May 6, 2024

4 Poems by Joe Farina

4 Poems by Joe Farina

*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,…

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January 29, 2023

“Man Does Not Live By Words Alone”

“Man Does Not Live By Words Alone”

Poetry by Dana Yost Rainbow   Through the window  the sun blew into  a glass of white wine  then refracted into a rainbow  upon the skin of lemon-pepper chicken  as we talked about Nazi death camps  and soldiers killed by sniper fire  in Vietnam. A teacher dead  in the recent derecho.  It was such a peaceful  setting for death, wasn’t it?  The seven of us around the table  and one finally mentioned  amnesty for draft-dodgers,  and no one went berserk,  no one even disagreed.  We shook our heads  at the insanity of war,  at the cruelty of death,  and my classmate  posted photos on Facebook  of herself in hospice,  ready to die from cancer.  “I’ll be here for the end,”  she said from her living room  couch, under a blanket. I looked   for a rainbow but…

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February 14, 2021

Laura Carter – Poems of Sensations and Memories

Laura Carter – Poems of Sensations and Memories

I pull away from the bruise. There is no bruise. It’s been said that language itself is a bruise, a collection of things to be feared. There is no bruise. I put off the pain. The pain returns. The body burns, as if in a fire, largely having been heated in winter by the obsolete feeling of the no. There is no no. I pull away from the no. The no, not having been part of the story, can’t really comment on anything. There are no people. There are people. Someone lights the proper way forward, as if in modernity, and I pull away from that. Why go? Someone on the other side of the ocean would pen a marinade and drink it down for dinner. I eat. There is no food. I see. There is no sight. I put away the bruise. Then, all…

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