Matt Mooney Poems

All on a day around they lay:
Unfinished poems in pieces;
Cups of tea about, half drunk,
Forgotten and turned cold.
...

At four pm waiting your turn,
standing by the ATM;
as if etched on the cut stone
of the Bank of Ireland,
...

Your seven years suit you grandaughter,
Full of fun, racing like a filly unrestrained,
Taking stock of things every now and then.
...

In the still night
I surface
From the dreamy depths;
There is a diesel drone
...

In the grass beneath the noisy rookery
The frightened fledgling crow I found:
He lay there flattened and dimished
By his fall from grace from far above.
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On a night of high wind and of rain
Into my dreaming it silently came
As I lay in my tent by the sea-
A most beautiful swallow to me.
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I’d reached a clearing in the wood
And there I think I met Wordsworth:
As happy as he was by ‘sylvan Wye’
When first I lived within his poems
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Would you say yes and thank you
If I were to cross the floor tonight
And asked you out to dance dear?
‘Well yes I would –I would indeed-
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Red deer at dawn that come our way,
Quick and sleek and nimble, nibbling;
Drifting fog is weaving morning magic
Beyond the ruined castle by the lake.
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Oh God above forgive me
In the middle of this night;
Yet by the power of Heaven
The universe is all but mine.
...