*Image courtesy of Amber Kipp on Unsplash*
National Poetry Month may be over, but we still have plenty of great poetry to share. Let’s give a warm welcome to Joe Farina as he joins FC’s family with his collection of somber poems.
street dreams
does a street have a memory,
beneath its many coats
does it remember every soul,
who walked upon it
does it long for a return,
to cobblestones and carriages
or quicken to the thunder
of street cars on silver tracks
drugged by combustion engines
does it remember being fashioned
by the din of picks and shovels
wielded by strange speaking labourers
until it gleamed, new, in overcoats
of smooth concrete and asphalt
marked with cryptic symbols
does this street have my dreams
leaking out its cracks
does it smile, as i, when
i stop to listen for its welcome back
both of us a forced reflection
of what we each once were
from here to there
i go into the empty room
move your picture from here to there
count the dead flies on the sill
and watch the weak light fade outside
this is what i do, when you’re not here
i arrange the clothes you left behind
pick out your pictures from the trash
smooth your crumpled compositions
and dust the dust from here to there
this is what i do, when you’re not here
i sit alone at the kitchen table
drinking coffee three days dead
replay the screams and accusations
shelve my anger from here to there
too late to matter
regretting the reasons you’re not here
morning noir
she sits
on the street curb
always alone
head drooped
hands intertwined on her lap
waiting, or in prayer?
driving by each morning
faster than i should
she dissolves
into my rear-view mirror
an enigmatic shadow
never revealing
her rendezvous
just another outtake
in my predawn commute
that pleads for poetry
in film noir narrative
to fill in the blanks
where incomplete
orthodox
the sun sets on another 21st century day
he alone provides the narrative
he sits on his dated teal, leather sofa
his wife chose and purchased back in ’84
from Kaufman, who closed its doors
the walls are hung with Batemen prints of
wolves and eagles and orcas, all
signed and numbered in pencil
tastefully framed by an establishment
that doesn’t exist anymore
his books stand soldiered in dusty silence
the wurlitzer broken never repaired
the only sound from his old big screen tv
where each day news and scandals
are read by Blitzer on CNN
pewter framed photographs of his dead
fill the room as he waits
his eyes bloodshot and tired
staring at the walls-
waiting for the night to end.
Joseph A Farina is a retired lawyer in Sarnia, Ontario, Canada. An award winning and internationally published poet, his works are published in many poetry magazines. Notably in Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine and The Windsor Review. He also appears in the anthologies Sweet Lemons: Writings with a Sicilian Accent, Canadian Italians at Table, Witness, and Tamaracks: Canadian Poetry for the 21st Century. He has had two books of poetry published — The Cancer Chronicles and The Ghosts of Water Street. His other works include an E-book, Sunsets in Black and White, and his latest book, The Beach, the Street and Everything in Between.
