Matt Mooney Poems

‘This is your Captain speaking’
The voice ground out with gravity.
I suddenly sat up straight in my seat
To hear what was the calamity!
...

Skylight of pine like a picture frame,
Only eye of my sleepless musing;
What strikes me at this hour of dreams
Is the single star that looks at me
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A refugee that’s me; my country goodbye:
For the fear of a prison gate from you I fly.
So full of hope and looking back no more
I landed safe and sound on Ireland’s shore.
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Dubh Linn -meaning 'black pool'
is Dublin's ancient name.
its streams of man made media
spread worldwide:
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Belonging

Where hill climbing ends
Around the fourth bend,
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In the annals of Cúchulainn’s sons
Appear the names of our ancestors;
Time of Land League, landlords and evictions:
When our Gaelic Games were spawned
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Sliabh Mish in Summer:
Her lows and highs beyond
The fields that lie
Beside Tralee at Boherbee,
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The cypress trees that line the road are tall and trim:
Like sentinels of the forests and the fields
That clothe the Tuscan hills in green and gold.
Past the castle of Gargonza, near Monte San Savino
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Seagulls standing in a windswept field
Look exactly like the way I feel
After leaving London on a Sunday afternoon.
Slowly mile by mile the night comes down
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Thréig mé mo thír mar theifeach
Ar fhaitíos go gcuirfí faoi ghlas mé;
Gan aon fhéachaint siar, go dóchasach,
A bhailigh mé liom go hÉirinn.
...