Matt Mooney. Born in Kilchreest, Co. Galway. Living in Listowel. His collection ‘Droving’ was published in 2003 and ‘Falling Apples’ in 2010. His poems have appeared in ‘Feasta’, ‘West 47′ , ‘First Cut’ ,The Applicant’, The Galway Review. Ranked in top 30 in Poemhunter contest.
One, the embodiment of youth and beauty,
Vying with perfection for something greater:
My low lying star.
The other, a woman,
The hidden hand of God holding me firmly
In my fallibility.
Sun rays through rain clouds
A lone mountain peak
From among its peers
And enshrines it
On the road to Dingle.
He was in a boreen, off a boreen-
The house was at the end of that;
He kept a dog -good for barking,
A donkey; but never kept a cat;
He fed a fattening pig each year,
Kept every Irish Press he read-
At least that’s what I used to hear;
It was said he put them in the shed.
The times I’d see smoke ascending,
Over the fields and walls I’d call
To him, by stone steps descending;
Hedges high, slated house so small;
Standing at the only door it had,
Talking until the clock struck ten;
Come September he’d be glad-
It was Lisdoonvarna time for him.