"maloney" poems
161 to 180 of 3251 Poets
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Margaret Kaufman
Photo, Brownie Troop, St. Louis, 1949
Deborah Warren
Marginalia
Regan Huff
Occurrence on Washburn Avenue
Anne Marie Macari
From the Plane
Gerald Fleming
There are no poems by this poet on our website.
Sebastian Matthews
Barbershop Quartet, East Village Grille
Charles Harper Webb
The Animals are Leaving
Zozan Hawez
Self-Portrait
Jose Angel Araguz
Gloves
Russell Libby (1956–2012)
Applied Geometry
Robert Haight
How Is It That the Snow
Early October Snow
Dan Lechay
Ghost Villanelle
James P. Lenfestey
Daughter
Robert Hedin (b. 1949)
The Old Liberators
My Mother's Hats
John Maloney
After Work
Kaelum Poulson
The Crow
Stuart Kestenbaum
Prayer for the Dead
Emmett Tenorio Melendez
My name came from . . .
Gary Dop
Father, Child, Water
On Swearing
Berwyn Moore
Driving to Camp Lend-A-Hand
«78910»
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Rose Maloney sits in her chair
The room is dim
The floor is bare
And life for her is very grim.
Rose takes in sewing
It helps to pay the bills
Though it pays almost nothing
For her meagre skills.
Her children are playing in the yard
Not knowing their fate
Times for Rose are very hard
And the rent man won't wait.
Rose lost her husband, he drowned at sea
And she wishes he'd walk through the door
Tommy the youngest he's only three
There's Lizzie at six, and Billy at four.
A bowl of soup, a crust of bread
Their little faces washed clean
Then up the stairs off to bed
None of them too keen.
The rent man's waiting for his money
As Rose sells her husbands clothes
She knows life won't be milk and honey
So Rose Maloney sits and sews and sews..
© Hazel
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
Family Secret
An Ice-cream man, with an Ice-cream van
His melodic chimes seem magical and enchanting
the heat waves, a major summer killer
Little children with happy faces make biblical verses
Jump off the pages and come alive
Block to blocks, street to streets
laughter could be heard for miles
There he was sitting on the old stoop
A little freckle face boy.
with eyes of a deep, dark blue
Waiting for God to answer his pray
Poor, little Vincent Maloney
He remember his grandmother harsh words
"Wipe your tears away, and pray in silent
Young Vincent Maloney"
“I pity your mother and I pity her choices,
and most all I pity her
For eloping with the colored man
Barbara Coleman husband
Wipe your nose, and weep no more
Your daddy ain't your daddy
But your daddy doesn’t know
.
Race is not a determinable concept my child.
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
The Celtic Cross at Île Grosse
by Michael R. Burch
“I actually visited the island and walked across those mass graves [of 30,000 Irish men, women and children], and I played a little tune on me whistle. I found it very peaceful, and there was relief there.” – Paddy Maloney of The Chieftans
There was relief there,
and release,
on Île Grosse
in the spreading gorse
and the cry of the wild geese . . .
There was relief there,
without remorse
when the tin whistle lifted its voice
in a tune of artless grief,
piping achingly high and longingly of an island veiled in myth.
And the Celtic cross that stands here tells us, not of their grief,
but of their faith and belief—
like the last soft breath of evening lifting a fallen leaf.
When ravenous famine set all her demons loose,
driving men to the seas like lemmings,
they sought here the clemency of a better life, or death,
and their belief in God gave them hope, a sense of peace.
These were proud men with only their lives to owe,
who sought the liberation of a strange new land.
Now they lie here, ragged row on ragged row,
with only the shadows of their loved ones close at hand.
And each cross, their ancient burden and their glory,
reflects the death of sunlight on their story.
And their tale is sad—but, O, their faith was grand!
Keywords/Tags: Ile Grosse, Celtic, Cross, faith, belief, grief, Ireland, potato, famine
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 2:46 AM UTC
it is a cold january night.
I push into the bar. "Beach Night".
Ed Maloney has hauled in
3 hundred pounds of sand...
2 drunks kneel in it
sculping crooked sandcastles
that sag the moment their born.
bob's girlfriend howls along with
Werewolves of London,
her voice cracking, the kind of sound
that makes the patrons
check for exit signs.
bob sprays tequila from his mouth
across a lit match---
napkins bloom into tiny raging suns.
Crazy George swings
from the wagon wheel light.
Ed Maloney shouts, "George, WHAT THE F**K,"
leaps, grabs the other side---
the whole thing comes down
in a crash of wood, sand, bodies,
the bar exploding into smoke, laughter,
and the kind of joy
that never survives the morning.
it's the one bar he couldn't get thrown out of.
he owned it.
Ed had stolen thousands of dollars
from the company
(rumor said CIA).
the company
paid him 100 thousand dollars
just to explain how.
"how did you do it?" I asked.
he looked past me into a dark corner
like something was whispering back.
"Ghosting the Darkling," he said.
some men burn through their days
faster than time can count them
like the quick flare
of a match struck in a dark room
and Ed Maloney was the flash of gold on a river
before the current swallows it.
*** *** ***
ed maloney, a genius, is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are
Absolutely True...
(that's my story,
anyway...)
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 4:05 PM UTC
A geneticist named Maloney
Crossed crocodile with abalone.
He thought, for a while,
He'd get an abadile,
But instead got a croc' abaloney.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 9:47 PM UTC
No one ever told me getting high outta my mind till 9 meant that I wasn’t acting fine
Numbing out the pain I can’t remember my name or the numbers we gave
Addicted to the PTSD and the tests you had me take
Leave me in this lost lake and the dreams I believed weren’t fake
I come down for something to make
Fix my hunger with some left overs or some cake
The bottle whispers my name and the percentages got me going insane
Knowing that 14% won’t get you off my brain
Coming at me like a tidal wave
I thought you had me saved
Hallucinating about you rolling up
Getting high on WA-20 and playing the best cuts
I feel so alone so I pull out my iPhone and text:
Purple heart emoji
You don't know me
You never knew me
I was manic me
Did you fall in love with me?
Backspace
Texting hearts and smiley ****
They're for my crew
And for the love I thought I had with you
Should I drive to the Southside, get lit n both with you?
Should I bring this crew?
Tripping all over you
Its been a minute since we kicked it
so I take another hit and
reminiscing about that spliff and
**** it so you’re not missed and
Stoney
Let’s play some Post Maloney and get a little toasty
Low-key coasting until we finish that Gold Leaf
Corny as **** but this is how my mind gets stuck
Wasted Times is what I’m trying to be good at
But can I waste that time with you?
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 2:54 AM UTC
Try Try Try
With a Rope around The Neck
Knowing
They Face The Cornerstone
Of. A NEW FAITH
Where Love and Faith come together
Hope Has Now Joined
And She Was It.
Kathleen A. Maloney ,
Born Oct 10, 1937
Willing To Live This Eternal Truth and Presence
Never Backing Down
Threadened to the Point of Immunity
She stood and Faced Them all
Demanded Restoration
She Was the Prophecy Of Love
The Prophecy of Hope
And The Prophecy of Faith
Her Ministry,
And Her Name
Her
Like Ferlengetti
A Lover of the Truth
Carmelita Alma Poetica
First, and Now Last
I Am That I Am HER
She Is
They knew it Was True
This Entire Journey
A Test
Of Faith
To Maintain Hope
That Love shall Survive
The Woman Risen
Her Words...
The Father and I are One
Her Daily Mantraa
Amma Amma Gaia IShee Demeter Mary
Nirvana All
That She IS
Divine Mother .. A Warrior Willing To Fight
For Her Children, Life Love Hope Faith Beauty Wisdom All the Virtues!! And Yes, even those Tossed Aside
Earth her very own body
She was Betrothed to This Faith
Earthly Life....A Man with an Empire
His Army of Mason's ... Her Vision
Everything They Sought To Save
Invited Home Now
The Prodigal One
Celebration For the
Overcoming OF UnWanted
Starting With Themselves
First
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
on a Friday night
no matter where you started out
you always ended up
for last call and
the unexpected was expected
you might find a line
on the women's room sink,
the bartender dancing on the bar
tequila in mouth
a lit match
then spitting flame
maybe
some guy pulls a knife
so the other guy shows a gun
satori's abound
beach day in January
300 pounds of sand
and a sand castle contest
crazy George swings
from the wooden wagon wheel
light fixture
and the lights flicker off and on
and the desperate and the dying
lost in want
appear and disappear
pop in and out of existence
dead
then alive
dead
then alive...
our cards are spread
and the joker card smiles
no search for meaning here,
the ****** return the dealt card's smile
we are the wolves and the lambs
no saints here
and no matter how you acted or what
you did or owned
who you hated or loved
no one was ever was bored
so alive for the fleeting moments
of Last Call
a random freedom of sorts
seen in a wink of an eye, heard in a sigh
the kind of freedom
you only experience
once in a lifetime
folie a' plusieurs.
Oct 24, 2024
Oct 24, 2024 at 1:14 PM UTC
entre las cosas que raf maloney tenía
había una dinámica de la penetración orgánica y moral
una fisiología de la continuidad del cuerpo
una ética de la sensibilidad nerviosa
ninguna de la cual le servía para nada
se lo vería oscurecer día tras día
mirando al este en estado de inocencia
sin llorar eso sí raf maloney no llora
había una melancolía también grande gorda marrón
y sobre todo un pájaro raf maloney
cuidaba a un pájaro de cuello largo frío
en una pared de su casa
"pájaro" le decía al pájaro "¿te crece el cuello para ver
los pensamientos que te suben del corazón?" le decía raf maloney
"¿para palparlos mucho y medirlos?" le decía
pero el pájaro callaba completamente
raf maloney tenía también
un día español ancho abierto con olor a merluza
fresco glorioso alto
lo había plantado en el fondo detrás del perejil
allí se acostaba a ver el cielo cuando llovía
y había sol y había vino y tabaco portugués
"¿ves esta furia en paz?" le decía al pájaro
"¿la ve tu cuello pájaro?" decía raf maloney
cuando raf maloney murió lo cortaron al pájaro
y comprobaron que daba cielo como sol
cielo como noche
como sol
el cuello lo tenía noche
y daba cielo como sol
así era el pájaro de raf maloney
que murió cualquiera de estos días
478
We're old friends, already
Whirled up in the wheel of time
A pacing symphony
Passing through the telephone
For hours on end.
We do not deter from this trend
Rhythm and rhymes, reunions and recusancy
Always together, and on the same frequency
In a second we crisscross the ocean
Building up our literary scene
Our secret and permitted panacean
Ointment, we've never once foreseen
That we're old friends, already
Your wise heroes advisers of my own
We share so much tenderness
With which we could clothe dawn.
Written to John Maloney,
July 5, 2018
Lyon, France
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
I love the bones of you my valentine
Why don’t we go socialise?
Celebrate Valentine’s Day
You don’t look fat in my eyes
You’ve nobody to go with
But I will be there at your side
You like a bit of meat to grab hold of?
But I’m your attractive corpse bride
I love the bones of you back, my dear
We could dance, do the Boney Maloney
Rattle and roll, I do a neat trombone
Go Italian and eat macaroni
I’m more at ease at Halloween
But we’ll go paint the town, have a scream
Tickle my funny bone, give me a squeeze
A skeleton’s Valentine dream
Only if your heart is in it.
14/02/19 JG
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 8:17 PM UTC
cuando ost maloney en Carville Louisiana vio el mar
se revisó la memoria de sus días
como árbol verde lento
que sacudieron hacia el sur
encontró:
piedra negra sobre mañanas en Dakota cuando era libre sobre la
tierra y el sol
piedra negra sobre madre acostada dulce bajo la tierra y el sol
piedra negra sobre piedra negra y no blanca
así
ost maloney decidió beberse el mar todo
para que nada fuese otra cosa
que Dakota devorada por la mañana suave
¡oh madre acostada sobre maloney como pedazos de alelí!
ost perfumaba todo el mar de la siesta y el ciclón de sus tardes
le cerraba la boca
le cerraba la boca en realidad
pocas veces hubo más valiente comboi en Carville:
enlazó al sol para alumbrarse
se tomó el mar como un whisky
guardó a su madre vivamuerta sin paz
claro que eso le comió la sombra
y donde come uno comen dos
ost que pacía en el Atlántico
maloney con las velas mezcladas en el viento
todos los marineros quieren al compañero
todos los marineros saben que ost maloney
sudó caballos como quien
abre los brazos al mar
no fue en yerba que se convirtió maloney en perla o coral
sino en cosa con mucho mal olor
que ojalá metan en la tierra algún día
ojalá teja la sombra podrida del aéreo alelí
"quiero ser bello" repetía ost maloney mirándose caer
mientras un brillo le subía
de la boca o valor
para los sucesores
382
he the wayland
on the morrow
fry the fish head
fetching sorrow
spilling coffee
water closet
magic muffin
easy does it
mark the doorjamb
twenty minutes
spellbound silence
random spinnets
fifty-second
gully washer
**** the ******
mustard slosher
rabbit puddle
prancing pony
slap me sideways
steve maloney
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 5:16 PM UTC