JOAN MCNERNEY - POEMS

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 has accepted her work.  Her latest title is Having Lunch with the Sky and she has four e-books.  She has been nominated three times for Best of the Net.

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                                        All Fall Down
  
 
Leaves toppling from trees fiery
leaves red yellow green flames. 
Only this remains...smoky ends of days.
 
Days like leaves crumbling, shriveled,
tumbling down, falling to the ground.
Scattered into an acrid mound.
 
An acrid mound of sour roots. Our garden
grew from the wrong side of the moon.
Brackish vines are harvested there.
 
Flowers of despair grew a single fruit.
It tasted bittersweet. My laughter became
harsh.  My eyes grew oblique.                                             
 
I want to curse and cry against this world.
Fine dreams stolen...ragged and torn
like leaves blown in storm.
 
Storm winds strangle treetops, shaking,
foliage pulled from boughs.  Broken
by thunder pummeled through long nights
 
Long nights heavy rains spilling black ink
stains.  There is no solution, another day
done, another piece of the puzzle gone
 
Ashes ashes all fall down
what is lost cannot be found. 
 
 
                                              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.