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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)
5,394 books
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68 friends
525 books
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628 friends
564 books
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8 friends
328 books
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82 friends
45 books
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147 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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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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Borrowed Stardust: Poetry
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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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| I didn't think much of the first Dean Young I read a few years ago, "Shock by Shock". I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this book, at least the first two of the three sections. I prefer narrative poetry and generally shy away from stream-of-consc ...more | |
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James
rated a book really liked it
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| A prose translation loses some of the poetic elements but, as the translator points out, any translation of poetry will by necessity alter and be diminished when compared to the original. And in this case, Virgil himself is imitating Homer, both the ...more | |
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James
rated a book really liked it
Work Is Love Made Visible: Collected Family Photographs and Poetry
by Jeanetta Calhoun Mish (Goodreads Author) |
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Fascinating family tales, and the added photos make it all the better. But I didn't find many poems that truly engaged me although I loved some lines. A toss-up between 3 and 4 stars. 2026: Having forgotten that I read this, I ordered another copy. I ...more |
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James
rated a book really liked it
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| Former Poet Laureate of Oklahoma Nathan Brown, writing as Ezra E. Lipschitz, has much to say about the planet and politics in the first age of Trump. And he says it well, in a curmudgeonly way. That is, frank and rather unpolished but certainly on po ...more | |
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James
rated a book really liked it
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| With poems like these, it's no wonder that Mish was chosen at Oklahoma's Poet Laureate. There's many dramatic narrative poems within as well as a mix of styles touching on a range of subjects all tied to Mish's roots in Oklahoma. I was impressed enou ...more | |
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"this book is the personification of Oklahoma, one of its main characters. the spirit, the grief, the grit of Oklahoma lives in this book. "
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James
rated a book it was ok
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| This is my third book by this author. Limon's earlier works don't engage me as much as her later volumes. I could not connect with most of these poems. ...more | |
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James
rated a book it was amazing
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| Unusual. Powerful. Fascinating! | |
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James
rated a book liked it
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| I knew from the title how this would end. But I'm astonished at the journey to get there. Along the way is intriguing, mystifying, zany, adventurous, and even kind of stupid. It's a crazy read, and I wish that I had done just that, but this was an au ...more | |
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"Arthur Conan Doyle meeting Monty Python at a carnival. For 1908 this book is nuts! Like swinging a sack of zesty ferrets around. Too many ideas - slapstick farce, detective mystery, gothic thriller, espionage/totalitarian/philosophical/religious alle"
Read more of this review »
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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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