Matt Mooney Poems

Dark metro tunnel: unending unknown
With no bright promise of the breaking day:
Not a place for stopping for too long.
...

That Sunday afternoon,
Out on the verdant lawn
On the verge of the wood
An alien stood:
...

Stopped in our tracks
We stood in the wood
Seeing her pass before us:
She was the badger black and grey
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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.
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I'm up to my eyes in apples,
Lizard like upon the trunk;
Heavy branches to be shaken,
Fishing for the furthest fruit:
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When the light was white from Tilley lamps
And the boat to Holyhead was overladen,
The postman was a sight for pure delight
As casually from his bag he took the letter-
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The merry widow in her home,
So proud of her tidy residence,
Hostess to all who rambled in-
No age barrier or code of entry.
...

Eyes mesmerized by long musical fingers
Reaching out across the centuries’ divide
To draw from the wellsprings of the past,
Divining the pure music that he inherited
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Ceist agam orm féin:
Ó chrann atá lom
Cad é an síor gearán
Sa choill atá láimh liom?
...