Born in Kilchreest, Loughrea, Co. Galway in 1943, he took up a teaching position in Listowel in 1966.
His first book of poetry 'Droving' was launched at Writers' Week, Listowel in 2003.
He read at The Baffle Festival, and the West Cork Literary Festival and in Victoria, Canada. His poem ‘The Instrument’ was read on Radio One by Ciarán Mac Mathúna. ‘Stepping Away’ appeared in West 47.
His second collection of poems 'Falling Apples' was launched at Writers'Week, Listowel in 2010.It's available for purchase on line at Original Writing Ltd, from Kenny's Books on line and from Amazon.
It can be downloaded as an e book as well.
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Matt Mooney Poems
The clearness of a dream I had in bed last night Has dimmed at dawn- I'm awake and looking west,
Goodbyes at the open front door On a Sunday morning in Summer; An aeroplane shines in the sun; At home I can learn about solitude.
Scents of the Summer, incense to his senses, The boy walks barefoot most of the way. By hills of furze bushes above the soft bog, Though ever so slowly the river flows free
Alive By The Lee
A tall man bends low, While there is time, To pick up a lost coin Lying in the bus lane,
I Ask Myself
What’s that? That sound from the wood! Does that bare tree complain a lot? It does not!
Sliabh Aughty, my own mountain mine, Rhododendroned ridge ever there for me; Fields ascending higher as I go From Ballylee to Loughrea's lake:
Cat On The Street
She closes the door as she steps outside At the end of her day's designing; Stooping she greets a cat on the street Whose bushy tail it exceeds him.
High up over nearby Bantry Bay Nails are hammered into wood On the town library roof above us: Maybe staccato accompaniment
A Greater God.
Dark metro tunnel: unending unknown With no bright promise of the breaking day: Not a place for stopping for too long.
An Eye On London
The morning sky has a crest of a moon Sitting up over my window's horizon, Tall conifers compete with chimney stacks, Castle top turrets and white office blocks;
Like An Alien
That Sunday afternoon, Out on the verdant lawn On the verge of the wood An alien stood:
I am the herald of the morning. It was I who kissed your brow;
I see him as the signalman On the unseen tracks of time A family priest for all of us- As we travel down the line.
Quotationsmore quotations »
'''Now it's Nature's turn to suffer,From 'Bleeding', a poem on an environmental disaster which was due to construction work for a wind turbine farm up in the mountain in Derrybrien, Co.G...
All the shame is our's alone'.''
Comments about Matt Mooney
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The clearness of a dream
I had in bed last night
Has dimmed at dawn-
I'm awake and looking west,
Its dialogue in a deep sleep
Now almost vanished
In the wash of awakening.
In the dream, so real I swear,
Into my head as I slept she crept:
As lovely as I left her
At her father's hearth
And said our last goodbyes
To all the years of my unspoken love.
Love's Labour- I began to say,
(Speaking of the title of a play)
But there she stopped me
In my mid line
To finish it herself this time: