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Mary Buckley-Clarke Barbara Carpenter Francesca Heaney Phil Knight Dorothy Koenigsberger Joanna Lilley Sylvia Maclagan Daf Richards Ingrid Riley Charley Shaw Judy Stubley Gwynn Watt Carol Wolrich

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101 Poetry Tips Kindle

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101 Poetry Tips (Amazon.co.uk)
101 Poetry Tips (Amazon.com)

THE POETRY OF FRANCESCA HEANEY

Francesca Heaney, Xmas, 2007
Francesca Heaney, Christmas, 2007


THE WATCHER
By FRANCESCA HEANEY


It watches me from its lonely tower
Not interfering, projecting power.

Slowly guiding, never dividing
A trip through life’s heart and mind;
(To which most of us are blind.)

It creates new worlds bringing insight.
Its dark wings unfold,
They shed new light.

I am not afraid
Yet I cower at its might.
( Such awesome power brings awful insight.)

It is called by many names, from the beginning of time:
Uriel, angel, Death, divine.

I close my eyes, its energy is mine
Electrifying and guiding my
Journey through time.


OBLIVION
By FRANCESCA HEANEY

A soldier who marches to a different drum
In great halls that stretch out through time

Like the Flying Dutchman who sails the seas
His road to has no end.

Onward he must travel through time and space
Always looking back, always looking forward.

Gone are the bonds to Earth that hold him to what a man should be.

They were broken ages ago
When the curious wanted to see:
To control the sphere was not meant to be.

His curse - a gift beyond time,
He wanted to connect
He is no longer blind.

He moves forward to help someone
But then he casts them out because he is done.

His is the loneliest existence of all
He abandons love to his inward squall.

This stormy road is traveled toward the end of his life.

Yet a dim light has appeared, looking to the right.
Is it an exit from these hollow halls?

A pale translucent hand extends within his range of seeing
He reaches out for it despite
His pain. By faith and hope he transforms his being.


WHITE LIGHT WHITE NOISE
By FRANCESCA HEANEY

Death lurks all around us straining to be seen
And wailing at our inner souls.

Avoiding death's our wish, our goal.

Still, marking you in darkest hours
Death might court you (bring white flowers).

Please wake me from this depth of night
Alone, I'm seeing death's white light.

First there's a chink, and then some more,
What can I do to slam death's door?

Save me in this depth of night.
Help me to hide from awful light.

White noises too, oh yes indeed,
Death hums to me (a swarm of bees).

The more awake the more I hear
Death's calling me from its white lair.

Still cold arrives now, nothing's left,
I've shut death out. I sigh, then rest.



PANDORA'S BOX
By FRANCESCA HEANEY


In the depths of my heart
I see him standing, tall and dark,
with eyes that pierce the very soul
and beauty beyond all you know.

Come hither and welcome thee
with a trap you cannot see;
bearing fruits from heavens door -
tasted once, you want some more.

With all of green and all of gold;
flowers that you must possess and hold.

But who is the true possessor?
For as you gaze up at the moon,
a realization of the doom;
at home all is good and wholesome,
love and kindness never ending.

Still, you gaze up at the stars.
You're trapped now, it's gone too far.
When Earth and stars collide in space,
they shatter every form of grace.

So do not touch the box!



ENIGMA
By FRANCESCA HEANEY


There are two sides to every person,
Some have three or four.
But this story has just two sides
And probably not more.

The side I will tell you about
Is the side that's locked away.
The one that feels the passion.
The one that sees in gray.

When courage has been needed,
Then courage has been found.
It turns and faces danger
And never loses ground.

It dares to do what others dream,
Yet hides in shadow dark,
For even when dwelling upon mine eyes
You will not see its spark.

But never ever kid yourself
This gift is not so rare.
I see it almost every day;
I look and it is there.


Nightwatch - Drawing By Francesca Heaney
NIGHTWATCH drawing By FRANCESCA HEANEY

NIGHTWATCH
By FRANCESCA HEANEY

On the misty beach they ride, a man and Nightwatch:

Some say this horse does not exist; with mysterious eyes filled with
haze and mist.
Nightwatch is tall, black as the night, and he strides along with potency and might.

They make no "Black Rider", I'll concede;
No, not one of Tolkien's "Ringwraiths" or "Nazgul" indeed!
Their image is the opposite, trusty steed to guide, to lead,
Protecting all the weary and those who've taken flight.
Nightwatch, the mount, is gallant and true,
With vibrant blood flowing, far bluer than blue.
He carries a gift, living power of sight.
Astride him sits his ranger, stalwart, rare, upright,
Someone who is destined to take us safely through.

Now blink your eyes at this image in the mist,
Can you really trust yourself? Is all of this just you?


CRYSTAL SEA
By FRANCESCA HEANEY

Crystal seas sway before me, moonlight, crescents on top of the waves
And dancing sea horses parade before me; beckoning me to come their way.
For long ago when I set sail, I never thought that I would see
The wondrous things that lie before me, strange beings that dwell in the mystical sea.
Slowly now new dawn is beckoning. Night's music seems to ebb away.
Yet I will not despair dear friend, for crystal seas return again.
From dusk to midnight I will be, once more, a-sail on that mystic sea.


 




THE PRISONER
By FRANCESCA HEANEY

This brittle cage I'm trapped inside does not restrain what it hides.
Seeking in my silent soul to destroy, that is its goal.
Then all at once I see the truth buried in impassioned youth.
As lightning bolts reveal, I see truth gathering up new energy.
"Behold the truth." I see its light and do not shrivel at its might
So through these bars I extend my hand; perhaps you'll take it, as I planned.
Come closer now, I'll draw you in to sacrifice you, with a grin.
You've trapped and held me in this cage but you cannot escape my rage.


CAGE
By FRANCESCA HEANEY

My cage has a gilded key and fine gold leaf bars, a pleasure to see.
We should stand back and admire such work. How effortlessly the lock and chain works!
I know this because I built my cage so. Over years of work it began to grow;
And it binds everyone that passes its gate. Once inside you're boxed so! It fixes your fate.
But see a chink! A new ray of light; for all alone I struggle and fight.

These bars are only two by fours. Though from outside you view simply fine golden doors.
Still a chink has appeared on its lower side. SHUSH now! Be quiet; my new task I will hide.

For I alone can bolt, break free to create my own sphere eternally.


ALONE
By FRANCESCA HEANEY

People gather all around. One lone one stands, not sought, not found.
Isolated in her separate world; she calls, but still, she is not heard.
She can taste and feel them, but not touch. The crowd she yearns for is out of reach.
Confounded by her situation (to be surrounded yet alone),
She senses loss, a slow starvation, in all of its gravity and graduation.
So gather round. Imagine what you may. The invisible bubble is her destiny.


REBORN
<Awaken to a dark new light!>
By FRANCESCA HEANEY

A light that opened my eyes to those I’d pitied.
A light that confirmed: I was wasting my time.
I correlated the things they told me,
Things that moved me and changed my mind.

The rose colored glasses that I’d looked through
Failed to bring clarity to mind;
An opaque view had been at the forefront
A view that had left me almost blind.

But now a new vision is emerging.
Strong words of wisdom have come to me,
Changing the figures in my mind's eye,
Bringing me greater clarity.

Those wolves once feasted on my soul,
Robbing me of everything bright.
But now I’m wiser, I can see:
I cast wolves off with all my might.

No wolves will linger at my door,
To feed upon me on cold nights.
No wolves can dominate my thoughts
I’ve walked through darkness towards new light.


HER DANCE
By FRANCESCA HEANEY

Dancing through the palest mists, I see her spin; she’s twirling twists.
Pale moonlight shadows her soft face; she bends and moves with natural grace.
I wonder then, who can she be, this creature who spins so gracefully,
Swift feet that barely touch earth’s floor, leaping, spinning round the moor?

The animals all stop to watch, the timid hares, a curious fox.
They come and gather round to see an elf, a nymph, who can she be?
All at once she stops her dance and spins upon her heels to glance.
I am your muse, she whispers then, your muse forever, your fondest friend.


THE DAMNED
By FRANCESCA HEANEY

They walk among us day by day; to everyone they seem discreet.
But wait! You will see what you may. They’re damned and always hunting prey.
The week of heart, the ill advised, those who are candid but naïve,
These people are prey for the damned to bleed.
Note shattered glass, a twisted picture, the innocent won’t see their scam.
The damned will stalk them, as they can. It is their will to torment man.
Not long ago I spotted one, alone and trudging through the mists.
It climbed the paths on peaks that twist and cast itself among some goats.
Its burning eyes, a nasty hue, were full of hate (It’s sad but true).
You see - to the damned - we seem captive, a zoo.
Should we feel pity for those that are damned?
I think not. They’re oblivious, opaque and unmanned.
I’ll go my way, I’ll turn my back. I hope I can evade their black.


© All work copyright of Francesca Heaney.


FRANCESCA lives in Hatfield, Herts with daughter Simone. Francesca is an animal lover, and she fed many of the feral cats around Gerritsen Beach, when she lived in New York City.


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