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James’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at James’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
James Thomas Fletcher’s Followers (11)
560 books
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651 friends
5,481 books
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68 friends
45 books
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148 friends
566 books
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8 friends
326 books
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82 friends
James Thomas Fletcher
Goodreads Author
Born
in The United States
Website
Genre
Influences
Member Since
January 2016
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Cairn
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Borrowed Stardust: Poetry
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Nature
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The Speed of Sweat
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Bibliophile
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published
2022
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4 editions
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Poems from Terra
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published
2016
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3 editions
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Émigré: Poems from Another Land
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War
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RVN: Poems and Photographs of the American War in Vietnam
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Wild Seeds
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published
2021
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3 editions
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James’s Recent Updates
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James
rated a book really liked it
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J.C. has a great delivery style. I listened to the CD version of his book. His engaging demeanor and voice elevate his poetry. You cannot help but enjoy his readings. NOTE: I know J.C. He's a great guy, an indefatigable poet, and an incredible support ...more |
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James
rated a book it was ok
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James
rated a book really liked it
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| As a novel I was loving this, rooting for the poor guy and his family not to drown in the machine of capitalism. Sinclair added a single line at exactly the right time when he says "in his later life, Jurgis ..." about the time that the grind of life ...more | |
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"Socialist propaganda BULLSHIT!
I realize I’m going to be in the minority on this one, but come on people, the ending was crap and you know it. Sinclair had me hook, line, and sinker until the end. Here we are in early 20th-century Shitcago, rats are " Read more of this review » |
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James
rated a book really liked it
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| Not a bad poem in the book. But the first poem, Machine Shop with Wheat Field, spoke directly to the boy in me. It took me back. Easy to do when Fairchild carries you there and deposits you on a traveling block to observe, along with the narrator, th ...more | |
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James
rated a book did not like it
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I'm sorry Ms. Crawley, but this book is pretty awful. These are sappy poems leaning heavily upon the crutch of rhyme. I plucked this off of my stack of books to read. Not sure where it came from. It must have been in a bundle of books from a door priz ...more |
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Poetry is personal. One poem in this volume was, to me, quite fascinating, "Playing Tennis with the Dead." A short poem. Yet I can see how many people
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James
rated a book liked it
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James
rated a book liked it
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| Young is clever. And many are the fans of what some call "poetry of confusion". I'm not one of them. There's some cool stuff here but, as I prefer narrative poetry, I am not the person to properly appreciate it. Nevertheless, one should test the wate ...more | |
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James
rated a book liked it
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I was given this book and asked to read it for specific reasons. The opening story, "Hole in the Wall," was surprising. I was unaware of the etiquette surrounding glory holes. The final story was both titillating and touching. The middle two were not ...more |
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“Harold Hill: You pile up enough tomorrows, and you'll find you are left with nothing but a lot of empty yesterdays. I don't know about you, but I'd like to make today worth remembering.”
― The Music Man Broadway Musical Songbook | Meredith Willson Vocal Score Collection for Voice Students Performers and Teachers | Complete Vocal Score for Study Rehearsal Auditions and Stage Prep
― The Music Man Broadway Musical Songbook | Meredith Willson Vocal Score Collection for Voice Students Performers and Teachers | Complete Vocal Score for Study Rehearsal Auditions and Stage Prep
“I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal.”
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―
“I see her on TV, screaming into a microphone.
Her head is shaved and she is beautiful
and seventeen, and her high school was just shot up,
she's had to walk by friends lying in their own blood,
her teacher bleeding out,
and she's my daughter, the one I never had,
and she's your daughter and everyone's daughter
and she's her own woman, in the fullness of her young fire,
calling bullshit on politicians who take money from the gun-makers.
Tears rain down her face but she doesn't stop shouting
she doesn't apologize she keeps calling them out,
all of them all of us
who didn't do enough to stop this thing.
And you can see the gray faces of those who have always held power
contort, utterly baffled
to face this new breed of young woman,
not silky, not compliant,
not caring if they call her a ten or a troll.
And she cries but she doesn't stop
yelling truth into the microphone,
though her voice is raw and shaking
and the Florida sun is molten brass.
I'm three thousand miles away, thinking how
Neruda said The blood of the children
ran through the streets
without fuss, like children's blood.
Only now she is, they are
raising a fuss, shouting down the walls of Jericho,
and it's not that we road-weary elders
have been given the all-clear exactly,
but our shoulders do let down a little,
we breathe from a deeper place,
we say to each other,
Well, it looks like the baton
may be passing
to these next runners and they are
fleet as thought,
fiery as stars,
and we take another breath
and say to each other, The baton
has been passed, and we set off then
running hard behind them.”
―
Her head is shaved and she is beautiful
and seventeen, and her high school was just shot up,
she's had to walk by friends lying in their own blood,
her teacher bleeding out,
and she's my daughter, the one I never had,
and she's your daughter and everyone's daughter
and she's her own woman, in the fullness of her young fire,
calling bullshit on politicians who take money from the gun-makers.
Tears rain down her face but she doesn't stop shouting
she doesn't apologize she keeps calling them out,
all of them all of us
who didn't do enough to stop this thing.
And you can see the gray faces of those who have always held power
contort, utterly baffled
to face this new breed of young woman,
not silky, not compliant,
not caring if they call her a ten or a troll.
And she cries but she doesn't stop
yelling truth into the microphone,
though her voice is raw and shaking
and the Florida sun is molten brass.
I'm three thousand miles away, thinking how
Neruda said The blood of the children
ran through the streets
without fuss, like children's blood.
Only now she is, they are
raising a fuss, shouting down the walls of Jericho,
and it's not that we road-weary elders
have been given the all-clear exactly,
but our shoulders do let down a little,
we breathe from a deeper place,
we say to each other,
Well, it looks like the baton
may be passing
to these next runners and they are
fleet as thought,
fiery as stars,
and we take another breath
and say to each other, The baton
has been passed, and we set off then
running hard behind them.”
―
“Strawberries were too delicate to be picked by machine. The perfectly ripe ones bruised at even too heavy a human touch. It hit her then that every strawberry she had ever eaten—every piece of fruit—had been picked by calloused human hands. Every piece of toast with jelly represented someone's knees, someone's aching back and hips, someone with a bandanna on her wrist to wipe away the sweat. Why had no one told her about this before?”
―
―
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