Joan McNerney’s poetry has been featured in numerous literary magazines and anthologies , including Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Blueline, and Halcyon Days. Three Bright Hills Press Anthologies, Journals, and others..Her latest collection is "Having Lunch with the Sky." She has four Best of the Net nominations.
Fall Equinox
Morning light reveals
silhouettes of branches
against a dove grey sky.
Wearing layers of red, orange,
yellow…trees begin dancing,
sashaying in the wind.
Now it’s time to pick gardens of
bright vegetables. Let’s cook
pots of soup, yeasty breads.
Children come from school
jumping in piles of foliage
shouting with delight.
Countless shades of leaves,
shapes of leaves spreading
over a lingering sunset.
Flying carpets of sugar maple
foliage unfurl across our roads
as frost draws closer.
Amazing how many stars
fit inside my windowpane
when the moon is new.
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.
White Heat
This dry moment,
we lay in sweat beds.
Limp flowers turned
into themselves.
A bottle bursts
filling the sidewalk
with curdled milk.
Throat of bird...
swollen, screaming.
© Joan McNerney
Fall Equinox
Morning light reveals
silhouettes of branches
against a dove grey sky.
Wearing layers of red, orange,
yellow…trees begin dancing,
sashaying in the wind.
Now it’s time to pick gardens of
bright vegetables. Let’s cook
pots of soup, yeasty breads.
Children come from school
jumping in piles of foliage
shouting with delight.
Countless shades of leaves,
shapes of leaves spreading
over a lingering sunset.
Flying carpets of sugar maple
foliage unfurl across our roads
as frost draws closer.
Amazing how many stars
fit inside my windowpane
when the moon is new.
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.
White Heat
This dry moment,
we lay in sweat beds.
Limp flowers turned
into themselves.
A bottle bursts
filling the sidewalk
with curdled milk.
Throat of bird...
swollen, screaming.
© Joan McNerney