JGHeraghty | Poetry

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...

As it is Christmas, I should probably post a Christmas one. It's the most recent poem I've written and considering I was only given a half an hour to write it in one single English class.. It didn't turn out too bad! One thing about me is that I do like to take things into perspective. And, for that reason, in my opinion there are two sides to Christmas .. lights, presents and comfort in lives of luxury in the First World and then, juxtaposing that plain fact, we cease to acknowledge the darkness, poverty, starvation and unsuitable living conditions in which people in the Third World have to endure.. They do not get a Christmas like we do .. Christmas in the Dark Christmas is the time for heartbreaking Trócaire ads, The time when decorations are put up by Dads. Children are told stories of old. Broken souls sit in the cold. Big families arrange for big Christmas meals. Dust cover young, chapped heels. Santa and his reindeer fly across the sky. When yet another h...