Who
took away spring
stole all the glory
throwing our gardens of green
into these hills of scorched grass?
Who
dared to care
more about money
destroying everything in sight
forgetting earth is our only home?
Who
is so callous
to laugh at the suffering
of the sick poor yet pretend
to believe in a loving God?
Who
began all these wars
making mothers cry for children
searching for their bodies
in the chaos of destruction?
Who
robbed our hope
and all our wonder
burning heaven with dry
lightning to pierce the sky.
Who
are you
who made
the angels moan?
Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Spectrum, three Bright Spring Press Anthologies and several Kind of A Hurricane Publications. She has been nominated three times for Best of the Net. Poet and Geek recognized her work as their best poem of 2013. Four of her books have been published by fine small literary presses and she has three e-book titles.
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; his publications include
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)
Joan McNearney
Jazz. A Poem by Joan McNerney
the kitchen sits
in fruit soup…
steamed apricot
mango shadow
down thru spinning
smoke into hot light
blink beat
body ends dangle
lead eye skin cement
high on tongue
night pasted among
buildings Styrofoam clouds
moon hung beneath billboard
rolling pass wet
rocked streets
soul tramp
diamond panhandlers watch
paper birds slices of
the daily news drift in air
comes cool ether
whispers up door
climbing dusty corridor
tree windows lapping lisp
door slams again noise again
then none void nothing syncopates
noise again door slams tree bare frozen
caught in the image of 7 candles
within 7 candles flames of air
7 light bulbs growing out of each other
7 silver circles coined from 7 silver rings
clear as blazing sheets
of glass yet
vague as dust
an ice cube on wood table
in front of crushed velvet
-
melt
poured
peeled
when this sky now boiling with
stars is strapped black
in pinched air thru sucked mind
swimming pass spaced time
will be one silent
note up.
Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Spectrum, three Bright Spring Press Anthologies and several Kind of A Hurricane Publications. She has been nominated three times for Best of the Net. Poet and Geek recognized her work as their best poem of 2013. Four of her books have been published by fine small literary presses and she has three e-book titles.
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
robin@artvilla.com
editor@artvilla.com
Key of Mist. Guadalupe Grande.Translated.Amparo Arróspide.Robin Ouzman Hislop
goodreads.com/author/show/Robin Ouzman Hislop
http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm
http://www.amazon.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop
www.lulu.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop
https://www.amazon.com/author/robinouzmanhislop
Methuselah Speaks. A Poem by Joan McNerney
Living in shadows I scarcely stir.
Each motion brings pain with fear
of falling, breaking brittle bones
or bruising my spider web skin.
I see so little. Sunlight blinds my
rheumy eyes. Night dims my world
leaving just vague outlines.
Food is stale, bitter. Thirst savage.
No liquids quench me. My bodily
functions often fail befouling me.
All these years weigh down my soul.
Hearing faded, everything in whispers.
My breath is raspy, without strength.
My mind dull with defeat. I count only
my losses and remember nothing
but the dead. My memory is pain.
I cannot celebrate births. My great
grandchildren died so long ago.
Why must I always wait here?
God, have you forgotten me?
Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Spectrum, three Bright Spring Press Anthologies and several Kind of A Hurricane Publications. She has been nominated three times for Best of the Net. Poet and Geek recognized her work as their best poem of 2013. Four of her books have been published by fine small literary presses and she has three e-book titles.
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
Pursued Poem by Joan McNearney
My dark dreams scatter across asphalt streets. Rain splashes
ebony ink, winds snarling my damp hair. My mind in knots
and snags. Throat dry and raw as I step over cobblestones.
It follows me, this long shadow, waiting to cover me,to encompass me.
Now I am passing a field. My worn shoes sink into moist grounds.
The soil offers up scents of mild vegetation, promises of spring.
Gusts tangle trees and calls from lost trains resound through night.
It follows me, this long shadow, waiting to cover me,to encompass me.
I keep climbing a hill. My mind twisted into knots. How can
I breathe? There is no turning back. White walls meet me head-on.
I feel the rough concrete pressing my fingers as I push in.
It follows me, this long shadow, waiting to cover me,encompass me.
Finally swallowed whole by this black heart of night.
Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Spectrum, three Bright Spring Press Anthologies and several Kind of A Hurricane Publications. She has been nominated three times for Best of the Net. Poet and Geek recognized her work as their best poem of 2013. Four of her books have been published by fine small literary presses and she has three e-book titles.
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
Riding Dark Horse Nightmare(3).Poems.Joan McNerney
(i.)
to prison library
where sewer
backs up flooding
cages of books
my brains are washed
by a short scientist
detectives trail me
arrested by police
giving up to
handcuffs ether
now on train
calendars peel
off cars
1942 1962 1982
2198 1892 1294
passengers screaming
screaming off track
burning 3rd rail
in swamp struggling
to reach green reeds
i am a
fixed target
paper duck
*pull trigger*fire pin*thru barrel*into muzzle*
b u l l e t s h o t
paper duck
mowed down.
***
(ii.)
an executive
showed me in
i, shy
as an orphan
her charming face
thru sewing room
viewing beige cabinets
bolts of silk
tactical prints
her life in threads
swatches impressive
floral
discerning glances
make me hurry
out the rear
but she invited
me only to see
her material things
& feel them
unattainable
all handsome houses
have well guarded gardens
lush chrysanthemums
smothering me
dog-faced.
***
(iii.)
–
“A” train
brassy blue
electric
close eyes
watch points
like stars
think now
how insignificant
compared to train
speaking for itself
stars known
in no language
burn shoot
thru
tiger’s eyes
brain in
constant action
reaction
to what we do not know
plans of distant stars
galaxies floating as
“A” train
silver worm
slides under
big belly
of city
Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Spectrum, three Bright Spring Press Anthologies and several Kind of A Hurricane Publications. She has been nominated three times for Best of the Net. Poet and Geek recognized her work as their best poem of 2013. Four of her books have been published by fine small literary presses and she has three e-book titles.
robin@artvilla.com
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.artvilla.com/plt