James Green
Bio
Weaving words into captivating worlds, this author's storytelling will transport you to realms of imagination and leave you breathless.
Profiles and content: https://linktr.ee/gr33ngr33n
Stories (372)
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SLOW SNAIL
Too big to fail, moving slowly as a snail, looking everywhere for places to win instead of fail. Steady pace wins the race, snail slow move looks for a faster pace. Chiselled cheeks, moving faster, wing span, space, so high can't fail for fear of loss to the face. New movement now, no new race, just a pleasant jog, win, fail, chase? Chase win, fail? Choices of the will. Pleasant surroundings for a smile to fill, sit, listen, feel, words become rhythm when the mind is still. What's right? To fail is to win, as long as you're left with a pleasant grin and less chagrin.
By James Green4 years ago in Poets
BELLS ON HIGH
The bells on high, they sing without being shy, in towers of gold they spell out kindness. They ring all day, without a thought of praise, as they're there for you. Don't look back, for what is there is a trap, let wisdom speak from lessons learned as they ring quietly in the back. Looking forward is scary, for the tired and weary, for what more can be done. Stay loose where you can, intelligence, life span, governance, no plan; for all can be lost, if thoughts rot, thinking, not. If time is to pass, finish not, finish last, to the sounds of gloom that can ring loud, hourglass.
By James Green4 years ago in Poets
HERE'S THE SITUATION
Here's the situation. A train arrives at the platform to take people to their stations, where they station themselves at their desks in hopes of compensation. "Why do we do this to ourselves?" Each asked themselves in mutual adulation, knowing that in the end tokens for their time will be rewarded to them for pleasant jubilations. Or so they thought. "Times are tough." One frowned to another while the train pulled into the station; another nodded in agreement, with a sigh and a huff of mutual frustration. "At least the sun is out." Someone interjected as they stepped onto the train with seats as blue as the sky they walked away from.
By James Green4 years ago in Poets
MORE WINE!
From the forecourt to the tennis court, how many miles must he splash until he wishes for his law court, to end? Days? Maybe weeks? But who can tell when foes are bound to stifle whatever truths are bound to peak. To the drinking den where voices sound like hens, beckoning for worries to end; fend off those foes whose lies and deceit wish for your happiness to end. "More wine!" For what is presence but a stifle to one's peace of mind. "More wine!" Red, lushness, deep, like cheeks on the faces of those who sing, "More wine!" To court! Whatever filly comes my way. "More wine!"
By James Green4 years ago in Poets
JEWELS. HEAD. WHITE. WINDOW.
Jewels around the head, white dress in the window. Look but don't stare, for what will others think when shyness becomes too apparent to bear; hearts for eyes, bowing down before lies, sitting up seated for rest in the embrace of those wiser than wise. Be calm, be still, life, what a thrill. Be wise, be still, for what is life but a thrill. Sail forth, calm seas, fresh air, calm breeze; seventy-three, more left to please. The sea, so clear, jewelled head, brown chair; sit down mon frère, for a story awaits for you to hear and for others to share.
By James Green4 years ago in Poets
WHY DO THEY DO THIS?
Vicious street fighting, why do they do this? A mind a miss through vicious intent lost in the mist. Through the mist what lies but bluer skies, where fields burst green and eyes shine with surprise; a handshake and a nod, maybe a bow through the fog. Why do they do this? Confusion of course, that a mind needs a seed of wisdom, otherwise remorse; for anger breeds contempt which can lead to a fight, but wisdom passed down leads to fighting far from sight. But where to find wisdom, pray tell? Through others, before you, look and listen, for when the time arrives for a decision you won't be an empty shell.
By James Green4 years ago in Poets
BEE CHUM
Five and four, how about some more? Petals blooming, not a leaf on the floor; colours so bright, not a bird in sight, on the feeding tree, not even a chirp or a bite. Three days left, they'll have to wait. Flowers need feeding, and clouds and rain become needing; after two there's a one, for what can one do alone, just hum? Wait and see, sit close to the feeding tree, for chirps are plenty when the birds come flying, and the flowers sit shying, whilst you sit humming, for what can one do except hum with a bee for a chum.
By James Green4 years ago in Poets
NOT FAR
A place called home, find the place that you've been wanting for so long; don't look far, distance isn't what it appears; marbles magnified in a jar, not far; look, but don't seek, be mindful and peek, a world spinning within higher than a mountain's peak; eyes wide not shut, for seeing is necessary for landing on a soft spot.
By James Green4 years ago in Poets
NOBLE SQUIRE
"Stick to the left, and then turn to the right." A noble squire suggested to the fellow who inquired. "For when you arrive a feast the likes you have never seen will be yours to devour." The squire bellowed while the listener admired. "But, you can't eat it all so share with others one and all; for greed should never be in need, but happens, so be aware on your journey that you don't fall to the lowest of dire seeds." The listener now smiled. The squire waved the listener goodbye on his travels, walking away with arms to and fro as his adventure unravels.
By James Green4 years ago in Poets
SAME AS ME?
To the lost and the fallen, to the beaten and the broken, to the sad and the happy who have yet to feel that moment of sadness when a loss is the saddest part of your day; alas, loss the saddest part of your day, perhaps a week, oh loss, the saddest part of your week; loss, perhaps even longer. Some would say why lose when you can win, for the winner may not be a sinner, but to lose dear winner is not choice but happenstance, sometimes. Fear not, a dear friend of loss, for winning is not all that it appears, but striving for it is a noble idea when the idea itself is noble to all, for winning for winning's sake is folly for the foolish. So win, a dear friend of loss for to try is freedom, and when restraints are put onto thee stand strong, for tomorrow is yet another day to try, to live.
By James Green4 years ago in Fiction
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 Green4 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 Green4 years ago in Poets
