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                                                                          Issue 8

   Page 90

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Looking for it

Every day requires a meaning.
Some days it’s as simple
as putting on socks.
Other days it’s a poem
or time with a lover.
Ah, but some days,
as hard as you try,
that meaning cannot be found.

Take a walk. You deserve it,
long, in the woods.
You will find something,
trust me,
perhaps not enough
to live forever,
but plenty
to make you thankful
for surviving this long.

  Joseph Farley__


Raison d'arte

Space is cold and vast and empty.
The here and now is full of moments,
some dull, some crazy,
some that cause fear.

I will pick these flowers
and others more tender,
arrange them into something
you can warm in the sun.

A bouquet for your thoughts.
Bury your face in the scent.
Watch out for your allergies
and the sting of biting things.

  Joseph Farley__

The Art of Lying

The poets lie.
Yes. We’ve known that
for ages.

And not just about the gods.
Heaven forbid if we stopped there.

All the dreams
made while waking.
Fairies dancing in the air.

Do you believe that when you read?
I guess you had to be there.

Joseph Farley__


Puffed Up

It is easy
to make it
sound important.
of line
and breath.
But why pretend
to make it more
than it is?
A tune in the air,
a riff you remember,
not part
of a great song,
a few notes
that linger,
waiting to be
and forgotten

Joseph Farley__

The difference

The damned
sit in coffee shops
staring at laptops.
Only they know
the contents
of their private hells.
The blessed live in bars
filled with music
and dancing,
too high to remember
what they should forget.

  Joseph Farley__


Did Shakespeare Feel This Way?

Every time I tell myself
“no more poetry,”
I get stuck writing it again.
Bad habits die hard.
I should have taken up smoking,
graffiti, random killing.
So many better pastimes
than this one
to help pass the time.

I guess I’m stuck with it,
the monkey on my shoulder
with pen and paper.
If only it would take dictation
instead of just sitting there
eating peanuts,
shoving the tools at me
and yelling in my ear,
“Me and a hundred cousins
could do it better.”

  Joseph Farley__