You're Still a Good Man To Me

To all you Peanuts fans...


Oh Charlie Brown, you bumbling clown,
You call that a Christmas tree?
Everyone knows how your story goes,
Your riff with old Lucy.

Linus seems to understand,
With that blanket in his hand.
Snoopy knows that you're the man,
He's always been you're closest friend.

With sister Sally by your side,
And Schroeder's piano playing pride.
Maybe Violet's a better bride,
Instead of that red headed girl.

Pigpen needs a bath each day,
Woodstock only wants to play,
Is Peppermint Patty straight or gay?
Only Marcie can really say.

Does Snoopy's dog house have a bed?
Have alter egos gone to his head?
Is he a World War flying ace,
Or Joe Cool with a jazzy face?

Why do you stand on the pitcher's mound,
While all you teammates goof around?
When will Lucy have the gall,
To let you kick that stupid football?

Why don't grownups ever speak?
Is Mr. Brown a social geek?
Do the van Pelts really exist?
Why do your teachers speak like this?

Mwa, mwa, mwa. Mwa, mwa, mwa.

Oh Charlie Brown, just look around.
Why was your head drawn so round?
Was there a time you had hair?
What's with that silly shirt you wear?

I suppose Charles Schultz drew you,
Cause in ourselves we see you too.
All I know, as a Peanuts fan,
Charlie Brown, you're still a good man...to me.

Thank you Charles so much.


Copyright © December 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
120410

Elliot Garfield Where You Been?

American Graffiti first big film,
Close encounter with alien.
Always good for laughter and thrills,
Did well down in Beverly Hills,
Early graduate with Hoffman and Ross,
Made Simon's Yonkers seem less lost.
Young Baby Face in Dillinger,
American President's Senator.
What about Bob's psychiatrist,
A music teacher with own Opus.
Richard the third gimped gay with lisp,
Dickens Fagin in Oliver Twist.
Won Oscar for brilliant Goodbye,
In Jaws younger, resilient guy.
Narrowly escaped great white at sea,
Narrator in King's dark Stand By Me,
In Stakeout sleuth-ed with Esteves,
Nuts lawyer proved who Streisand is.
Gained acclaim as Mister Holland,
Aptly named Doctor Leo Marvin.
Cast as Quad in Clark's Whose Life,
Tin Men mocked "Balmur" life.
Offered London Producer's fame,
Replaced as Max by Nathan Lane.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
112610

Pass The Guinness Here

This is my attempt at an Irish drinking song. Anyone up for a pint?


Gather round my Gaelic brood,
For laughter, fun and cheer.
Friendly chat, a bite of food,
And another pint of beer.

Aye, my Irish brethren,
Come and sit a spell.
Ere be hell or heaven,
To where be off, do tell?

Pass the Guinness, aye me lad,
Pass the Guinness here,
As you're me witness,
I ain't sober now,
And ain't 12 months 'fore here.

Pass the Guinness barkeep,
Pass me another beer.
Raise your glasses,
Lads and lasses,
Here's to another year.

I thought I saw a rainbow,
A half a mile from here.
I went to find the end of it,
Before it disappeared.

There I saw a leprechaun,
Sitting in the clear.
He tipped his hat, winked at me,
Then said "Come over here".

He danced like a court jester,
He really seemed sincere.
I couldn't refuse his amiable gesture,
So together we drank some beer.

Pass the Guinness, aye me lad,
Pass the Guinness here,
As you're me witness,
I ain't sober now,
And ain't 12 months 'fore here.

Pass the Guinness barkeep,
Pass me another beer.
Raise your glasses,
Lads and lasses,
Here's to another year.

I saw a most strange creature,
While standing on the pier.
It had unusual features,
And created quite a fear.

Of course I wasn't sober,
I'd had a bit of cheer,
It was either the Loch Ness Monster,
Or the effects of all the beer.

While I maneuvered drunkenly,
He suddenly appeared.
He raised his head right next to me,
Then whispered in my ear.

It may have been the alcohol,
That drew the monster near.
I blacked out, now can't recall,
What happened to all my beer.

So, pass another Guinness me lad,
Pass the Guinness here,
As you're me witness,
I ain't sober now,
And ain't 12 months 'fore here.

Pass the Guinness barkeep,
Pass me another beer.
Raise your glasses,
Lads and lasses,
Here's to another year.

Yes, raise your glasses,
Make a toast.
Here's to another beer year.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
111910

Proud and Tall

The sun was bright,
The mood was light,
Weather conditions seemed just right.
That November 7th afternoon.

The crowd milled around,
Most bets were now down,
The world was watching Church Hill Downs,
The race would begin very soon.

There came the call,
And from each stall,
Marched 14 thoroughbreds proud and tall,
In the Breeder's Cup parade.

In front of them all,
Seventeen hands tall,
Came the mightiest Phillie of them all,
This was Zenyatta's big day.

She was loved and adored,
Had won it before,
Nineteen and 0, just wanting one more,
The five million dollar big prize.

The field this day,
Was by far and away,
One of the best to stand in her way.
Along with a whole world of eyes.

Though she had the name,
The fortune and fame,
Her toughest opponent this day would be Blame,
Her odds to win 8 to 5.

She'd won all her races,
As they all took their places,
The moment's excitement was etched on all faces,
As the anticipated race began.

They opened the gates,
Not a minute too late.
Zenyatta in the middle, out of gate eight.
All 14 thoroughbreds converged.

As the horses broke stride,
She was pinched outside,
Just like she'd been most other times,
She settled in the back of the herd.

Around the first bend,
She brought up the end,
Things didn't look good for the Phillie again,
She's been in this position before.

Down the far stretch,
It seemed she'd never catch,
The rest of the field and her 8 to 5 bets,
She fell even farther behind.

Then as in the past,
She ignited from last,
Caught the tail horse than began her first pass,
She moved up from the outside.

As she made the last turn,
Her legs started to churn,
A crescendo of cheers from the crowd was heard,
As she ran the last stretch in full stride.

Seizing the moment,
She passed each opponent,
Each one a victory, a bit of atonement,
It was deja vu once again.

But there in the lead,
Was that one mighty steed,
The one that odd makers had all agreed,
The one whose confidence was fed.

As Zenyatta drew nearer,
Blame seemed to hear her,
Neither horse gave or showed any fear,
As they pressed for the finish line.

The entire crowd rose,
As all eyes then froze,
Blame broke the line by less than a nose,
The Phillie a photo finish behind.

People seemed stunned,
Weren't sure who had won,
Maybe the greatest horse race ever run,
Decided in one picture frame.

The official call came,
The winner was Blame,
It all seemed surreal, kind of a shame.
No storybook ending this day.

Many asked why,
Her jockey just cried,
It was almost as if Zenyatta had died.
Most folks couldn't believe what they saw.

But what fans will recall,
Was how she gave her all.
Captured the hearts and souls of us all.
That Saturday afternoon in the Fall,
Zenyatta still stood proud and tall.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110810

Let's Celebrate Again!

The Giants Win!
The Giants Win!
Hallelujah, Praise the Lord!
Let's celebrate again!

From the depths of the National League West,
They're now baseball's absolute best.
Hip hip, hurray, hip hip hurray,
Who would have ever guessed.

Not since 1954,
Had they won the World Series before.
Back in the days of Willie Mays.
Known as The Say Hey Kid in his days.

Sixty six long years ago,
Twenty four thousand days or so.
Not since they played in the old Polo Grounds,
Never in their new San Francisco town.

Not since Thompson or Walter O'Malley,
Durocher, Mueller or Antonelli.
Wilhelm, Westrum or Eddie Stanky,
Katt, Alvin Dark or Willie McCovey.

Juan Marichal or Gaylord Perry,
Orlando Cepada or an Alou named Matty.
Red Schoendienst, Dusty Rhodes or Bill Rigney,
Dave Kingman, Bobby Bonds or his son named Barry.

Hurray for Torres, Sanchez and Huff,
Lincecum, Cain, Rowand and Ross.
Bumgarner, Burrell, Uribe and Posey,
Renteria, Wilson and manager Bochy.

Yes, let the celebration begin,
The Giants are world champs again.
No, not the New York Polo Ground ones,
Those black and orange Californians.

Hip, hip, hurray, Hip, hip, hurray,
Their fans will certainly remember this day.
No one can take it away from them,
The Giants are baseball's champions.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110710

The Abandoned Work Boat

This poem was written to go with the accompanying pencil drawing by the artist Paul McGehee.


In a field, near an old broken pier,
Set the remnants of an abandoned work boat.
The frame worn and sheered, reflected its years,
Several pylons kept it afloat.

Called Viola, its reflection told ya,
It had once served superfluously.
Its bows lined with tires were subtle reminders,
Of its yeoman austerity.

Viola was old and stories were told,
Of how prominent and noble it had been.
What would it take, to reinvigorate,
This once mighty sea dog again?

With a little TLC, this work boat could be,
The resurrection of its once vibrant past.
When it trolled the bay, for its catch each day,
Of crabs, blue fish, oysters and bass.

So many today are retired, put away,
Laid off like Viola in their time.
Our country's become an unemployed kingdom,
Where many have not reached their prime.

It's sad to see so many worthy,
Standing in employment lines.
The hypocrisy of bureaucracy,
Has become our nation's worst crime.

So many folks live with so much to give,
Yet haven't the means to survive.
They struggle to eat and make ends meet,
Find shelter and just stay alive.

Sure jobs exist, on paper and lists.
Yet it all seems like one big charade.
Those who've applied are routinely denied,
While those considered aren't paid.

Given a chance, the old boat could enhance,
Lives with so many mouths to feed.
It could be her way to earn her own pay,
Provide for so many in need.

So Viola received a spiritual reprieve,
Was restored and soon prospered again.
She overcame strife, found a virtual new life,
Is no longer worthless or abandoned.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110610

A Hero's Last Stand

The light at the end of the tunnel
Beckoned him once more.
He anxiously waited for his turn,
Like so many times before.
As his teammates each took the stage,
He inched closer to the door.
Then stepping into the spotlight again,
Heard the crescendo of the crowd's roar.

Like a Modern Gladiator,
He was dressed from head to toe.
His armor was his helmet and pads,
His legacy held in tow.
He hesitated in acknowledgment,
Basked in the moment's glow.
Before him stood his comrades,
Across stood his foe.

He fought a mighty battle,
Led one fierce final charge.
In the end, though bruised and rattled,
His stature loomed ever large.
When the dust had finally cleared,
His team had failed to win.
Still the crowd stood and cheered,
Their beloved hero again.

He graciously shook the hands of those,
He'd bowed to in defeat.
In the stands his fans all rose,
The stadium was on its feet.
As he left the field of play,
Those on both teams stopped.
Removed their helmets in respect,
To honor the man at the top.

The darkness of the tunnel,
Beckoned him once more.
He limped his way, helmet in hand,
His body battered and sore.
At the threshold of his departure,
He acknowledged those he adored.
He waived his helmet one last time,
And stepped through history's door.

The light within the tunnel,
Welcomed him once more.
He walked alone,
Toward his new home,
And never played anymore.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110110

Those Short Eyes

This is my contribution to the Original Poetry Wooden forum competition on child abuse prevention. Sorry if it offends...


Short Eyes: a pedophile, or one who is jailed for child molestation


I see eyes looking at me.
Innocent eyes, tenderly.
Brilliant eyes, calling me.
Children' eyes, dauntingly.

I see eyes staring at me.
Icy eyes, glaringly.
Sinister eyes, wanting me.
Piercing eyes, haunting me.

Innocent child,
Innocent eyes.
Radiant smile,
Quiet and shy.

Come and sit with me a while.
I'm a friendly pedophile.
I'm an evil that lurks and festers,
I'm the Devil, a child molester.

Where's your father?
Where's your mother?
Do you have a sister or a brother?

Make a wish,
I insist.
Look, I have a special gift.

Be aware,
Do not stare.
Will you let me touch you there?

Do not yell,
Never tell,
Crawl into your little shell.

Ball into your private hell.

What a surprise,
Such beautiful eyes,
Can I caress inside your thighs?

Don't mind my sweat,
I like it wet.
Will you be my special pet?

Here one sec,
Gone the next.
You never know what to expect.

You're never going to forget.

Children beware,
Of strangers' stares.
Be conscious of their hidden lairs.

Don't be blind,
Know the signs,
They come in many shapes and kinds.

Their short eyes, are their disguise.
Be vigilant and recognize.
Confident and extra wise.

Know they're out there, everywhere.
Lying, hiding, always there.

Know that someone out there cares.
Trying, fighting for your care.

Don't be afraid to ask or share.
Don't be afraid of your fear.

Don't give in to strangers' lies?
Yell for help, vocalize.
Run and hide, to survive.
Tell someone about the guy.
It doesn't matter what your size,
Don't become his next prize.

A permanent, living, breathing prize.

Somewhere, out there, freedom lies,
Beyond their grasp, binds and ties.
Reach for those you recognize,
Don't speak or go with those short eyes.


Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
103010

October

This is for my dad...

Its that time of year again,
When nature sheds its skin.
Leaves turn brown,
Hit the ground,
Decay and then blend in.

Its a time to gather,
Harvest family and friends.
To recollect,
Pay respect,
Count blessings and make amends.

Its a time to plow and reap,
Clear fields and restore.
Time to save,
What you crave,
Then pray to God for more.

Its when young couples marry,
Brand new lives begin.
Heartfelt praise,
On wedding days,
Become much more than friends.

Its when those passed are buried,
Fond memories laid to rest.
When grounds are sewn,
With those we've known,
Fall's fertile soils are blessed.

Its a time of reflection,
To prepare for life to end.
To recognize,
To realize,
Just how good life has been.

Its a time of contemplation,
Of what you value most.
Tranquility,
Serendipity,
Thank the Holy Ghost.

October's always meant to me,
A good time to atone.
A season when,
My best friend,
Set out on his own.

Fall's a solemn season,
Warm somber feelings, sad.
That time of year,
Of hope and fear,
When God took home my dad.


Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
102310

Dear Mom...

I had a friend who was adopted and never knew his biological mother.  He's a Christian with strong, anti-abortion beliefs.  This a letter written by him to her.

Thank you for my birthday,
And all those in between.
I often wonder where I'd be,
If you had not had me.
Though I never knew you,
Or the father that you made,
I think about you all the time,
And the price you paid.

I know I was a burden,
Something you did wrong.
When you're young life's uncertain,
I'm glad that you were strong.
The life you bore and gave me,
Might not have ever been,
If you had never saved me,
And God had not stepped in.

Mother can you hear me,
I wonder if you can.
Though another raised me,
I'm still who I am.
I foster no ill feelings,
Hold no one at fault.
I've learned a valued lesson,
One I was never taught.

I have a new perspective,
How precious life can be.
I am more receptive,
To others just like me.
Mine is a unique view,
Of what life truly means.
Had it not been for you,
I never would have seen...

The beauty of a sunrise,
The solitude of rain.
The innocence in childrens' eyes,
The way the seasons change.
The colors of a rainbow,
The moon and stars at night.
The silhouettes of distant mountains,
Against the day's last light.

Mom, know that I still love you,
And bear no hidden scar.
The children that now call me dad,
Ask me who you are.
I tell them you are special,
The mom I never knew.
That because you made a choice,
I am here for you.


Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
100810

Glen Echo Amusement Park

This poem is written for the accompanying new painting of the same name, by the artist Paul McGehee. Paul is a brilliant local artist from the Washington, D.C. area whose forte is creating moments in time on canvass. I encourage everyone to checkout his website and art at http://www.paulmcgeheeart.com/mainframe.shtml. He's also on facebook.  Note the painstaking detail in his paintings. I'm sure you'll find poetic inspiration through his works.


Remember those days,
That twiddled away,
Those days spent with family and friends?
Bright sunny days,
With warm summer rays,
Those days you never wanted to end?

I can recall,
A park near Great Falls,
One with a grand carousel.
With Coaster Dips,
Flying Scooter trips,
And the popcorn they used to sell.

My parents and I,
Before they both died,
Would visit 2 or 3 times a year.
Nestled quaintly,
Outside of D.C.,
Where the Potomac and C&O run near

A post card demo,
Of live Art Deco,
Where artists and bands would appear.
With picnic grounds,
And merry go rounds,
Puppet shows that brought children cheer.

A nostalgic lark,
Lit up after dark,
The musical sounds you would hear.
The Spanish Ballroom,
And Calliope tunes,
And the Wurlitzer Organ-ere.

A century old scene,
Pastoral, serene,
A dream of entertainment and art.
Step back in time,
And magically find,
Glen Echo Amusement Park.


Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
100810

Stop The Drama

Stop the drama, Mr. Osama,
You're never gonna win.
One day God will find a way,
To payback all your sin.

The world's a better place you see,
As long as you're a refugee.
Good will win in the end,
Justice will prevail.

Stop the drama, Mr. Obama,
False promises you send.
We all pray for the day,
We all work again.

We've lost our hope and dignity,
Playing games of wait and see.
How much worse can worse be?
We shout to no avail.

Stop the drama, Mr. Osama,
We no longer care.
Your the face of Islamic disgrace,
Stir hate everywhere.

One day we will find you,
Huddled in your scorn.
That's when we'll remind you,
Of that September morn.

Stop the Drama, Mr. Obama,
Do what you foretold.
The politics make us sick,
The rhetoric's getting old.

We all want the wars to end,
Give us back our children.
Let God be the judge of them,
Do what's right and fair.

Stop the drama, Dalai Lama,
Can't we all be friends?
Find a way to take away,
The suffering of men.

Let us find peace of mind,
Help all heartbreaks mend.
We all search for better times,
Can't you tell us when?

Stop the drama, Mr. Obama,
Lead us back again.
Rise above like a dove,
In search of new dry land.

I suppose the man we chose,
Is not the one who won.
Don't give in and bow to those,
To whom you're bound to run.

Stop the drama, if you want to,
Be the best you can.
Faith's the cure to endure,
God is your best friend.

All our dreams and all our hopes
Struggles with which we all cope,
There's no better anecdote,
Then fortitude and prayer.

Seek salvation for our nation,
Prosperity and care.
Love thy neighbor without waver,
Know that God is there.



Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
100710

Downpour (a psalm)

Whenever life's constant grind seems to get you down. Turn to God and you will find no better friend around. This is a psalm for those that feel completely overwhelmed...

Lord, wash away my sorrows,
Cleanse me to my core.
Ease the heartaches that I swallow,
Pave the path you'd have me follow,
Prepare me for those tomorrows,
I may see no more.

Lord, I rest within thy word,
Commit to thy control.
Though my vision may be blurred,
My faith will never be deterred,
Eternal life through thoust assured,
To you submit my soul.

Lord, everyday the sun does rise,
Though clouds may taint my view.
I take solace you are wise,
Forgive my sins and countless lies,
Love me without compromise,
Make my life anew.

Lord, when the rain will not refrain,
Life's troubles have no end.
Give me strength to sustain,
The fortitude to not complain,
The will to rise above the pain,
To survive and win.

Lord, in the end your my best friend,
The one that I turn to.
Through mental storms' relentless winds,
Life's downpours and endless sins,
Let death not be where my life ends,
I place my trust in You.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
093010

BD Boulevard

There's place on the edge of town,
Where spirits often gather.
They appear when no ones around,
To share and drink together.
Entities of personalities,
Hollywood's hallowed names.
Eternity's celebrities,
Heaven's walk of fame.
They fantasize and reminisce,
About good times and the bad.
They drink to lives they all miss,
Drown sorrows each one's had.
The bar is lined with Father Time's,
Ghosts of darkened screens.
They raise their glasses synchronized,
Toast fan hearkened scenes.
If one happens to catch a glimpse,
For one fleeting split second.
In the blink of eye they dispense,
Into wisps of plasmic essence.
Outside bright lights and neon signs,
Cast shadows and hope-filled beams.
While honored stars seek encores,
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
093010

A Special Guest For Dinner

I stopped on my way home from work,
To pick up a few extra things.
A bottle of wine, some tall red candles,
A dessert and vanilla ice cream.
I'm having a guest for Dinner,
And I want everything just right.
I don't want to appear like a beginner,
On this one very special night.

I have the main course cooking,
It simply smells delicious.
The lights are dim, the air is fresh,
I've set out my best china dishes.
He'll be here any minute,
Let me check just one more time.
Maybe a little more garlic in it,
The stew I've made tastes just fine.

I go over to the refrigerator,
And open the freezer door.
It's full of bags of severed meat,
All frozen to the core.
In the center two eyes just stare,
Through a zip locked Glad freezer bag.
They're both looking straight at me,
Surprised and somewhat sad.

I grab some ice, adjust what's there,
Lady fingers, giblets and feet.
I take a quick mental inventory,
Of all the tidbits I still have to eat.
Stuff to make liver with onions,
Fresh soups and kidney stew.
Enough to feed me and my guests,
For another week or two.

I'm really looking forward,
To this evenings special guest.
We met at a bar the weekend before,
He just stood out from all the rest.
He's well traveled and debonair,
A doctor of some sort it seems.
He has a refined elegant air,
And a taste for fava beans.

I hope I don't seem too presumptuous,
Remain calm and self-contained.
I found him to be quite scrumptious.
I would love to pick his brain.
I'm wreathing with anticipation,
Perspiring just a bit.
I have a renewed appreciation,
For how nervous some people get.

Relax, take a breath, it's almost time,
The table's all been set.
Cleaver, pairing and carving knives,
Are as sharp as they can get.
Sterling silver dinnerware,
And a bottle of Chianti wine,
A touch of elegant savior faire,
And some chloroform's just fine.

A car, he's here, another breath,
A quick look in the mirror.
I see myself and I see death,
And embrace it's debt and horror.
The door bell rings, I'm feeling calmer,
The fun's about to begin.
I open the door, hear hello Mr. Dahmer,
Doctor Lechter, won't you please come in.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091710

The Blind Pickled Porcupine and His Drunken Skunk Friend

One late night at The Watering Hole,
The barn owl hooted This is Last Call!
At the end of the bar feeling just fine,
Was Gimbelstein the blind porcupine.

Now porcupines can be funny creatures,
They're quite social despite their features.
Gimbelstein tends to be friendlier than most,
A pickled blind porcupine jovial host.

On this one particular occasion,
He didn't need additional persuasion.
He was now down to his very last nickle,
And found the barn owl to be somewhat fickle.

So Gimbelstein stumbled on his way,
Deciding he'd return another day.
On his way home he ran into,
PJ the Skunk who was drunk too.

Now the only thing worse than a skunk that's drunk,
Is happening to find a blind pickled porcupine.
PJ Skunk bowed and said how do you do?
Sensing him polite, Gimbelstein bowed too.

Now PJ had eaten before getting started,
And when he bowed, accidentally farted.
Though Gimbelstein blind and somewhat obtuse,
He thought maybe PJ some mother's loose goose.

Suddenly Gimbelstein noticed a ripe smell,
It smelled like a skunk but he couldn't quite tell.
Of course 'ole PJ feeling quite well,
Decided he'd play and simply not tell.

Gimbelstein offered the goose his right paw,
And said that the two of them better not stall.
Smells like a skunk might be coming this way,
We shouldn't get dunked by his awful foul spray.

As PJ took the paw the porcupine held out,
Gimbelstein's needles stood straight and stout.
Poor drunk skunk PJ just never saw,
The porcupine's needles penetrate in his paw.

Of course a skunk's senses are his best defenses,
Hence PJ's best offense was his unpleasant essence.
So quite unintentionally and most unconventionally,
PJ stunk Gimbelstein with his offensive scent.

The blind pickled porcupine didn't seem to mind,
The drunk skunk's tearful yet bearable spray.
He simply assumed that PJ's perfume,
Was some other loose goose's aromic bouquet.

In fact PJ's spice brought tears to both eyes,
Of Gimbelstein the blind and pickled porcupine.
The tears that he cried cleared both his closed eyes,
Suddenly he could see for the very first time.

When he up and realized that PJ had lied,
And wasn't a mother's loose goose at all.
He first felt irate then managed to hesitate,
When he saw his spent needles in poor PJ's paw.

Once he relaxed he then kindly asked,
Could PJ control his droll pungent smell?
PJ replied with a wink of his eye,
Maybe I can, but I'll never tell.

The pickled porcupine couldn't really find,
Any sound reason they couldn't prove friends.
After all, the drunk skunk's stuck paw,
Was bound to eventually improve and mend.

And as for what stunk, it wasn't skunk gunk,
But simply drunk PJ's flatulent funk.
Gimbelstein confided that he had decided,
He could get used to the unpleasant skunk rump.

The spray, though quite putrid, made his sight lucid,
The tears derived aided him miraculously.
The funk he could handle, the smell and the scandal,
Of a drunken skunk's friendship controversy.

But as for the flatulence, it caused him hesitance,
Gimbelstein wasn't sure what advice to impart.
PJ had confidence that his incontinence,
Was a trite, yet demure, quite innocent fart.

So the skunk PJ maintained his rank pre-spray,
The porcupine Gimbelstein reined in his pins.
They drank together from that day forever,
Two Birds of a feather and drunken close friends.



Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091510

Coastermania

Daredevils of the modern world.
Braving speeds that will blow your mind,
Thrill seeking men, women, boys and girls.
Craving needs of the G-Force kind.

Millions of cases of addicted hysteria,
Bands of brothers in a wild industry,
Flying through spaces in restricted areas.
Expanding each others child fantasy.

Lines upon lines that reek anticipation.
Waiting on ends for more than an hour.
Signs of the times that reach 'cross a nation,
Invigorating friends to explore the power.

Strapped inside a fiberglass space,
Anxiously awaiting that moment when.
Relaxed and sure locked bars are in place.
As the cars lurch forward, the ride begins.

Streaking from zero to 60 in seconds.
Climbing mountains into wood and steal skies,
Breaking 100 with screaming shrill beckons.
Free falling down with tear filled eyes.

Twisting and turning through loops and bends,
Flying both sideways and upside down,
Resisting yet yearning the ride never end.
Relying on science to avoid the ground.

Reaching speeds beyond belief,
Soaring weightless, hands up then in,
Adrenalin feeds of fond relief.
Coming to rest, then begin again.

Children of the new millennium,
Ignoring death and gravity,
An unnatural phenomenon,
Performing feats of insanity.

One day the world will look back and see,
The youth of today's unbridled passion.
How daring and crazy so many can be,
Their true coastermania idolization.




Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091510

Whatchu Mean Willis?

This is an acrostic...


West German born, New Jersey bred,
Actor, moonlighting musician it's said.
Learned baby talk with Kirsty and John,
Took world by storm with his first die hard-on.
Ever the comic with Bonfire friends,
Revered and iconic in Armageddon.

Twelve monkey's fifth element brought sci-fi calls,
Hudson Hawk's relevance helped remake Jackal.
Electrified audiences in Quentin's Pulp Fiction,

Off-screen wife Demi was public addiction.
Tarrentino teamed him with Travolta and Jackson,
His audiences screamed at his sixth sense reaction.
Even his voice can be over the hedge,
Rendered unbreakable, kept Elijah on edge.

Blues recording artist of little known fame,
Return of Bruno was his initial album's name.
Ultimate P.O.W. in Hart's Wartime prison,
Cartoon-like P.O. in Miller's city of sin.
Every-man's man, whose fans want him to win.



Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091510

Timothy (the day F. Murray fell)

Timothy McVeigh was executed June 11, 2001 for his role in the April 19, 1995 bombing in Oklahoma City which killed 168 people. This is a revised version of the '70's song Timothy by the Buoys.

A horrendous crime, the thirteenth sin,
No one had ever heard of them,
A friend and a man named Tim.

A Ryder truck that was rented then,
Filled with 2 tons of ammonium,
That April 19th, '95 a.m.

Timothy, Timothy, no one was watching you,
Timothy, Timothy, what the hell did you do.

F. Murray fell at 9:02,
That's when the Ryder rental blew.
No one knew exactly what, to do.

168 found dead,
19 children reporters said,
The heart of a nation, bled.

Timothy, Timothy, who was working with you?
Timothy, Timothy, God if we only knew.

As billions of lights shined down on them,
Oklahoma City's pride set in.
Despite the tragic end.

90 minutes later a cop stopped him.
A firearms charge leveled then,
They arrested the man named Tim.

Timothy, Timothy, all the world blames you.
Timothy, Timothy, my God what did you do.

It was 1997 when,
The jury selection would finally begin,
They then convicted, Tim.

They found a man Nichols conspired with him
,June 2001 was when,
They killed the man named Tim.

Timothy, Timothy, Satan's now looking at you.
Timothy, Timothy, your time was overdue.

There's nothing you could say,
You're not missed to this day,
Timothy, Timothy, McVeigh.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091210

A Child's Mind

I wish I saw life through the eyes of a child,
I would just let my imagination run wild.
Oh how wonderful the world would be,
If we all only saw what children see.

Imagine a world with crystal blue skies,
Gumdrops, lollipops and bright butterflies.
A place without worries about reasons why,
Where wizards and warlocks and tooth fairies fly.

Imagine how wonderful that world would be,
If only we all could see what a child sees.
Think about what the future might hold,
If we saw our lives through stories we're told.

Where birthday cakes matter and Santa is real,
Popsicles, candy and gummy bears appeal,
Where animated movies effect how you feel,
Nap times are soothing and daydreams surreal.

Where life is a mystery full of details,
Oceans are full of dolphins and whales,
Beaches mean castles of sand made with pales,
Kittens with mittens and puppy dog tails.

The world would be simple and magical too,
A Seussical musical with Thing one and two.
Where safari trips are spent at the zoo,
And honey jars tipped by Winnie the Poo.

Where it only takes seconds to walk on the moon,
Afternoons beckon to watch some cartoons,
Where battles are fought with long sticks and spoons,
And adventures are sought inside balloons.

And when work days are finally done,
That's when the real fun has just begun,
No senseless worries of the adult kind,
Just picture life's stories in a child's mind.



Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091210

My Three Shadows

I have three little shadows,
Who follow me around.
They are barely 3 feet tall,
Much closer to the ground.

Whether I'm in the house,
Or doing things outside,
They are quiet as a mouse,
Always at my side.

I don't have to call for them,
They know where I will be.
It's hard to hide from all of them,
When it's only me.

When I go upstairs at night,
They're sure to meet there.
I always bring a treat for them,
To show how much I care.

In the morning when I wake,
With pillows 'round my head.
My lazy little shadows wait,
Till I get out of bed.

One day when I'm old and grey,
Feeling all alone.
I will wish my shadows were,
There to take me home.

It's funny how one yearns and aches,
For things no longer there.
We should all appreciate,
The shadows that we share.



Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091210

They're Only The Piano Players

Someone saved his life one nighT
In an empty sky, he rose quite higH.
Rocketed charts with a Man that would bE
Eventually saw Daniel in a plane wavinG,
Levon brought madmen across water toO,
Taught the world what a crocodile could dO.
One of his songs was of the Your kinD,
Never believed dancers too tiny or weaK.
His captain fantastic was no EinsteiN,
Electrified Bennie and freed 'ole PhilI.
Remembered Marilyn and Diana in sonG,
Circle of life made the whole world sigH.
Ushered bitch back, gave censor's a taunT,
Lucidly found diamonds made Lucy much higheR.
Earned critical acclaim for Lion songs sireD,
Said adieu to brick road we all kneW,
Joined hall's few, wore an island girl's leI.
Orchestrated pinball song that he sanG,
Hated sundowns and sad songs so mucH.
Nikita, not Aida, was another Bernie cuT.

Bronx big shot to his Levittown creW,
It's still rock 'n roll to him, you and I.
Got fires started without any fueL,
Allentown's factories are still on triaL.
Pressure's paranoia was Captain Jack's alibI,
Played Leningrad to ease cold war hysteriA.
Listed Movin' Out as his Broadway symposiuM,
Entertainer extraordinaire when at venue or stadiuM.
Stranger struck a flare of colloquial euphoriA,
Piano man rare with an innocent man-terioR.
Induced a lust for the Italian restauranT,
A matter of trust for great wine and spaghettI.
New York state of mind's where his music begaN,
On tour these days with UK's Elton J.
Good night Saigon touched veteran and herO.
Uptown girl Christie played real life wife rolE,
You may be right, his honesty's about souL.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
090810

The Fourth Mr. Mapother

This is an acrostic...

Had Renee when he first said hello,
Endlessly loved his first picture show.
Fourth of July earned little fan fare,
Eyes weren't shut when Nicole was there.
Lost that loving feeling most nights,
Top of his class in F-fighter flights.
Thundered 'round tracks, earned racing stripes,
Had fun as Joel Goodson in his tighty whites.
Earned respect as Rain Man's brother,
Needed right moves to impress others.
Early Taps showed temper and dark sides,
Empties were juggled in Cocktail bar sites.
Did impossible missions both far and away,
Few good men proved more than a play.
Ordered Jessup from Guantanomo Bay,
Revisited War of Worlds as Ray.
Spent many a night under Vanilla Skies,
Played a civil war hero turned Samurai.
Enticed new wife Katie, passed another Cruz by.
Even Cuba and Newman sought his dollar side,
Did movie that featured the Bob Seger slide.



Copyright © September 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001

093010

A Rose

Scarlett layered velvet lips,
Blossoms open wide.
Inviting gentle finger tips,
To caress it's side.

Alluring labyrinth of virtue,
Majestically serene.
Moistened by the morning dew,
Enticingly pristine.

Perched about a firm, hard stem
Thrusting toward the sky.
Wanting just to fondle them,
Lusting just to try.

Folds of crimson zuzu pedals,
Supple drips when wet.
Pedicled pricks that settle,
The limper that they get.

Delicately vulnerable,
Delectably well formed
Seductively sensual,
Protected by its thorns.

No greater beauty hath God made,
No lesser flower grows.
No creator could dissuade,
The power of a rose.



Copyright © September 2009
Kevin Mooney


kmm001
093009

Time Well Spent

I spent the day in the presence of,
One that I so dearly love.
We reminisced on days gone by,
Hugged and kissed, then said good-bye.
As I reflect, I wonder why,
I neglected, failed to try,
To savor the moments we'd just had,
Bottled them, good or bad.

Together

In retrospect it's plain to see,
I overlooked the subtleties.
Those that I now understand,
I treasure more than ever planned.
How was I to foresee,
How much that person meant to me,
Not knowing that the time we passed,
Would end up being our very last,
Time together.

Forever



Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
081810

Pet Cementary Epitaphs

As I ponder my lifetime,
I think of those I've left behind.
Ghosts of family and lost friends,
Memories my mind holds in.

But those that seem to haunt me most,
Are those of loved ones I held close.
Ghosts I seem to never forget,
Echoes of all my long lost pets.

George

Here lies George, my dad's old cat,
Pearly White and not too fat.
He always came whenever we'd call,
His favorite game was fetch a ball.

Dominique & Felipe

Dominique & brother Felipe
Toy French Poodles quite unique.
They always fought for mom's affection,
Their love for her beyond exception.

Lady

Lady and mom never got along,
Growling at her was where she went wrong.
She never meant to do any harm,
I think that's why she went to a farm.

Nugget

Named for the color of a Chicken McNugget,
The type of dog that most folks covet.
My best friend since he was a pup,
Together he and I both grew up.

Kimba

Like the cartoon little white lion,
Not too bright but worked hard tryin'.
Loved to run and play out doors,
Faithful friend of mine and yours.

Zachery

Liked to walk and lived to play,
Never balked or ran away.
Warm and friendly were his best traits,
Now he guards the pearly gates.

Cookie

Creamy color, faithful friend,
Warm, sweet nature to the end.
Mom Mom and Henry's loving pet,
One their sure not to forget.

Tiffany

Little princess to you know who,
Cocker Spaniel through and through,
Tracey's savior in hard times,
Always loved her curtain time.

Mack

Beloved pup and devoted friend,
Held chin up until the end.
Loved life full and truly cared,
Died too young, it wasn't fair.

Pets are difficult to lose,
We give our hearts to those we choose.
They're like our children, daughters and sons,
So honor them when their time comes.

RIP.

Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
081810

The Last Judgement

This poem is a tribute to The Beatles White Album and was written on 9/9/2009. It's an acrostic. Try to guess what the acrostic is...

So the four angels were released,
Who were prepared for this hour,
Day, month and year to kill,
A third of man thus empowered. (Revelation 9:15)

There rose a dark angel from the abyss,
A fallen star from a fiery mist.
He was given the key to the pit,
A prophesy soon rose out of it.

Revolution.

Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine...

Back in the days of Kings and Czars,
Dearly beloved, most prudently proud.
Glasses be raised both near and far,
Oh for the love of an LA crowd.
Wilderness hones each fragile magpie,
Tears both stain and broken hearts still.
Withered remains of guitars that fly,
Help heal souls and hopes fulfill.

Marvelous martyrs meander near,
Idiosyncrasies wasting away.
Blips on screens, fouls that fear,
Pestilent parasites caught in the fray.
Rock the child, recline the weary,
Do not allow them to slither away.
Why should a child's future be cheery,
If only the poor are willing to pay.
Judge yourself on Judgement Day.


Born to die, the birthday lament,
Years gone by one can never get back.
Mother must I forever repent?
Every one's destined to fade to black.
Seven seals sent seven Angels,
Hell turned shelter then to stone,
Lambs and Lions lives are fragile,

Rest assured they'll atone.
Hades harbors hazy winters,
Sinners suffer sweltered nights.
Champions are never made from winners,
Resolution resolves fights.
God is good and always right.

Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine...

It's Judgement Time.



Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney
kmm001
090909

Pardon My French

Parlez-vous francais?
Oh, by the way.
There sure is an array,
Of French stuff these days.

Close your eyes, pass the French Fries,
They go great with French Onion Soup.
A little French Bread on the side,
Along with a glass of French Vermouth.

A little dab of French Vanilla,
In French Coffee cannot miss.
French silk pie and a silk pillow,
May just earn a guy a French Kiss.

I like salad with French Dressing,
Along with a slowly roasted French Hen.
A Fresh French Pastry sure is a blessing,
But don't let French Dip go to your head.

A French Horn is a wonderful instrument,
A French Trotter a beautiful horse.
A French Window's a subtle supplement,
A French Drain a reliable recourse.

French mustard instead of Ketchup,
A French twist to spread it on.
French toast and warm maple syrup,
Served with French press and a fresh croissant.

Is there really a French Foreign Legion?
Do movie goers like French Foreign Films?
Did Mr. French leave for a reason?
French Poodles best names come from butlered realms.

I'm not saying the world's less pragmatic,
I like Italian and Spanish, too.
German and Russian I find less romantic,
But "French" seems to preface our food and our mood.


Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
081810

Nocturnal Classic Rock

Nazareth's love hurt the hair of the dog,
Oyster's reaper feared astronomy blue.
Cream's white room was heavy and long,
Traffic's Barley Corn probably died too.
Uriah Heep's Gypsy was wired wrong.
Rush's heart was closer to the trees,
Nugent had a sweet stranglehold on.
Aerosmith's sweet emotions could please.
Led Zeppelin had their heavenly song.


Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
080810

Shoo-fly Pie

What the heck is shoo-fly pie?
It sounds gross to me.
I could never, ever try,
An bug baked pastry.

Who will try this shoo-fly pie?
It looks so darn yummy.
There's no way, the reason why,
Is I'm no darn dummy.

Shoo-fly pie has no flies,
That's a fallacy.
Sugar, molasses, eggs and spice,
Comprise the recipe.

So why do flies like shoo-fly pie,
What's it that they see?
Flies have eyes that often spy,
Things sweet, warm and nasty.

If you try and shoo the flies,
I'll try your shoo-fly pie.
Shoo the flies so that I,
Don't eat flies that fly by.

I took a bite and you were right,
I do like shoo-fly pie.
But If I might, be polite,
Next time you decide to ask us.

More folks might, take more bites,
Of this pie you so like,
Made with sugar and spice just right,
If you just called it molasses.



Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
080810

Welcome to the Freak Show

The bearded woman smiled at me,
Then took my last fifty cents.
I took a breath,
Scared to death,
By the aura of the tents.
 
As I entered cautiously,
My skin began to crawl.
The air was thick,
And I felt sick,
I heard a man then call.
 
"Welcome to the Freak Show",
Was what he said to me.
It seemed like hell,
Though I could tell,
Fake from reality.
 
"These things you are about to see,
Are going to blow your mind.
"Nature's freaks,
Forsaken geeks,
The weirdest sights you'll find."
 
Down an endless corridor,
Were rooms set on display.
I almost balked,
Then slowly walked,
Toward the first lit bay.
 
Inside there sat one lone man,
As normal as me and you.
Then I saw,
To my awe,
Three legs instead of two.
 
In the next opening,
Waving claw shaped hands,
I could see,
The deformity.
They called The Lobster Man.
 
Then I heard a high shrill squeal,
Coming from next door.
My body froze,
When I saw the nose,
Of the Pig-Girl on the floor.
 
As I moved on I could hear,
A woman laughing at me.
Then I was aware,
Of a rocking chair,
With a lady both huge and scary.
 
In the next stall I then saw,
A man that had two heads.
Both heads turned,
And murmured two words,
"Go Back" was all they said.
 
I looked back from where I came,
And nothing looked the same.
Each opening,
That I had seen,
Was now a closed dark frame.
 
Looking forward down the corridor,
I saw a twinkling light.
Despite my fear,
It seemed near,
So I continued to see the sights.
 
In the next room I could see,
A man dressed all in white.
Protruding from him,
Was his dead twin,
His body, no head in sight.
 
Next a young boy covered in hair,
His body completely engulfed.
His sign shared,
Please beware,
Of the world's only Human Wolf.
 
Then I saw the scariest of all,
Horribly deformed and bent.
The crippled body,
The mangled oddity,
The man they called Elephant.
 
He motioned toward the entrance,
Tried to point me there.
I misunderstood,
And solemnly stood.
It seemed all I could do was stare.
 
I'd seen twenty or more horrors,
Was overcome with sadness.
How could fools,
Be so cruel.
What justified this madness?
 
Then I saw the twinkling light,
Coming from the final stall.
As I arrived,
I realized,
It was no light at all.
 
Instead there stood a mirror,
About 3 and a half feet tall.
I was aghast,
When at last,
The reflection I then saw.
 
I could see my whole body,
My face was white and pale.
Behind me,
There seemed to be,
A long and dangling tail.
 
The sign in front of the last stall read,
"This is the final exhibit.
Please enjoy,
The Monkey Boy",
There was no door or exit.



Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
080710

Spirits of 161

There's a chill this time of year,
That always grips the Bronx.
Sirens, planes and subway trains,
Muffle Manhattan's response.

Mighty bombers rest their souls,
Heroes of America's past-time.
Historic figures from days of old,
Legends of days gone by.

Excitement fills every year,
As fans from far and wide,
Celebrate and hysterically cheer,
What's become known as Pride.

From Miller Huggins to Babe Ruth,
Lou Gehrig and DiMaggio,
McCarthy, Mantle, Marris, Ford,
Martin and Rizzuto.

Larson, Berra, Casey Stengel,
Red Ruffing and Bill Dickey.
Thurman Munson, Elston Howard,
Guidry and Mattingly.

Catfish Hunter, Reggie Jackson,
Dave Winfield and Tommy John.
Willie Randolf, Chris Chambliss,
Righetti and Henderson.

Bernie Williams, Paul O'Neil,
Andy Pettite and Giambi,
ARod, Clemens, Derrick Jeter,
Rivera and Joe Torre.

Sometimes it seems like hallowed dreams,
Haunt these fabled streets.
Phantoms forged in history,
Figments of lore and feats.

Some have called them Gods,
To others they are Kings.
They're measured by titles,
Homerun swings and rings.

There's a sense of urgency,
That possesses everyone.
Devotion more than loyalty,
For the Spirits of 161.

Stand on any street corner,
In this part of town.
Listen closely and you'll hear,
The ghostly roar of a crowd.

So many have come and gone,
So many bled and died.
Draped in sacred blue pinstripes,
Donned the Yankee Pride.


Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
080310

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Percy P. Orangutan,
Had a purple boomerang.
When he threw it,
People knew it,
Cause it made a real loud bang.

C.C. the Chimpanzee,
Liked to play hide and seek.
Now she's here,
Now she's gone.
She can play all day long.

Spunky their monkey friend.
Always likes to play pretend.
If you smile,
He smiles too.
Sometimes he acts just like you.

They all live at the local zoo,
And play together like kids do.
But all are shy and don't like when,
Other people are watching them.

One day Percy and C.C.,
Got together with Spunky.
They decided,To play a game.
So Percy grabbed his boomerang.

He picked it up and turned around,
But CC wasn't to be found.
Spunky fell down to the ground.
He did not make a sound.

Percy got worried then,
Both of them were his best friends.
Where the heck did C.C. go?
Poor old Percy did not know.

As for Spunky, he laid still,
Percy thought him dead or ill.
He went over to check on him,
That's when Spunky cracked a grin.

He could not contain himself,
They laughed so hard that Percy fell.
Just then CC reappeared,
Percy laughed then heard a cheer.

Right outside the looking glass,
A group of children had just passed.
They saw the threesome playing around,
Stood and watched without a sound.

Then the primates realized,
Much to all of their surprise,
Their playful pranks were recognized,
And brought sheer joy to children's eyes.

Then the three in unison,
Turned to see the children grin.
All together they grinned too.
As if it all had been on queue.

The children couldn't help but see,
The monkeys' curiosity.
Then they all jumped up and down,
And acted just like little clowns.

Spunky recognized their game,
Then decided to do the same.
So did Percy, then C.C.,
They all jumped 'round real silly.

Then the children hid their eyes,
The threesome decided to oblige.
They covered up their eyes too.
Then all together played peek-a-boo.

The kids then covered up their ears,
The monkeys did the same to cheers.
Then with their hands they hid mouths, too.
The three now knew just what to do.

Percy, Spunky and C.C.,
Were as happy as can be.
They played games all afternoon,
More hide and seek and pretend too.

The three primates sure had fun,
Playing games with everyone.
From that day on they weren't shy,
Especially when kids walked by.

Now outside you will find,
The primates have a brand new sign.
People come from near and far,
To see the brand new monkey stars.

It reads:

Welcome to the local zoo.
There's Orangutans, Chimps and monkeys too.
They like to play games with you.
Hide and Seek and Peek a Boo.
They imitate and pretend they're you.
They act just like they're your friend, too.
But their favorite game to do.
Is Monkey See and Monkey Do.


Copyright © July 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm
001073110