but conflict and strife will present itself; death to the sorrow of scared heads for their saviour is here for them to rest, they may not meet their hero for I am; for them safe for them to admire, not for them to transpire; in praise of their saviour for I am also dark, the night is where I swim for I am retribution for the meek to swim.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
PINK HAIR
Pink with her hair long with her stare, walking up the stairs fluttering her arms so nimble for happy jeers; long legs down the corridor she did find her locket she lost days before, time; opening it up her heartbeat so sudden that the locket closed itself like a clam shy from the heat of her bosom; what lay inside only she would know putting it around her neck to the softness of her chest for the clam to know, that she means no harm for she is pink calm and happy to share herself with it for as long as she thinks. Pink.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
HOMME
The palace in the far distance, not all that it seemed, confused that gold lies within, yet salt of the wounds bend the perception of the man that ventured forth to find a treasure for keeps; Je Suis, man. The nerves, Homme, of a mind blind with the radiance of one who lost the sense to smell, regained parts to patterns to gain more than what was believed to dwell, far beyond comprehension but nonetheless far from hell; Vers des jours Meilleurs, man, and for the man of tomorrow yet to come, and the man yet to meet, may I greet thee with a tip of the hat not a bite in the teeth.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
FREE ANSWERS
When they come a knocking but no door to open the knocks come and go as if by juxtaposition. When the door opens it wishes to shut; then why open you venomous mutt, but if knowledge is to be gained a door must open for wisdom to be attained; but if attainment is key why try to open too many just be. A lock to open for you and me the one inside looking for answers to the knocking which justifies thee; not looking for questions but answers presented for free; no riddles just words that make sense to me. Maybe?
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
MORE HEAVEN
Sweeping down a long stretched road, the two friends knew the time, that most of the passers-by were distracted, distracted by their wills of woe. Trees on either side, now not a passer-by insight, a quiet lane, a destination, baiting them, unexpectedly came their way. Stopping slowly, they looked at each other, adventure in their eyes, hands meeting fingers with applause and excitement. Looking out into the dim-lit road, they left the safety of their transport and investigated on foot. Before them, wings, hundreds, thousands of them, glittering wings, the likes never seen by the friends, and most likely by anyone before them. The friends decided to move closer, clapping hands in merriment, the wings, moved further away. The friends began moving faster, fingers tapping fingers in piano key determination; the glittering wings moved closer. Rapturous fingers typing fingers, croaking howls from the friends, wings glittering all around them, swarming the friends, the frog croaking wails commanding more, more, for heaven's sake more!
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
ONLY KIDS
Outside in the warm air John's sister, being the more courageous of the two, handed John a small box of matches, which she kept on her person in case such an event arose for their using. “It’s time justice was served.” She said to John. John's hands trembling in anxious anticipation; a warming hand on his shoulder, a flick of his fingers. Hand in hand, all they could see, a flaming sea of justice, filling John with courageous glee. “It may not be much.” She said to he. “But we’re only kids, what do they expect from ones as young as we.”
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
CHIRPED VOICES
”Why cry when you can laugh?” she said to herself, as she stood there waiting for the next customer to arrive. The week had been a long week for her; many a vacant stare, many a tonal wave of half-hearted musings. Finally, Friday had arrived, indulgent titillation was headed her way, and what titillation it was going to be. As she left her weekly position, she headed to the place she knew and loved, full of laughter and cheer it was difficult to choose a better place, another place, like the other. Step by step she made her way, then to her dismay, a call from a window: ”Hey, there. Yes, you there.” “Me?” She quivered. “Yes, you. We’re having a party up here, and you’re welcome to join, all are welcome here. Come on up. Here, use this ladder.” With a nervous giggle and an excited palpitation, up the ladder, step by step, made of rope and wood, not a single misstep. As she made her way through the window, with the help of an outstretched hand, four people she did see; four people, staring into four corners, not a whisper, not a sound. “Strange.” She thought. “You said you were having a party? But there’s no music. And why are those people staring into the wall like that?” The host, listening, but unengaged, walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. The four turned around, like toy ballerinas they turned. The window guillotined down! “What’s happening!? What do you want!?” She shouted, with clenched fists to her chest. The window rose up, the four-span round to their corners. Flapping her arms in haste, she flew to the window, flew down the still dangling ladder. “Fly, birdie, fly!” Chirped voices from the top raised window.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
CATCH
Jostling through the grass on a fine summer's day, a pot I did find shining from the gleam of the sun's glistening rays; edging ever closer to a green hat on a head on a body in stern composure. "Quarreling with me will get you nowhere, you hear?" My face now glum with the threat of a tear. "Seeing is believing isn't it, me lad." My face now confused, no more looking sad. "All the gold in the world I wish to thee." "Why thank you, kind sir." Staring at a face like a mirror in front of me. "I struck gold, I did, meeting you today." Him or me, to the lad, tee-hee; which one, mirror mirror finally caught one, which one, 'o luck have thee.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
START WRITING
Start writing... A story about what pray tell? When the words flood the mind as if they fell, the conundrum of a mystic with no mysticism to sell, only words covering the mind, like a turtle sitting in his shell. Compelling? Maybe, if the dance of words scatters in the fingers and the mind calms soothing the thunderous storm of a writer with nothing to write, in fright that the muse has taken flight. But, the well, dear writer, is deeper than one thinks, just sit and wait for another day exists, for the time is yours to do as you so wish. Calm.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
JELLY LEGS
Flutters from the belly, legs full of jelly, her sight met mine from across the road ever so slightly left of the alley; timid to say, "Hi.", an inviting twinkle in her eye, what does one do when fear blinds one with a sigh. "Advance." A voice whispered from a place not heard from the sigh. With a one-step, and a two, with a third step making six, "Hello." I muttered scratching my eyebrow, she biting her lip.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
MONDAY
Monday morning had arrived, the start of another week in eternity. Stepping out the door, what seemed to be flurrying snow, turned out to be a blizzard of falling feathers. As the tribes were making their way into providence, they all began to look up and marvel at the gift the heavens had bestowed upon them. Heads were high, hands were even higher, dancing and chanting exploded in rapturous merriment! Feet jumping and pirouetting beneath every ecstatic enchanted spirit. The feathers stopped. The people stopped. Underneath my umbrella, “Another Monday morning in eternity,” thought I. As I made my way down the feather-covered lane, breathing in big belly breaths of disenchanted sobs, “Today, is a great day to be alive,” thought I.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
JUGGLING KEYS
The juggling and jingly of keys, tis the siren song of the prison guard as he makes his way out of his agreed-upon confines, out of his confines to indulge in his gluttonous delights. Stepping one foot in front of the other, making his way to his local greengrocers, he spotted something rather odd and out of place; a tipi, situated down a narrow dimly lit alleyway. Being the nosey authoritative type, he took it upon himself to investigate that which caught his attention. Swinging his keys in a tornado-like fashion, he stepped into the alley, closer and closer to the tipi, stepping further and further away from the path outside. Fully immersed within the dimly lit space of the alleyway walls, he noticed it wasn’t a tipi at all, but a giant slice of pizza, lying humbly yet earnestly up against the back of the alleyway wall. With his right eyebrow raised to attention and his left eye squeezed with confusion, his belly uninvitedly started to rumble. It rumbled so ferociously it was as if he the guard no longer existed. With the dropping of his keys, his arms now stretched forward, he edged closer to that which awaited him. In a moment of self-preserving reflection, he stopped, the arms dropped to their sides, his throat airing a mouse-like whimper; he stood there, gazing. Small droplets of water began to appear on his temple and from the corners of his glassy wide eyes; his belly once again began to rumble, his arms once again began to raise themselves forward. With tears now gushing from the corners of his eyes, and his tongue stretched out as if hooked on a fishing line, he stepped closer. “Trust me!” the air echoed, “Trust me...” his tongue stretched mouth echoed back. “I’m worthless?” poured out his tongue stretched mouth; “I’M WORTHLESS!?” his tongue stretched mouth began to scream! TEARS NOW STREAMING DOWN HIS FACE! BELLY RUMBLING SO LOUD, HIS SCREAMS NO LONGER AUDIBLE! HANDS CLAWING AND GRASPING AT HIS HAIR AS IF A PUPPETEER WAS CONTROLLING HIM FROM ABOVE!
By James Green2 years ago in Fiction