Biography of Matt Mooney
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.
He has read and performed poems in The White House, Limerick, at poetry Slams including Baffle, Cúirt, Writers' Week. His poems have been published in Feasta, West 47, in The Applicant, the First Cut and The Galway Review.
Matt Mooney's Works:
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!
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.
Sliabh Aughty, my own mountain mine, Rhododendroned ridge ever there for me; Fields ascending higher as I go From Ballylee to Loughrea's lake:
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;
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.
Like An Alien
That Sunday afternoon, Out on the verdant lawn On the verge of the wood An alien stood:
Badgers In The Wood
Stopped in our tracks We stood in the wood Seeing her pass before us: She was the badger black and grey
Head Of The Clan
About you Mike I could write a book If I was worthy to put you into words; Yourself could put it better I believe: Death has left us at a loss without you.
Where Hemispheres Meet.
Self-contained in selfdrive cars:
Families, my daughter's and my own
In a blue Focus and a light blue Fiesta,
Driving always in formation-
Our sights were set on Milford Sound.
We stopped at times by chasms.
Stunned by haloed mountain peaks;
Boundless acres of countless sheep.