Donal Mahoney

Donal Mahoney Poems

1. Recycle Them -new- 9/24/2016
2. Barber In A Country Town 2/11/2016
3. Big Bang For Little Billy 2/12/2016
4. A Matter Of Beans 2/13/2016
5. Insect In Jeopardy 2/15/2016
6. Mourning Doves 2/15/2016
7. Nature In The City 2/16/2016
8. Deer Season 2/22/2016
9. Evangelizing Each Other 2/24/2016
10. After A Snow 2/25/2016
11. I Traded Ethel For Tiffany 2/25/2016
12. A Whopper Of A Snow 2/25/2016
13. Cobra's Wife 2/26/2016
14. Robin Hood And Nero 2/27/2016
15. A Puzzling Marriage 2/28/2016
16. Answering Machine 2/28/2016
17. Absentee Ballot 7/18/2016
18. Black And White 7/23/2016
19. A Small Price To Pay 7/23/2016
20. A Haircut For The Yard 7/23/2016
21. Allowances Can Be Made 7/24/2016
22. After He Found The Right One 7/24/2016
23. A World Too Dark Too Often 7/24/2016
24. Arizona Here She Comes 7/24/2016
25. We Common Folk Must Decide 7/28/2016
26. I Know It When I See It 7/28/2016
27. A Different Era 6/12/2016
28. A Man Of The People 6/12/2016
29. A Gorilla And Child 6/12/2016
30. An Entrée At An Autopsy 6/12/2016
31. High School In The Fifties 6/16/2016
32. A Butterscotch Pie Will Do It 6/16/2016
33. As Hunger Reigns 6/16/2016
34. Aftermath Of Orlando 6/16/2016
35. Potato Salad Fundamentalists 6/17/2016
36. Daily Paper On The Lawn 6/18/2016
37. A New Etiquette 6/19/2016
38. House For Sale In Shady Acres 6/20/2016
39. A Nuclear Childhood 6/20/2016
40. Flexible About Meetings 6/21/2016
Best Poem of Donal Mahoney


In the waiting room, I squeeze
this old rosary a nun gave me
the day I got back from Iraq.

I was still in a daze on a gurney
and I still had sand in my hair.
Some of it remains, no matter

how many showers I take.
Sand from Iraq lingers, I'm told,
until you go bald, and then

you are able to concentrate
on other things.
What might they be, I wonder.

But today, in this waiting room,
I squeeze the rosary tighter
when I hear, louder than

the gunshots crackling in my dreams,
the real screams of that little boy
right ...

Read the full of Ptsd

'Doubting Thomas'

For years I've fed this feral cat at 4 a.m.,
a crouching mound of fur, Satanic black, with yellow eyes
that never blink. I call him 'Doubting Thomas.'

I place his can of Fancy Feast five feet or so from him.
He doesn't stir till I go in the house
and douse the porch light.

Then he leaps and cleans the can

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