Category Archives: Poetry Corner

Daybreak Curative

by Jim Farfaglia

Daybreak Curative


The six of them wander into my yard,

tender noses to the early-spring grass,

searching for the sustenance

our deep winter has denied them.


Different sizes, different shades of brown,

and one, I notice, favoring a front leg;

hoof grazing ground with each labored step.



From one of winter’s traps?

From some aspiring hunter?

From the catchall of life’s sorrows?


When the others move on, she stays;

something in this space healing her.

I watch, feeling her warm my winter-heart…

then, taking a tender step,


I start the foraging of my day.


  by Jim Farfaglia



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

fistfuls of summer smiles,

and, just beginning her journey,

the mum.


And from the middle:

me –

stuffed up

from being stuffed inside all winter,

warming up under the sun’s radiance,

getting reacquainted with the world.

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 mind.


Finally, with summer fast approaching,

he digs shovel after shovelful,

each row engrained with possibility,

each proudly marked by a stick,

with its empty seed-pack waving like a flag:


tiny pledges to the world

– and to himself –

of why it is

he farms his dreams.

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,

anxious to be swept away by every scene:


The open door shifting her world

from black and white to color,

the witch tossing that fireball

to the fragile and frightened scarecrow,

the Great and Powerful spooking that coward

right through a window…


Today we fast-forward through boring parts

or replay endless enchanted moments –

but remember when our only choice

was to store them within?


Then, when we’d returned

to our black and white world,

there’d be no need to search for rainbows,


no, they would be right here

– home –

in our hearts.

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 others drink in,

awakening the essence that you are,


the first to welcome the bees,

who knock knock knock

on your yellow and purple doors,


the first to welcome my eyes,

searching for the new season,

and finding it with your arrival.

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 another year –

bet you missed me while I was gone.


Crocuses come up with an eye-catching headline:

Atop green arms standing soldier-tall,

we offer our colorful front-page news.

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 “org”… or “edu?”


Google was just a misspelled goggle,

and nobody’ d heard of  “Wikipedia.”

Things weren’t just believed on the spot –

no, we relied on our encyclopedia.


Text wasn’t something you did,

it was a book you learned from in school.

And “cut and paste” meant it was time for fun,

so we’d get out of scissors and glue.


No, our world didn’t revolve ‘round

the click on a screen, big or small.

It was still there when the power went off –

in fact, those were the best times of all!

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 field mouse,

and melts – it’s melting still  –

witnessing snow make way for a determined green.