Four Poems by Arthur Turfa

 

O, not these sounds! Strike more pleasing chords!

 

The singer yearns for pleasant melodies 

to lift her voice above all other sounds. 

From every side though come demands to 

sing in other ways. Harsh discordant sounds 

emerge along with entreaties to sing 

what others have sung already for years. 

Sometimes the cacophony appears to 

silence her voice. Yet if it did, the stones 

themselves would cry over the confusion. 

Sing then, the song given to you. Listen 

for the melody that matches your voice. 

Keep singing in every direction, 

let the wind carry the words far and wide 

Until you hear the music in reply. 

 

 

The Call I Should Have Made 

 

No revolt of a body’s provinces, 

as Auden’s elegy to Yeats described. 

 

Rather a sudden onslaught on Labour 

Day afternoon overpowered her. On 

 

Facebook her sister’s laconic statement 

stunned all. Only a few days ago I  

 

made a mental note to call her again. 

During the pandemic she reached out to 

 

me after so long. Over the decades 

we evolved into other people than 

 

what either thought we would become: pleasant 

surprise for both of us actually. 

 

Sometimes surrendering the vision of 

whom we expect someone to be frees us. 

 

Gone a month shy of her three-score and ten; 

I grieve and wonder whom I should call next. 

 

 

An Iranian Woman Wishes for Better Days 

 

Once I walked along boulevards, my hair 

cascading gently over my shoulders, 

 

feeling freer than in my native land. 

Now sirens pierce the air while young people 

 

vanish yet more take to the streets daily. 

All I want is a soft wind to blow my  

 

hair in every direction and the sun 

to warm my face while I gaze upon you. 

 

 

Lunch with Charlie Battery

 

Sometimes we were in that close-to-Canada 

coolness, or in sweltering Southern heat, 

 

rarely close to home at the other end 

of those long low mountains, slashing the 

 

Commonwealth at a 45-degree angle. 

At noon I usually drove to Charlie, 

 

let my driver chill, and instead of MREs 

enjoy some brats for German Day or some 

 

field-cooked goulash for Hungarian Day. 

Then I swapped tales with the Feher brothers 

 

about being second-generation  

Magyars and our grandparents’ memories. 

 

With luck we savoured the final morsels 

before a fire mission was called and 

 

frantic activity followed before 

the M109 howitzers came alive, 

 

Shattering the sky, sending steel down range 

camouflaged dragons issuing gunpowder-scented smoke.

 

 

 

 

Arthur Turfa is a Lexington, SC-based poet/writer and is active in the South Carolina Writers Association. His poems have appeared in The Petigru Review, and The Lothlorien Poetry Journal; one was in the Top Ten for the 2019 Poetry Prize of The Pangolin Review, as well as in other publications. His most recent poetry collection is Saluda Reflections from Finishing Line Press, © 2018. The Botleys of Beaumont County on Blurb, © 2021, is his first novel. A Day in the Life of an Adjunct Instructor, a short story, appeared in the November 2022 edition of the Lit eZine, Volume 1. His first short story collection, Epiphanies, was released by Alien Buddha Press in March of 2024. More of his writing will appear soon in several publications.