Category Archives: Poetry Corner


by Jim Farfaglia



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.


For don’t you dream of lightness, too?

Waiting for this earth to rise again,

throw off its frosty covers

and announce the glad return

of an unbound life.

How Fulton Got Its Name

by Jim Farfaglia

How Fulton Got Its Name

They say he was a dreamer;

that, as a child, he loved to sketch,

he loved to tinker,

and they say he loved the water…


which would have made him

right at home, here,

with our river and lake

and their quiet spots to sit and dream.


Early on, he got his feet wet

sketching torpedoes and warships,

even having a hand in the first submarine,

but he’s best known for inventing the steamboat.


And when they were was all the rage,

he rode one up and down the Hudson,

never traveling this far,

but news of his success drifted our way.


And when he died too young

trying to rescue a drowning friend,

it only seemed fitting for our city’s founders

to take his name


so it might carry on –

like the current of our river,

like the ripples of our lake,

like the richness of a good dream, never-ending.

Snow Day

by Jim Farfaglia

Snow Day


Back then, you found out from the radio –

the DJ reading school after school,

your ear leaning into his voice,

listening to that long list.


And even after your school is called,

you keep the radio on,

just to hear your good luck

over and over again,


each time an excitement building –

unheard of on regular school days –

but today turning your bed into a trampoline,

which your Mom quickly put a stop to.


So you slip back under the covers,

smile your best Saturday smile,

and try real hard to catch a few more winks,

which never works –


who could waste a single minute

of the long and fun snow day ahead?

Remembering Card Games

by Jim Farfaglia

Remembering Card Games


They brightened many a boring evening:

someone would pull out a deck,

explain the rules and, after a few hands,

friendships would be melded.


A good shuffler made a big impression:

the most talented ones

were also the most envied –

they could make a deck just sing out.


You could tell a card shark by how he dealt:

cards sailing across the table,

never sliding off onto the floor –

stopping right in front of each player.


You had a choice how to hold your cards:

like a geisha, waving her fan,

like a stairway, one atop the other,

like a true gambler, close to his heart.


Those games taught us a lot about life:

good winners never bragged,

poor sports threw their cards,

and nobody wanted to sit next to a cheater.


And who could forget the feel of a new deck:

each of those fifty-two, crisp and clean,

everyone in the circle already certain

of the good luck coming their way.


 by Jim Farfaglia



For now, sweet cardinal,

so red and sprightly,

you will be my light.


These days the world is heavy,

drowsy from the darkness

and frozen in winter’s clutch.


But each morning, you come

to perch on my evergreen,

awaiting your turn at the feeder.


Oh, how your brightness pecks a hole

through winter’s shroud!

And for now, my light, that is enough.


by Jim Farfaglia



Some look like backcountry roads –

like someone woke from a long winter’s nap

and, with their belly, plowed a new trail.


Some look like fine stitching –

like some worried mother’s busywork,

sewing her child a safe way home.


Some look like quotation marks –

like someone came by with a lot to say

and used my yard as their whiteboard.


Some look like cookie-cutter hearts –

like someone filled with love

stopped by with an early valentine.


Some look like miniature canoes –

like someone paddled off on a journey

and everyone else was wise enough to follow.

Sky Magic

by Jim Farfaglia


It’s still a miracle

to look up

and see a flock of birds

dancing their traveling dance:

thirty or more darting and swooping,

as if they were one –

as if we were all one.


It’s still a miracle

to look up

and feel the cold January air

swooping in with its surprise:

white flakes flocking in my hair,

making me one snowy sight –

making snowmen of us all.


It’s still a miracle

to look up

and find the stars dancing in place,

beacons traveling their many miles:

darts of flickering brilliance,

each a single point of light –

but shining for us all.



On Either Side

by Jim Farfaglia


Yesterday, in the middle of the lake,

they bobbed over gentle ripples,

riding atop reflections

on the last day of the year.


Everybody was honking at once,

gossiping about the year’s triumphs,

of love gone north or south,

of those who took their final flight…


Today, as dawn breaks,

I hear their call again,

starting from that lake,

then passing overhead –


their honks loud and clear,

crying out for this new journey;

riding on the tail wind

of the first day of the year.