Matt Mooney. Born in Kilchreest, Loughrea, Co. Galway in 1943, he has lived in Listowel since 1966. His first book of poetry ‘Droving’ was published in 2003 and this was followed in 2010 by Falling Apples’. His third collection ‘Earth to Earth’ was published by The Galway Academic Press in 2015. His poems have appeared in ‘Feasta’, ‘West 47’ , ‘First Cut’ ,The Applicant’, The Kerryman, The Connaught Tribune,Peann agus Pár and The Galway Review.
Out
His sleeping bag his only home
on a bridge in Dublin tonight
seated in a huddle within it
wrapped over his shoulders
like a woman’s shawl
his only company there
the cold flow of passers by
and the cold black river
on the move down below him
on its way to Dublin Bay
waiting there with open arms
like the loved ones for the crowd
in warm homes to welcome them
while they almost step on him
to break the unbroken silence
of his despair gone to the bone
no hope of good times it seems
it’s no place for dreams
but must it always be like this
his hand holding out before him
the often empty cardboard cup
with the signs of our indifference
so I drop in a modest contribution
and think I hear the echo of it
in the hollow of his heart falling in.
The Winter Solstice
A chink of light
is enough to lead
a soul out of darkness.
The winter solstice
with a single ray
from the rising sun
comes through to us
by clever design
through an opening
in the dark chamber
of a stone age tomb,
filling it with gold
no vault could hold
with such hope for us.
The Galway Review 
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