Poems by Joseph Farley

here and gone

the ground shook and fires burned.

the sea rose up and took away

our houses, our cars, our children.

there is no need now

to ever rebuild in stone or steel.

a hut of grass and bamboo

on the side of a mountain

is all that is needed,

the small cell of a hermit priest,

until the rains come

and soak the hills

and these new riches

begin to slide away.

Her Eyes

in her eyes are mysteries

more wondrous than supernovas.

in her eyes are pools

filled with the bones

of the sacrificial dead.

in her eyes are

the long silence

between distant stars.

In her eyes there is

no present, no future, no past,

fire and cold,

and unspeakable knowledge.

those eyes, those eyes

I cannot stop looking at

wait for her gravity

to devour me

and spit me out.

Sunken Thoughts

Ocean, dark, unquiet sea,

rolls and rolls eternally.

What sad ships have sunk below

seeking succor in ports unknown?

Far, far must one gaze

in search of masts from yesterday.

What treasures may they bring,

what hidden secret things

should they ever return

from deeps and distances

where they have been?

Give Me The Opiate

The devil dances,

the devil sings,

the devil woos us

with many things,

and yet all he sells

and all he shows

seems so little

to one who knows

the smallest fact

or the smallest hope

of faith or love

or heavenly dope.

Red-Headed Woodpecker

The lilac tree is passed its prime,

but survives in the garden

half-choked by vines.

Dead branches scratch our heads

when we pass through the yard gate,

but we dare not cut them down

lest we chase off our red headed friend

who visits each morning at dawn

and drills holes that perforate the wood

making the branch look like a sieve.

Many times I have seen our friend.

Many more times I have heard

him hammering beak through bark

to feed on hidden grubs.

Sometime I have confused his sound

when I am still half asleep

with the jack hammers and back hoes

repaving Theodore Roosevelt Boulevard,

but when I realize the source of the noise

I can roll back to pleasant dreams

and know the worker by my window

is adhering to a blueprint

Bio: Joseph Farley edited Axe Factory for 24 years. His books and chapbooks include Suckers, For the Birds, Longing for the Mother Tongue, and Waltz of the Meatballs.

far older than any highway.

PS - If you are a fan of Michael McClure's Meat Science Essays, you might want to check out my chapbook Waltz of the Meatballs at 

booksonblog7.blogspot.com/