Green new leaf fits hand perfectly—the future lies in your palm.
Cool bright delicate. Let me wear it around my neck, this soft splash of rain.
It is the white hour between deep night and soft dawn. Even the wren stares.
Calculating…. a fish leaps to capture bite of heaven.
Today’s work is done. The sun fell from the sky for a bowl of stars.
An outdoor concert. Which is sweeter the flute or bird song in woods?
Joan McNerney’s poetry is found in many literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Poet Warriors, Blueline, and Halcyon Days. Four Bright Hills Press Anthologies, several Poppy Road Review Journals, and numerous Spectrum Publications have accepted her work. She has four Best of the Net nominations.
Mouse scurrying around the house, stops near the site where remnants of a delicious meal are scattered around, to find a slice of meat he saw others enjoying at a dinner table yesterday.
Upon finding his favourite cut, he smells the scent to visualise how welcoming would his other senses feel once he took a bite.
Good food for thought, he would say!
I agree, since you have ingredients to make an omelette, you got the right
to judge my broken egg.
As the darkness rolls in, the karaoke night of mice at my house is in full swing: they snake around a network of hedges, talking in riddles with the disjointed pieces of a tale, that they secretly narrate to their friends to dupe me.
Their slight eye movements trigger the eardrums to look too, for a navigation map that they think has the license to authorize their reckless movements and a drunken state at this hour of the night.
The remnants of a delicious meal make for a lack of a map, and they end up thanking me for a blissful evening – Lilliputians who use ink to blot us down matter too, they finally say.