JGHeraghty | Poetry

Hey guys! Merry Christmas to you all, and I really hope ye all had a great one! I still can't believe 2014 is almost over.. But I won't start ranting on about it again, don't worry. Instead, I just wanted to catch up on a few things I've fallen back on over the past few months. Between the blog, my personal writing, and the life that I keep subtly bringing into context with my blog posts. Firstly, "Metaphoric Ends" was a complete hit, Katherine loved it.. which made me very happy, I might add. :) We generally grow to love the people we can't. But despite the inconvenience, we still love them. Katherine is one of those people.. ♥ Also... I had completely forgotten about this, and I cannot believe I did! Back in November, the President of Ireland, Michael D, Higgins, came to my national school to celebrate a centenary... Considering he too is a poet, as a gift, the organisers put together a collage of poems written by locals. Two of my personal poems

Okay, happy December guys! Wow, I know I keep saying it, but 2014 has gone by way too fast! I mean, here I am, living my final month as a child... before I have to enter the big bad world and face adult responsibilities! .... Enough of that! This post is one I've been looking forward to. I'm not certain why though.. I've attempted to post it each month up until now, but every time it just didn't feel like the appropriate time. Now though, I'm pretty sure it's perfect timing. Before I leave this year, making my New Year's resolutions and entering into a new, better era, I want to make this poem public. It's the one that shows my readers that I was one of those people who did face horrible life situations, with people so stuck up in their own selves to show even the slightest bit of consideration for others, and I overcame them. This poem is based upon the confidence I gained when I realised we are all equal in this world. They don't need me, I d

Happy November guys! Yes, it's time for another, already. I just noticed earlier that the year is flying by so quickly, 2015 is pretty much just around the next corner. It's been a while now since my last post, but I hadn't completely ignored the blog during that time. I have actually been tweaking mediocre things here and there in the meantime. And, while doing so, I've been working up to this post. My next poem was actually inspired by a moment. One so insignificant and meaningless that not even I could really explain where it originated. I was standing at the bus stop talking to a colleague of mine from college (I would say friend, but it's his belief that that term is far too "loose"), Trevor Gilmartin, it was just an ordinary day. When my bus arrived, Trevor went the opposite direction from I, but I had this sudden realisation that, just because we part, it doesn't mean our relationship changes in any way. We'll just see each other again t

I was excited about posting this one. After one of my Game Culture labs during the week, in which we were given the task of playing two terrible games (Spelunky and Super Crate Box, if you're wondering), one of my new found friends, Arturs Timofejevs, asked me if I would write him a four-line poem based on how awful I thought the games were. I honestly thought they were horrible. I mean.. they just weren't my jam anyway! On my way home of the bus that evening, I wrote the poem.. And, incase you're wondering, Arturs loved it! I guess the dedication goes directly to Arturs.. :) Arturs' Game I tried to think of the words that would best describe that game, I sat and wondered why Arturs had not felt the same. Then, I questioned if his “opinion” was simply just an act, Because the game was awfully dreadful, and that's a matter of fact! 7th October 2014

As eager as I was to get to the October post nearing the end of September, it has taken me ages to get around to it. On saying that though, I've been finding it very difficult to think. I didn't know what poem to post, nor did I know what words to say. I mentioned before that I was posting my poems in a sort of parallel way to my life, so while I was on my way home from college the other day, it hit me. My next post is the poem I told you all back in July that I would put up in time to come. This is a follow-on from "Incase You Forget" and, as you know already, does have a dedication. One that has remained anonymous. And forever will, by the looks of things. The poem is obviously about letting someone go, which actually pains me to have to do. Over the past few months I've had to let people go, and I must admit, it was easier than I ever imagined it would have been. It got me thinking about the people that have always been by my side, such as Ultan Pereira, a

Helloo, to whomever cares to read this! I know I've been updating the site on an abnormal basis, not keeping tabs on the distance between each post. But, it's okay because despite how irregular the timing, I have made sure to keep my posts parallel, if I may admit, with the life that I am leading. Or, in better English, my life as it is momentarily. I realise that I've made quite an odd move by going to college and studying something more on the mathematical side of business. Which is slightly contradictary toward my love for English and using that particular side of my brain. If there's anything I've learned over the past year, it's that sometimes, the unplanned moments of your life are the best moments of your life. And, I realise that if you are just checking out the site and seeing what it's all about, (or, perhaps, what I'm all about) you may think that to be a bit soppy and just leave it right there. Close the tab at the top of your page and

Now for my September post, the Summer flew away so quickly that I managed to end up here, the day before I start college. Can you believe it, college? For this one, I'm posting my latest poem, which I wrote only days ago. What's funny about the poem is that, moments before I wrote it at about four in the morning, I had begun to write a "Joanne Here" post in which I was going to tell you all about how I had run out of ideas as to what to base a poem upon. I felt completely neutral. I had no ideas, no thoughts, no emotions. Absolutely nothing. And what's more, is that I felt completely powerless.. which is such a helpless feeling, might I add. (Never go to bed angry!!) I just want to get this poem posted and out there, so that I can both come to terms with the truth behind it, and forget it. Acception is vital for this one! I'm basically hoping that, by posting the poem, and getting it out of the way, I will never again have to experience the feelings that

Would you believe it, August is here already .. Which means that it's about time I got to my next post! I decided to go with something from my more recent additions to the collection. I decided to use the most simplistic of language for this one, which I personally thought would evoke a childish nature to the poem and its subject matter. Basically, I believe this childish language would help the reader to understand the message that is being relayed in the poem. Children's imaginations run wild, which is a common expression. But what about teenagers? Or, even, adults? Are they not to believe in monsters just because they have grown up and should know better? In my opinion, those who convince themselves that monsters are non-existent are experiencing a state of denial. Recently, I have grown to feel like a monster is looking over my shoulder and watching my every move. It's difficult to understand, even for me, but it's true. So I attempted to put my situation into a

This one is a little different to the rest. Most poets write about the person they, publicly or privately , love . I never, in all honesty, thought I would become one of those type of poets. Everyone has their own unique ways of expressing themselves , which is something that Caroline has kindly explained to me recently. For me, it's through poetry. I know it's normal for people to love others, and well, naturally the love that they feel is shown to the world by their own method of expression . In truth, if I had actually tried to put into words the love that I felt for the person on which this poem is based, it would never have worked out. I would sit, and think, and think.. But nothing would come. The words for this one fell together, when I let my mind wander to where it wished to go. A dedication does exist, but I don't intend to make it public unless it's at the request of the dedicatee . Additionally, things change and people change. That much I have come

Hello to who it may interest.. For a short time the site will be under maintenance, but don't worry, it won't effect those who visit the page. What it will do, however, is evoke questions such as "what is up with this one and her disordered fonts?" and all that.. It will look a tad odd, but only for a short time until I fix things up. Secondly, besides answering a question no one has asked yet.. I'll answer questions I have been asked, like "Joanne, do you actually still take the time to write poetry anymore?", or, "with the Leaving Cert, and all, where do you get the time to write extra..?" Firstly, I do still take the time to write, because I love writing. I could never just stop.. And secondly, like a dancer likes to practice dance moves and a footballer likes to practice skills, I like to practice my writing.. So, I dont see it as extra.. More like a hobby :) My favourite question was "Joanne, why do I have to wait until next mon

So.. I was walking up the road to my house a few days ago and the thought struck me. What if there is someone, just like me, who is as unrealistically keen about hearing about competition results as me. Who won? That's the question, buzzing around in my head when the result is due, any day, to the competition I have entered. So for those who are interested in the answer to "who won the Yeats' Poetry competition of 2014" for young people? which, unfortunately, cannot be found out from the internet (until now), it was me. Yes, for the second year in a row. I understand that makes me look a tad greedy and I almost feel guilty for not giving others, with the same talent, the chance to win, but I could never be happier. This year we were assigned the task of responding to Yeats' "An Irish Airman Foresees His Death." For the competition, the candidate had to take the perspective of a soldier and respond to the story of the poem. I thought, at first, that

This one's a little unusual. Ends are pretty sad, most of the time, but as I come to the end of my school years, I decided that I should close up all the loose ends. It was funny, considering I'm beginning my actual Leaving Certificate examinations tomorrow morning, to find a piece of work like this. I scanned through my personal account on the school computer a few months ago, and I moved everything off of the account and onto my USB key. It was brilliant to find a poem I had written in first year. My English teacher assigned the class the task of writing a poem for poetry day in 2010 . We had to work in pairs. I worked with a guy in my year called Darrell Leydon . As well as it being my first poem to co-author , it was my actual first poem to ever write . It's a little amateur , but hey, we all got to start somewhere, right? I didn't make ANY changes to the wording, or the punctuation... I'm posting it as it was written! A Sunny Day It was the middle of may

I've made it pretty clear that I haven't been posting my poems in the same order that they have been written. Only recently I have dug back out one of my favourite poems that was not just written by me, but with a good old friend of mine. As I said before, co-authoring poetry brings out a funner side to the actual writing of the piece and creates a sort of background story. For this one, it's clear that this fellow and myself are quite the pair of lunatics! The poem was written with Kieren Massie , on the 3rd of August 2011 , the best summer of my life so far, may I add. Thanks to all for that, by the way! :) Here it is... I just called it "Random Poem" .. (if you have a better name for it, drop me a little comment). Random Poem J oyful is the sound of the air. O ver in the distance bunnies stare. A ll around me it's Autumn space. N eat and tidy I tie my lace. N ot only me but everyone. E nemies gone, yet I'm not alone. G lorious sunshine sha

I wrote this during a free class in school. Despite distractions from those so keen to read it, I managed to piece together what I would refer to as a simplistic poem based on the deepest, and most precious thoughts in my mind. This one is dedicated to Caroline , my big sister. It's very unlike sisters to be as close as we are, so this one's for you. I hope you like it. All of Our Old Walls The time went by too quickly, And we're all grown up now. Our lives have become different: But, at least, we know more how's. How to distinguish right from wrong; And venture through life's song, In a bigger world than the one between All of our old walls. As the clouds roll past on the table, And the words don't spill from my head. I remember all the days we spent together And every single word you ever said. I wonder at times, do you think of me? And our childhood as it's gone? To whisper softly in nostalgia, And, then, continue to go on. I hope yo

I wrote this poem out of boredem. Honestly, I believed it was nothing more than sentences with no meaning.. Yet when I reviewed the poem, I realised it actually came from the centre of me. It may provoke a sense of a political nature, but despite my Irishness; I have no interest in politics or the government. Instead, the poem is about Sligo. In Irish, Sligo (Sligeach) means 'Shelly Place' , so that's where I got the name. It worked pretty well with the body of the poem, I believe. It's not my best one, but I'll let you be the judge of that. Shelly Place Too big to call it yours, Too small to compete. Not the wisdom from your mouth, Or the knowledge in your feet. Never yours nor never mine. Ours, together. The stones that had sat, old. The water's depth surround. It wasn't fame that we did need, Just organics on the ground. See, we are all the one, A family, you might say. Sheltered from the sun, but skies are never grey. The Shelly Pla

I don't have much to say about this poem. I wrote it during the aftermath of hearing word of the devastating story that NASA publicly released on Thursday 6th of February 2014 . It takes an open mind to believe the story of the poem, but the horrific truth is that it is reality. I don't have any dedications for this one, of course. But I would like to add, I was devastated ... Andromeda's Star The horror that emerges from the tip of his tongue; Devastation: before our humanity had even begun. When prehistoric tigers roamed Pangaea still A civilization of intelligence, at their will; To meet a certain apocalyptic fate 80,000 years on, we were too late. A planet condemned to failure at once. Andromeda’s stars: awaiting a response. Too long to reveal the answers Kulakov neared; An intergalactic cry for help remained unheard. Devastation: igniting a world in one. Now, just a ball of fire. A doom upon. Never to know the fear they endured.. A lifetime already

I'm not completely sure why I wrote this one, or when I wrote it. It was just one of those experimental type of poems. I tried to capture an image or a meaningful moment , and metaphoricalise the meaning as something more than just a moment, or memory, but a lifetime experience. Of course, it's not based on an experience I encountered, which is why I called it experimental . I can safely say, I still don't know how to cycle! 'Childhood' is commonly used as a metonymy of one of these experiences. When you revisit that day you first learned to cycle, the first thing that sits in your mind is 'childhood.' For that reason, I believe the title is well suited to the poem. Childhood From the door shut, You've known my name. Walk the path, You did the same. Grab the moment and start our bond Teach me now, forever fond. Hitch me up and come along Arm around arm, Our balance strong. Start over the road into the fast, The speed I'll go, is how far

Uniquely, this poem isn't based on anything or anyone in particular. It's just one of those poems people write out of the blue really. I originally wrote it for a poetry day in my second year of secondary school. Unfortunately, I temporarily lost the poem and had to write another one to submit to the event. It's not all bad though, I found it a few days later and have had it ever since. It may remind you of 'Little by Little' , written by an anonymous poet . It was based on self-development and the cycle of life, you could say. It's been my favourite poem since a very young age.. so I suppose that's my inspiration for this one. Make what you want of it! Your Tree From the dig of our bonds' birth.. The soil on the ground, On the dirt. The smell of Autumn air, Known friends would no longer stare. Although, through seasons children play, The Autumn days would still stay. Bringing please and love among our game. Leaving all memories within a fr

When studying the likes of Emily Dickinson or Sylvia Plath's poetry, one thing that could be easily identified in their sentences was the problem. They were sad inside, about what though? Inadequacy? Unrequited love? Fear of total neutrality? It's amazing how some one's pain makes them famous if they find the right words to explain it to the world. So that's where I got my idea. I faced a horrible situation in my life that really did have a major impact on everything that I lived to know: the loss of a very close friend. Friendship is one of the most beautiful things in life, in my opinion. It's a bond that can exist between two completely different people with completely separate norms and cultures, coming from completely different places in society. But the deterioration of a friendship is one of the most difficult things that a person, no matter what age they are, has to endure. Dedications do exist, but I do not intend to make them public. And when the day d