Matt Mooney Poems

By the last rays of the winter sun
I seem to smell the signs of Spring.
Those ewes we'd bring
Into the shelter of this lofty barn:
...

This year's maize turns green to yellow,
Ripening by the hour in Healy's fields:
Corn with a continental look,
Growing near the grotto in Killocrim;
...

Sonny O'Dee, our master's mate,
Closed the gate and lifted the latch
Of the door painted in national green
After he tied up his jennet outside.
...

I can see afar those flowing fields
Sloping down from old stone walls
To that deep and embedded dip-
Cupping the presence of the pond
...

My wife is in Malta.
Egypt has erupted
In a bloodless coup.
Quake in Christchurch
...

Bend down and gather up neat swathes of corn,
Follow on the man with the scythe in the morn;
Binding every sheaf tight with a band of its own
And remembering the spring when it was sown:
...

On the edge of Ireland
Feeling safe at sunset
As we shiver for Japan
In chaos and in terror:
...

To start a two way conversation
One only needs a little initiation
For we all love communication.
...

Far away, over the ocean wide,
Beyond by far the dim horizon,
Little blue waves wash inland;
Caressing the golden sands,
...

Seated at the entrance to an alley,
A music man on a shopping mall
Played his own plaintive melody
On a fine tuned Romanian fiddle
...