Monday, August 21, 2017

Sonnet XIX

What soft and gentle radiance abounds
When, any time, your form a threshold cross.
With none has brilliance ever so been found
As that from you, and your fair tempered gloss.

For every room you enter is aglow,
And all the shadows therein are dismissed,
As though there is a spotlight, at your toe,
Announcing to the world that you exist.

As though the grace of nature had foreseen,
Without announcement, none would have believed
That you exist, and so, bore you a sheen
That you should ever, in its light, be wreathed-

That mortal men should marvel in your grace,
And, by perfection, know their rightly place.

Friday, August 18, 2017

A Word About Charlottesville

Considering the current political climate, my broadly diverse political and social affiliations, and the recent events in #Charlottesville, I feel I am obliged to expound upon my perspective.

As a member of a multi-ethnic family with a two Black sisters-in-law, multiple Biracial and Black nieces and nephews; being the father of a Multi-ethnic child and being engaged to an Hispanic woman; and having been a long-time proponent of real discussions on race, ethnicity, and culture as a way to move forward; I find the behavior, beliefs, rhetoric, and symbolism used by the disgusting pigs in the beautiful town of Charlottesville, VA to be among the most abhorrent and embarrassing aspects of the reality of modern America. These terrorists, and that they are, must be called out, ostracized, shunned, and combated in the forum of public discourse. We, as a nation, must stand firm. We must accept that these cretins are a cancer that has grown from our own tissues and is fed from our own blood. We must accept this, and wherever this cancer does harm it must be excised from the body of our society. To say that these bigotted shitheads are not US is to lie about our own cultural history and identity, but to say that we accept them- to say that their evil should be tolerated in the forum of public discourse- is to give up the fight and let the cancer consume us at its own pace. It is the moral obligation of every red-blooded American to call these monstrosities out for what they are and to disassociate ourselves from any interaction or affiliation, social or financial, with them.


My own brothers, my late father and grandfathers, and many dear friends served this country and fought against fascists, authoritarians, and terrorist cowards in defense of our natural rights; let us not sit idly by while these useless wastes of oxygen abuse theirs to promote the removal of those of others.


For the Record:

It is not acceptable, nor is it legal, for the abstract monopoly of force that is the state to be exerted upon a person solely because of their political, moral, religious, or other beliefs, affiliations, or speech.

Further, it is illegal for a private citizen to exert force on another except as between consenting, competent adults, or as a means of self-defense.

However, if one accepts that there will be legal punitive consequences, and has the fortitude to withstand said consequences, and the opposing person in question is, in fact, a bigotted shithead espousing genocide and inciting violence; it is morally imperative to bludgeon such a person about the head, with or without a blunt instrument, until such time as their maxillo-facial region should cease to function; likely requiring multiple surgical interventions.


Pax Tecum Semper

J. T. Hartzfeld

Friday, November 4, 2016

On Form

When it comes to the literary arts, bondage is my kink. The more restrictive the form, the more excited about it I become.

#WordPorn #Poetry #SonnetsForever

Saturday, October 29, 2016

The Trapped Tramp (Sonnet XVIII)

My foot rests on an empty line of track,
The steel is polished smooth and very clean,
I wonder what it is that holds me back
From walking down it, never to be seen.

A fire within me burns to ride the rails,
To see the world slip by as I go past.
As each endeavor that I've started fails
I wonder, even more, how long I'd last.

I dream to test my mettle o'er the steel
ANd end my life an aimless, wandering bard-
To chose my path by only what I feel,
And just to walk away when times get hard.

And when the days are cold and nights are cold,
I'd find my peace in poetry and song.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Sonnet XVII

What spell is it that has me so entranced
And falling deep into your sultry eyes?
And by what incense is your scent enhanced,
That all resisting will inside me dies?

Do tell what wicked magics you have caste
To frenzy out the beast I've held inside.
And, too, forget my carnal passions' past
That all those memories, with you, reside.

I know not what bewitching you have done
And, truth be told, I never really cared.
It's just that guessing games have lost their fun,
And I would like to know how I'm ensnared.

And so, while I've not will to be set free,
Do tell the way that this is done to me.

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Fruition (Sonnet XVI)

The time has come, my dear, for us to play
A game I have been planning quite some time.
Since first we met I've waited for this day
And schemed as if toward some awful crime.

And, true, a crime I mean to here commit,
For I intend to steal your very breath
And leave you shaken, quivering in a fit
Of bliss known by the French as "Little Death"

We shall begin the night by lacing knots
To keep you still and steady for my hands.
And when you feel the urge to venture thoughts,
I shall replace them with my own commands.

And when I've taken of you what I will
I'll watch you, bound and writhing, begging still.

Unfitting Similes

By what majestic objects may a poet now compare
A creature blessed so beautifully, elegant and fair?
For all of natures tapestries seem empty, now, to me
As, in them all, a vision of her face I'm left to see.

Each cloud-topped peak or rolling hill which once took breath away
Is long forgotten to my mind, when I think of her today.
I would say skin is just as soft as early morning dew,
But her skin is far the softer, so that would not be true.

Her raven hair is as the night, but darker and more pure,
But not one night that man has seen has had such great allure.
And eyes so deep and placid like some sacred scrying pool,
But her eyes cast much deeper than a divination tool.

Her lips are sweet like ripened fruit from some exotic tree
But sweet enough a fruit, it seems, will never come to me.
And after many hours pouring, pondering on these lines,
It seems no fitting simile may rightly be defined.