James Fitzpatrick Poems
|3.||The Autumn Hunting Of White Caps||12/31/2014|
|4.||Opie's Brush With Bouda||12/31/2014|
|6.||A Full Life Of Narrow Streets||12/31/2014|
|8.||Christmas At Switzers||12/31/2014|
|9.||The Fourth Man||1/2/2015|
|10.||The Keeper In Us||1/6/2015|
|11.||The Millionaire's Island||1/2/2015|
|12.||The Bulls Of The Yellow House||12/31/2014|
|14.||The Terracotta Girls||12/31/2014|
|15.||The Train Journey||12/31/2014|
|16.||Massacre Of The Innocents||12/31/2014|
Comments about James Fitzpatrick
The blackbirds swooped in their customary jealous way, the Robin
Chirped before leaving for another year, and I patted
The well fed brown clay with my muddy boats.
I remember planting her in the spring hush just after the flakes stopped,
sometime after a steamy breakfast.
The Summer came with a heavy warm whoosh, and with it arrived
Those two beautiful dark seedy eyes.
They belonged to a voluptuous red head, and she came with a beautiful
Lubricious body, and I sat with her as day became evening before we slept
Under a full moon, under a weary cherry ...
Dreams skip through the blue of an early morn,
Dancing on painted cobwebbed graphics,
digging up gardens of crawling carpet,
crunching the grubs which stand alone.
The Lupines sway in the beauty of youth
Stretching then jousting then wriggling then plucked,
As the morning crashes in to realities wall, and you're