Poetry: David Francis

David Francis has produced six music albums, one of poetry, "Always/Far," a chapbook of lyrics and drawings, and "Poems from Argentina" (Kelsay Books).
He has written and directed the films "Village Folksinger" (2013) and "Memory Journey" (2018).  His poems and short stories have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies.

Heart Song

She turned so soft and so weak
like a feather, fallen,
with a pulse, so to speak,
as when we were together
but floating from that peak


My thoughts are racing
like the shadows of birds
through the light on the facades

The texture of my mind
so brilliantly at odds
with the light on the facades

Interrupted sleep
cuts me like glass shards
from the light on the facades


Beautiful faces
meant for a moment
they look at you, and mean to look
at you too

Old men squinting
with eyes seeming not to see
how many have you seen
have you been blinded

Some pretending, some candid
as brief as a skunk stink
or a rose petal scent
they strike and leave you


when will I meet someone?

you know I met someone
but that was long ago

the chinks through the trees
the street-lit road

faint chimes from off a porch
on the roofs a faint blue-glow

the window unit hums
on the broad side of sleep

the garden is so still
and then the night birds sing

with shadow-softened shores
an alley seems to flow

among the telephone wires
only a few stars show

my question is walked off.

Blessed Night

The waitress knows I’m waiting
for someone
so she leaves me alone.
I asked for the phone
and I said: ‘The waitress
told me I could use the phone,’
and grudgingly the manager
pointed: after, sat
staring me down.
Now I watch my reflection
in the front window glass,
hardly noticing the cars.
I’m waiting for my emotions
to calm down
so I can sleep
until the morning
with a queasy stomach
and a useless brain.
I don’t care what shape
I’m in tomorrow
as long as I can love
for one minute!
Did she say Yes? She did.
There’s a strange aura
in the restaurant:
there’s a light in my eyes.
Can everyone see it? I can.
I live with this secret
that keeps me alive.

Now it’s for the night
to drag on to its denouement
like a passionate story.
I heard a voice
that moved me to this:
and the deserted night
is full somehow.

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