Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Poetry By Joan McNerney

Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Camel Saloon, Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Halcyon Days.  Her work has been included in many Bright Hills Press , Kind of A Hurricane Press and Poppy Road Review anthologies and has been nominated four times for Best of the Net.  


Sneaks under shadows lurking
in corners ready to rear its head
folded in neat lab reports charting
white blood cells over edge running wild.

Or hiding along icy roads when
day ends with sea gulls squalling
through steel grey skies.

Brake belts wheeze and whine
snapping apart careening us
against the long cold night.

Official white envelopes stuffed with
subpoenas wait at the mailbox.
Memories of hot words burning
razor blades slash across our faces.

Fires leap from rooms where twisted
wires dance like miniature skeletons.
We stand apart inhaling this mean
air choking on our own breath. 

Eleventh Hour

Wrapped in darkness we can
no longer deceive ourselves. 
Our smiling masks float away.
We snake here, there
from one side to another. 
How many times do we rip off 
blankets only to claw more on?

Listening to zzzzzz of traffic,
mumble of freight trains, fog horns.
Listening to wheezing,
feeling muscles throb.
How can we find comfort?

Say same word over and over
again again falling falling to sleep.
I will stop measuring what was lost.
I will become brave.

Let slumber come covering me.
Let my mouth droop, fingers tingle.
Wishing something cool…soft…sweet.
Now I will curl like a fetus
gathering into myself
hoping to awake new born. 

suicide sneaks 

thru blue bedroom, a chair
falls across bedspread
spins along random floor
i wander up wall hang
suspended from light bulb 

phone rings we speak into
plastic wire did you know
how dizzy i am i am i am
in bathroom blushing curtains
razor blades near sink

polishing landlady's
scarred furniture vanity
table cut in my arm
how white!

ahhh furnishedbluebedrooms
insides of existentialessays
something hiding important
under coils in back of brain
only this makes me happy
insects busy night&day
i hear them.

dividing mind 

no particular
passing sculptured gardens,
graveyards, women in long
veils of mourning/morning
black everything still still still
(except for children who skip while
clutching doubleheaded iccreamcones)

                         no particular
clock stares at 12 which
was yesterday or could be
tomorrow but might as well
be today … why talk against time?

                         no particular
automobile driving thru
longwhiteline of hi way
dividing mind into
distinct red boxes
cat e gories
automobile driving to
any anonymous
beyond graveyards
gardens morning veils


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