Moon Inside. John Buckley McQuaid

MOON INSIDE


There’s a waitress full of cookies
And a keeper of this café
Who’s arranging leather books
Beneath the bar
There’s a baby with his mother 
And he’s screaming bloody murder
Till she feeds him, then it’s baby 
Au revoir


Now it’s nine o’clock in Europe
Just an hour ahead of Greenwich
And we wonder what will happen
When they leave
There’s no telling if tomorrow
Will be permanently damaged
But we’re certain there’ll be lights
On Christmas Eve


Well, we’re scared to death of boredom
And we ask ourselves the question
Will we make it to the end 
Of ’Seventeen?
It’s so hard to tell the difference
From the rightist  to the leftist
With no room for anybody
In between


Mister Hurricane’s been raging
And the Net has gone ballistic
All about the size and shape
Of someone’s shoe
There are windmills in the ocean
There are ships on the horizon
While the moon inside our hearts
Is turning blue

Find music by John Buckly McQuaid Here

About the contributor

Related Articles

At The Brewery Down The Street – K.G. Newman

K G Newman's first two collections of poems, While Dreaming of Diamonds in Wintertime and Selfish Never Get Their Own, are available on Amazon.

Featured Poet Audrey Molloy

Poetry by Audrey Molloy, recipient of the Hennessy Award for Emerging Poetry, the Listowel Writers' Week Award for Irish Poem of the Year and the Aesthetica Creative Writing Award.

Marilena Zackheos Poetry

Marilena Zackheos’ debut poetry collection Carmine Lullabies a little like walking around a familiar room in the dark. The furniture is all there and the same, but the walls and floor are bent and there is a dangerous, insidious, leather-clad voice whispering at you from the shadows.

More Like This

New Poetry- Edward Lee

IN THE DARKNESS THERE IS REST In the wall above every bed I have ever lay upon there is a window so well hidden not even the night can find it, leaving...

Poetry by Sandra Fees

Sandra Fees poetry explores the connections of the self with the immediate and distant environment

Iain Twiddy- Poetry

PRACTICE RUN  I’m looking through a cold bedroom window hedgehogged with condensation at a rose bush pricked with autumn frost, though still glowing red like the sting that...

Time Enough by James Roberts

TIME ENOUGH Any time in the light is time enough these days. The molten ball  inched at first  by inch, rose in...

The Present

Jack Houston was shortlisted for the Basil Bunting and Keats-Shelley Prizes.