Resident Poet Joan McNerney

Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Blueline, and Halcyon Days.  Three Bright Hills Press Anthologies, several Poppy Road Review Journals, and numerous Kind of A Hurricane Press Publications have accepted her work.  Her latest title is Having Lunch with the Sky and she has four Best of the Net nominations. 

Scarves

I want to make scarves from the sky.

Since I'm not much of a seamstress,

here's hoping it won't be too hard.

To start I'll just pick up a fleecy

white cloud to cover my neck.

Maybe create a dove grey scarf

and cut out pale blue ones too. 

Make entire closets full of them.

At sunset I will fashion boas

of bright ruby and tangerine.

If lucky I'll find some rainbow

kaleidoscopes to wrap up in.

My midnight shawl will be long

gleaming ebony covering the

shoulders keeping in warmth.

I will list them on eBay and Craig's,

hang pictures on my Facebook wall.

Imagine, everybody will want them!

Would you like one too?

Better put your order in now.

Trees of Heaven

Those are tough trees

growing in slums.

With no need of rich soil

or pruning, they rise

in abandoned lots.

These are trees that

survive rubbish, rodents

noxious chemicals.

Not  easily cut down, 

they stand against

gaunt tenements.

Climbing skyward,

delicate palm leaves

flourish flowering pods.

Trees of Heaven give

children glimpses of bright

emerald each morning.

Stars play peek-a-boo

between their branches

through long nights.

Who has said a taste of

paradise is only for the rich?

Computer Game

I just click the awesome icon.

My mouse scurries in a manic race

to discover words or match jewels.

Tiles glow…a beaming box of eye candy

to pick and nibble as my score grows.

All the petty slogs and limps of

this withered day are beaten back.

I love my snazzy game name and avatar.

My world sits inside this small square.

I am winning.

   

Haiku Cats – take your pick of the litter


Voyeur

Inquisitive...
the gingersnap cat stares as
I get undressed.
------------------------
Maestro

What does this cat think
strumming his tail with such ease
to fugues of Bach?
-------------------
Shut Eye

Black and white kitten
lying under clothesline in
soft circles of sleep.
-------------------
Street Walker

Calico cat
curving corners
against the cold.
--------------------

Free Throw

A tiger cat with
big green eyes
tosses balls of yarn.

Invitation

Would you like to unwind

an afternoon at the lake?

Solar sparks spilling over us

in showers of golden sizzle.

Put on short shorts, skimpy tops,

stick our toes into oozy mud.

Breezes will shake treetops

while we listen to birdsongs.

Why not float on new grass

facing an Alice blue sky?

Read celestial comic strips

from mounds of clouds.

We can count sunbeams,

chase yellow butterflies.

Devour bowls of cherries

painting our lips crimson.

This noontime is perfumed

with illions of wild flowers.

Let’s go away all day...be

embraced by the goddess.

Imagine

Imagine to be a bird

slicing  air with wings.

Up up over that horizon

soaring through clouds

away from solemn earth.

Shining, shimmering 

far above this sphere

into  clear blue light.

Cutting through sky

gliding over oceans

eyes open all seeing.

Awake all day all night

brushing rushing

against the four winds.

Imagine to be a bird.

Thrift Shop

I descend clutching a

teetering banister to the

bowels of this holy place.

A sign welcomes me to

St. Mary’s Basement Boutique

where scent of unloved

clothing assaults me.

I finger grubby blouses

and skirts hanging limp

week after week unwanted.

Where is it? Hidden beneath

mounds of faded tee shirts?

Where is that swag I will

brag on for months?

At last I uncover something

beyond belief….a mohair sweater

snow white with pastel flowers.

A good fit, my prayer answered.

Retired ladies glance up.

They are volunteers filling

another empty afternoon.

The cashier consults her price list.

“One dollar” she says as I reply with

quick “thanks” fleeing blissfully.

When I get home, my bonanza

is baptized in cool water and suds

now reborn, lustrous and all mine.

Joan McNerney

Virtual Love

A

long

slim

poem

full of hyperbole

& alliteration drifted

into the wrong e-mail box.

There she met an erudite

rich text format file.

They became attached.

Her fleeting metaphors

lifted his technical jargon.

They were a word couple

spinning through cyber space

giddy with inappropriate syllables.

SeaScape  I

Hearing waves from a distance and

feeling sea breezes brush our faces,

it seemed a century before we

came to the ocean.

So blue and bright to our eyes

its rhythm broke chains of

unremarkable days.

Over cool sand we ran and you picked

three perfect shells which fit

inside each other.  Swimming away in

that moving expanse below kiss

of fine spray and splashes.

With clouds cumulus we drifted while

gulls circled the island.  Together we

discovered beds of morning glories

climbing soft dunes.

SeaScape II

Let's dive in ocean hiss swish

riding with blue whales, bluewaves.

Brush of foam and windy ripples

sunbeams chasing quicksilver fish.

Floating through our shining world

fragrant clouds, feathery clouds.

We weave one arm after another

wearing bracelets of salt pearl.

****************************************

Seasons of Love

Spring Tide

Green I wore green

that night when we

danced how we danced

at the picnic during

    spring

lustrous and green.

Rainfalls flooded the

air where we danced.

You left whispering

sweet words

      kissing

my eyes closed.

Sliding under green green

waters slipping sliding

over night

     hiding

in nebulae

turning we dance

finding your hand

how we dance

this endless night.

Last Summer

Golden sunshine spilling

over cathedrals of trees

forest of summer.

Your eyes are oceans of light

beams of light soft beaming

dancing through rivers of memory.

Forest of rivers

drowning in oceans of eyes.

Your eyes when sunset spreads

over sand dunes warm golden.

Stars gliding past heaven

as night explodes in

cathedrals of light.

We bed down together in

forest of memories

your body so strong golden

last summer with you.

Apple Time

Red yellow brown carpets

of crunchy leaves spread

out to welcome you.

You are coming home to aromas

of cinnamon and me.  I've been

waiting so long

to touch you

   feed you

   juicy apples.

Finally you are here.

Red giant stars

growing

our names

glowing

in neons

for eons.

Winter Solstice

Ice blue mountains,

wind swept skies.

There are always these...

And you standing

silent as the sun

burning through

this day.

You are my sun

my heaven on earth.

You bring bright ribbons

handfuls of crystal

to fasten my hair.

Stay with me this

long evening.  I will

hide in your arms away

from ice blue winds.

We will be warm together.

Angel

I want to make an angel

in the snow though I am

old for that sort of thing.

That is something I have

never done.  A woman from

Vermont told me about it.

Nobody made slush angels

in Brooklyn…unheard of…

with no meadows to angel in.

We just threw hard packed

snowballs at each other 

sliding over icy streets.

Now I will take my pick

of snow.  Find a perfect

field of that lush white stuff.

I will lay down on a cool bed

flapping my arms up and down

to make sacred patterns.

Yes, I will angel away

over and over until finally

I fly off to heaven.

Want to wing it with me?

Special Delivery…for Jeanette

I sent my friend this divine

angel enfolded in two

heavenly blue envelopes.

At the post office, federal 

officials assured me my angel 

would not be mangled

by one of those machines.

Postal workers promised to be

careful  because you don’t fool 

with celestials.  They must not be

folded over, stapled or taped up.

It flew so fast to my friend’s house.  

Sailing over the mighty Hudson,

Susquehanna and Delaware Rivers. 

Climbing across the ragged Catskills.

We were both so glad  it arrived 

the next day. Happy to chat on the 

phone since hilly roads become too

icy for gatherings most of the time.

It was not surprising though because 

there is something most everyone 

knows for sure.  As a matter of fact, 

angels do have wings.

Effective Immediately

I want to become an

Ambassador for Rain!

Why the bad image?

Birds love rain. 

Tweeting through

dry spells for water.

They flutter from leaf

to bud for a sip.

It’s super creative…

feeding tree roots, wild flowers.

Without rain…no blessed

blue lakes, rivers, streams.

Open your eyes.  Rain clings 

to window panes, miniature globes

of splendor.  Listen as pitter

pattering skips over rooftops.

Consider your thirst for 

liquid pleasures. Gather up

in green reverie. Dance

barefoot on this emerald earth

joining me in jubilant chorus.

 I Believe in Trees

Those silent citadels

standing against long

nights of wind and cold.

Broken willow bramble

scratches a pale sky after

yesterday’s ice storm.

Each spring small buds

blossom as bugs and

butterflies orbit boughs.

Green new leaf fits

your hand so perfectly.

The future lies in your palm.

Birds reciting litany in woods.

Each rainfall the forest 

grows taller, more verdant.

Summer afternoons…trees

sashay in sunshine showing

off their emerald gowns.

Winds sway maple branches.

Leaves drop like butterflies

falling to the warm earth.

Red yellow brown carpets

of crunchy foliage spread

over roads welcoming us.

Wintry Bouquet

This January

during wide nights

hemmed by blackness,

I remember roses.

Pink yellow red violet

those satin blooms of June.

We must wait five months

before seeing blossoms,

touch their brightness

crush their scent

with fingertips.

Now there are only

ebony pools of winter’s

heavy ink of darkness.

Dipping into memory of

my lips touching petals

tantalizing sweet buds.

My body longs for softness.

I glimpse brilliant faces of

flowers right before me as I

burrow beneath frosty blankets.

Bracing against that long, cold

nocturnal of wind and shadow.

Blue your eyes

Blue your eyes

this edge of snow

in silent sky.

Brown eyes soft

tree bark patterns as

yellow flicks

sparkle in wintry sun.

And now it seems

your eyes are green

green as spruce

turning to grey eyes

glancing across as if

from a mountainside.

Your eyes two violets

hidden beneath frost.

Close your eyes

as sleepless stars

glide through night

in aerial ballet.

Black coal eyes

glowing on fire

red flames leaping

out of eyes burning

blue your eyes.

I Want A Writer's Block

A real writer's block.  After I'm finished

writing, I could run and skip down streets

with all the other writers on the block.

Compare notes, exaggerate and have fun.

Another good one would be a crystal block

on which the great master works are contained.

Stick it in a pocket and read it with my

fingertips.  Why strain my vision?

How about this?  A big block of ice cream

oozing pass throat filled with inspiration.

Or a chocolate block made from creamy images.

I want a writer's block.  Any or all of the above.

Suncakes

Do you know how to make them?

They're supposed to be light

bright and full of vitamin C.

Everyone says you just glow

after eating one.  My friend

had a shining recipe I kept

asking for.  Suncakes stop you

from being cold, lost in avalanches.

I remember something about filling

golden pans with flowers, seeds…

sunflower seeds.   Bake at

high noon, of course.  If only

there were a suncake now to

have with hot cocoa.  My friend

is so lucky wintering in Aruba.

Who gave her that recipe anyway?

I'm the one who's freezing!

Brightly burning star fish...

Do you wonder where you swim?

Wandering sky and ocean flying

floating now near shore line.

Many arms extended tugging

celestial weeds Irish moss.

Grasping glowing orange disc

climbing beds of coral coral.

Do you wonder where you swim

brightly burning star fish?

Joan McNerney

In Flight

A tree waves wooing

birds who fly from branch to branch

looking for a home.

Congregations of wrens

winging off to choral practice

stop at bird feeders first.

An outdoor concert.
Which is sweeter, the flute
or bird song in woods?