Joseph Farley edited literary magazines such as Implosion, Axe Factory, Paper Airplane, Poetry Chain Letter, Cynic Book Review and other titles.  He has had over 1300 poems and over 135 stories published in his career to date. His poetry books and chapbooks include Suckers, Longing for the Mother Tongue, Waltz of the Meatballs, Crow of Night, and Her Eyes. His fiction books include a novel, Labor Day, and two story collections For the Birds and Farts and Daydreams.

Nothing Really Worth The Telling

I have nothing to tell say,
But I will tell you
Anyway.

I have lint in my pockets
Instead of coins.

The hair on my head
Is just a memory.

My life has not been
One for the storybooks,

But I did see
A silver fish
Jump once
Through the surface
Of a green pond
And catch a dragonfly
In midair
In its mouth.

Crossing

Rocks in the creek
almost allow
you to cross
with long steps,
or with jumps,
without wetting
your feet.

Not as safe
as a bridge,
but quicker
than building one.

Still, there’s the risk
you will fall in,
your back pack
swept away,
and maybe your life
ended in froth
and stones.

Maybe that’s why
we don’t hike
the extra miles
to the nearest
footbridge.

What would be
the fun in that?
Anyone
can play it safe
and dry.

The nearness
of tragedy
through a slip
or misstep
helps us savor
each element 
of the day.

Even though
the chance 
of injury
may be small,
we know 
it’s there.

The probability
of wet shoes
and socks
is much higher,
and possibly
a cold tomorrow
from frigid water.

We will be brave
in our relative
timidity,
and go forward,
crossing 
with a hop,
a skip,
a jump,
and a plunk.

The Way of It

The world will be what it is,
And I will be what I am,
A part and apart,
A cloud drifting
In a direction
Other than the wind.

The mountains will not tremble.
The cities shall not mourn.
All thing will be
As they should be,
Chaotic and unashamed.