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Poetry Corner


  by Jim Farfaglia   Finally   We’re all out today!   From the sky: the excitable chickadee, Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal, the finches, in their deepening color, a gang of bellyaching crows, and, echoing from a deep forest, the ever-probing woodpecker.   From the earth: the eager daffodil, the dressed-for-a-party tulip, Miss Daisy, still concealing(…)

The City Farmer

by Jim Farfaglia The City Farmer   On drowsy winter days he sits with his hope, flipping through catalogues, imagining page after colorful page filling the brown space lying in wait.   When spring arrives he stops a moment in grocery stores to turn a seed-filled carousel, letting thoughts of homegrown goodness circle through his(…)

A Technicolor Memory

by Jim Farfaglia A Technicolor Memory   Nowadays you’ll find it on a tiny disc and you can play it anywhere, anytime. Back then, though, you planned ahead so as not to miss its once-a-year TV spectacular…   We’d gather at our cousins’ house, our aunt popping us a bowlful, our tiny hands grabbing fistfuls,(…)

Ode to the Crocuses

by Jim Farfaglia Ode to the Crocuses   You are such a welcome sight, showing up alongside my house like a table set for spring.   You’re first to welcome a brighter sky, raising your goblets in celebration of an end…and a beginning,   the first to welcome the warm rains that you and the(…)

Nature’s Newscast

by Jim Farfaglia   The wind rushes in with its weather update: A warm front approaches, breathing life into your winter blues.   Geese call in this sports exclusive: Get ready for spring to touch down;  let’s meet on the field and make some noise!   Mr. Skunk broadcasts his latest bulletin: I’m back for(…)

Before Computers

by Jim Farfaglia   “w” was never that special a letter – just one of 26, more or less; not leading the way, in triplicate, for some newfangled kind of address.   And when it comes to addresses, what postman back then ever knew how in the world to deliver a message to “com” or(…)

In a Winter Forest

by Jim Farfaglia In a Winter Forest   I love how my heart can still be moved: fifty-seven years old, having beaten through darkness and light –   yet it flutters anew meeting a startled doe, then settles once more, listening to the rhythm of a rambling brook.   It grows heavy finding a dying(…)


by Jim Farfaglia Creekside   You stopped by, too, didn’t you? Laboring through heavy snow, your slender legs sinking deep, leaving for me a trail of hooved smiles.   Were you taking a moment, too? Watching memories of summer stream by, thirsty for that season and drawing from your reflection the refreshment of hope.  (…)

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