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  Aug 2021 Joanne Heraghty
Miskin
You
Oh my lady
Your hair
enlightens my world
as sun drawing water
Your smile
makes me blessed
as a newborn child
Your eyes
I get lost in the blue of eyes
as depths of ocean
You
keep me from
my darkness
my death part of life
my lostness
-
a tasteless empty word
like numbness of the fingers
like numbness of the tongue
a numbness of heart
and false plastic lungs
-
bland face
bland skin
bland stomach
and bland eyes
-
gleaming
with
wax satisfaction
in a false candle pose
bland
wax candle prose
written
by plain poet hands
-
I am a wax figurine poet
who writes
beautiful
but bland
verses.
Joanne Heraghty May 2021
Ten, nine-eight, seven,
Six-five, four,
Three-two, one.
Hopscotch.
No one questioned.
No one laughed or pouted.
The rain washed away the colours,
And we started again tomorrow.

Seven thirty,
Seven thirty,
Seven thirty,
Seven thirty,
And so on.
We need answers.
We need reasons.
We are stuck in our tomorrows.
Our present fades out fast.

We are locked up in our timers;
Slaves to our master mints.
Our souls are dying,
With nowhere to hide
And no one to seek them.
Time does not stand still.

The chalk was our past time,
The clock is our taker,
And we play ourselves.
04.05.2021
Joanne Heraghty Apr 2021
Is this where it ends?
The pouring of words,
The same as the rain against the window.
Moisture to the grass.
Safely unlatching the gate,
The horses huff in the darkness.
The sky so bare,
But it reminds me of someone else;
Beneath his chin, beneath our dreams.
Is this where we have come?
To my insincerities,
To my lies, disguised as truths.
Half-truths, we will say.
Your arms an honour:
Your doors are opening,
Finally,
But I am locked behind my own.
Is this where the road ends?
Cooped up for too long,
The light has escaped our space;
Casting shade in your eyes
And doubt on me.
With the road that lay ahead, breaking slowly,
Crumbling in slow motion:
So loudly, so harshly.
Is this where we end?
Individual thoughts on the unknown:
Opinions and perspective
The world went upside down when you spoke,
Tossing me off my feet,
The red of my hair the last thing I recall.
An inner voice spoke then:
The clucks and the chatters faded.
Until it all became void.
But this is not the first time,
This will not be the last.
Although, it is the end:
To the vanilla latte air,
To the inconvenience.
The pins on the map are all mine now,
The administration is yours.
I have no more debt,
And the circles never combined anyway.
The sun sets while we look away,
As always,
And then we drift off:
Into the abyss, into our own worlds,
Into individuality.
Until we find our voices,
And start again.
14-5-2020

© All Rights Reserved Joanne Heraghty
Joanne Heraghty Oct 2020
It’s not a secret.
It’s not a superpower.
I will be yours forever.
Falling -

Gently, you whisper.
Dust particles surf the light.
The blue of your eyes;
Oceans.

I felt it only once.
Hip to hip,
One seat for us both:
Sharing.

He can make you marvellous.
He can make you real.
I know because I am,
Now.

The day of love;
The tan and the silk.
I believed you then;
Once.

The person I was is not who I know.
You were always a mystery.
There was no room for me:
Ego.

He asked me once
Why I was around:
These years were mine to hold,
Individually.

A silver van for a golden man.
Two years boxed in.
One too many lies:
Excuses.

Temporary and insignificant:
It all came with the package.
All out of view of the shot,
Hidden.

Did you learn what it was to be a man?
It hit me in the moment,
And, again, since.
Twice.

Respect and sincerity,
Trust and commitment.
Appearance in forms:
Clean.

It applies to us both.
Our souls did not dance.
The sun did not shine,
Often.

The smog skewed my view.
I was an imposter.
I said too much at once:
Insecure.

Sitting there, silent,
I soaked it in.
Few words were spoken but I was released:
Free.
27 Oct 2020

Copyright © All Rights Reserved Joanne Heraghty
Joanne Heraghty Oct 2020
Once, we thought about meadows;
Brushing hands so gently above the tips of the grass.
One might have been offended by the trespass.
Then again, they did not know.

And once we thought about the future:
The stream of light echoing through the cracks.
We did not think of obstacles,
Or circuits, at all.

Too early the years came.
When that excitement became fright.
Those lights dimmed down, low.
The obstacles became barriers.

And at once it rushed through me.
I have to kneel to see it the same way.
We are unable to stand still.
The cracks were closed in.
15/10/2020

Copyright © All Rights Reserved Joanne Heraghty
Joanne Heraghty May 2020
I stand here today:
The mayor of this broken town;
The president you needed;
The one to lead us home.

Except today, you sit.
You do not feel joyous.
You do not believe.
You have fallen, clutching for dear life.

Tomorrow, I think, will be more.
Lustrous I am, at the thought:
Of my own words;
Of my own promises.

Give to you what I plan for me,
Giving back what I did not take.
Tomorrow, you will have more than today,
You will have more than you could ever dream.

Realism was never my strong point.
I stand here full of dreams.
I stand here with less than you need.
But I stand here.

Because yesterday was the worst of all.
Yesterday broke us.
Yesterday took a piece of us with it,
Took more than we can replace.

You sit quietly, teasing the words from my mouth.
It is you I stand here for.
Your soulless eyes waiting,
For me, for more.
18/03/2020

Copyright © All Rights Reserved Joanne Heraghty
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