In The Mirror

I see myself and wonder why,
I never did complain.
Those around me shuffle by,
And never know my pain.

Some may never give a damn,
Some may really care.
Some may lend a helping hand,
They all just look and stare.

I see myself through tear stained eyes,
Through rain washed window panes.
I hear the sounds of children cry,
Of those that feel the same.

Shadows pass by hauntingly,
With voices just like me.
Echoes cast dauntingly,
With joyless memories.

Standing in a mirror,
Gazing back at me.
I see a face growing nearer,
Craving sanctity.

As I reach to touch him,
He reaches out to me.
Our finger tips press together,
But lack affinity.

I wish life were easy,
I wish that I was free,
Of all the pain and suffering,
Bottled up in me.

I want someone to touch me,
Without hurting me.
To cherish and to love me,
Unconditionally.

I warm to my reflection,
Then better understand.
That my forlorn objections,
Were all part of the plan.

I know that God still loves me,
I just don't understand.
Was He thinking of me?
Was I part of His plan?

I want the world to perceive,
I'm honest and sincere.
Strong at heart and confident,
Loving without fear.

I want the world to believe,
I have no pained regret.
I belong and nothing's wrong,
I'll move on and forget.

I don't need assistance,
Pity or therapy.
I questioned my existence,
But now I am happy.

I want the world to be relieved,
Forget what's happened here.
I want to be the one I see,
Reflected in the mirror.



Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110610

A Death Poem

Have you seen Soylent Green?
How 'bout Logan's Run?
Life's not always as it seems,
It ends for everyone.

Imagine finding your name written,
In an obituary.
Or seeing it etched in stone,
In some old cemetery.

What if you saw your body,
In a mortuary?
Or woke up to hear somebody
Recite your eulogy?

If you had the right to choose,
How you'd want to die,
Would you go quickly, in your sleep,
Or suffer wondering why?

Would you die while in the sky,
Falling with no chute?
Or half insane in a crashing plane,
Wearing a brand new suit?

Would you drown upside down,
Aboard a sinking ship?
Or burn and cower in a falling tower,
That a plane just hit?

How 'bout from a shark attack,
While swimming in the sea?
Or from a heart attack,
That happens suddenly?

How 'bout from disease or cancer,
Something with no cure?
How 'bout if you know the answer,
When you'll die for sure?

These are questions often pondered,
The older that we get.
Most would rather just live longer,
Do things they haven't yet.

I suppose no one knows,
When their time will come.
We all should live each day as though,
Today is our last one.


Copyright © January 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
011611

The Face of Death

I walk the streets late at night,
I know who you are,
I know where you live and work,
I have a key to your car.
I am coming to get you,
Its only a matter of time.
No one can protect you,
There's no place to hide.

You may be in the shower,
Or in your favorite chair.
You might be asleep in bed,
You won't know that I'm there.
It'll be when you least expect it,
The last thing on your mind.
You may feel secure and protected,
When I get you from behind.

The pain will be minimal,
It will only last an instant.
The fear you'll have will be subliminal,
Your brain will fight against it.
The last thing that you'll ever see,
Will be all you remember.
You'll never even know it's me,
As your body is dismembered.

I embody your worst nightmare,
A fate you can't avoid.
I haunt shadows everywhere,
Loom within each void.
I embrace both fear and hate,
Consume life's final breath,
I'm a tomb with no escape,
I'm the face of death.



Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
092510

The Quiet Calm

Just before it starts to snow,
There is a quiet calm.
All of nature seems to sense,
The barometric hesitance,
That precedes the storm.

As the cold settles in,
Pale grey skies hang low.
Not an inkling of a sound,
Perfect silence all around,
While anticipation grows.

As first flakes trickle down,
Winter's ushered in.
The beauty and the majesty,
Of God's pure creativity,
Silently begins.

Close your eyes and listen closely,
You'll hear a distinct sound.
Hundreds of light little ticks,
Barely audible feathered drips.
As snowflakes touch the ground.

Mother Nature's artistry,
Gradually takes on form.
Trees and fields of painted white,
Crystal sculptures, heavenly sights,
Sanctify the calm.


Copyright © February 2010
Kevin Mooney


kmm120

021010

My Constant Companion

I have a constant companion who's always in front of me,
He's usually shy and hiding, in his shrouded canopy.
He likes to play peekaboo and always has a ball,
His stature often vacillates, from short to very tall.

His voice is non-existent, he has no face you see,
He's annoyingly persistent, uncontrollably.
His head is rather large, no arms or legs to play,
He's really quite peculiar, in a manly sort of way.

I have to take him with me, everywhere I go,
He's part of my persona, my unforeseen shadow,
His single-minded arrogance is embarrassing to me,
As he rises without warning, non-consensually.

And when I let him out to play he's happy as can be,
He stretches beyond amazement, his one-eyed world to see.
The women, they all love him, he's coy-full and carefree,
His greatest gift, the joy he brings, his masculinity.

And when the day is finally done, his purpose spent, complete.
He tends to dwell in a turtle-shelled, zippered hotel suite.
He sleeps calm and peacefully, his goals firmly met.
His dreams form increasingly, often warm and wet.


Copyright © June 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm029
061509

The Spurious Bull Frog

There once was a spurious Bull Frog,
Who sat curious on an old wooden log.
He thought pensively,
What his life would be,
If instead he'd been born a Bull Dog.

Oh what a life that would be,
No strife only prosperity.
Trade rib-its for barks,
Take long walks in parks,
Live and nap in the lap of luxury.

Instead of mosquitoes and flies,
He'd eat food that others would buy.
He'd trade in his croaks,
For a few doggy jokes,
Wag his tail as folks walked by.

Of course life as a frog's not too bad,
There's no fences or leashes to be had.
While munching his lunch,
He had a new hunch,
To houses he'd prefer lily pads.

And as the curious spurious Bull Frog,
Considered his mysterious bog,
It occurred to him,
To jump and swim,
Was more luxurious than being a Bull Dog.




Copyright © June 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
060510

Perpetual Nightmare

Lying here half asleep,
In a subconscious state.
Having prayed my soul to keep,
My mind's still half awake.
There's no sound, not a peep,
The silence escalates.
I finally try counting sheep,
Things start to deteriorate.

Something in the attic creaks,
The ceiling fan starts to shake
The ticking clock's rhythmic beat,
Begins to resonate.
I'm feeling numb, my limbs grow weak,
Lights grow dim then dissipate.
Barely lucid, unable to speak,
I start to hallucinate.

I try to take one last peek.
But it becomes too late.

And I begin to dream...

Mind drifting ever deep,
My thoughts turn into scenes.
Ghostly vision vapors seep,
Through billowing walls of steam.
Standing on a ledge so steep,
Balancing on a beam.
Whispered voices call to me.
Things aren't what they seem.

I notice several shadows,
Inching their way toward me.
I turn my back to retreat,
Then feel a hand grab me.
I struggle desperately to get free,
But cannot move my feet.
The situation's growing bleak,
I close my eyes, fain defeat,
Then reclaim reality.

I hear broken laughter,
Echoing in a breeze.
I sit up and raise my head,
Wrap my arms around my knees.
My body rises off the bed,
I'm floating effortlessly.
I feel the eyes of the dead,
Staring straight at me.

Something on me is crawling,
My legs start to burn.
Bugs are moving beneath my sheets,
Wiggling thousands of worms.
I try to move my frozen feet,
My stomach starts to churn.
My body can no longer compete,
I scream but hear no words.

There comes a distant knocking,
Someone opens a door.
I see the crack of a light,
Feel sanity start to restore.
The light continues to get bright,
It stretches across the floor.
The evil that was the night,
Possesses me no more.

I see the sun start to rise,
Then shadows disappear.
I'm no longer terrified,
No longer full of fear.As my room fills with light,
And morning time grows near.
I finally come to realize,
What's really happening here.
I've survived another night,
Conquered my worst fears.

I start to get out of bed,
For some reason I cannot move.
My arms are pinned at my side,
I'm trapped in a glass cocoon.
The walls around me are crystallized,
I can see my surrounding room.
I'm trapped inside a crypt of some kind,
Transparently consumed.
I struggle not to lose my mind,
To escape this invisible tomb.

I then relax, lay back and wait,
Lie still and start to stare.
The harder that I concentrate,
The sooner I'll get out of here.
But somehow I feel I'm awake,
Unconsciously unaware.
I'm trapped inside my mental state,
I pray to God that I escape,
Find an exit, a way to wake,
From this perpetual nightmare.


Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
103110

Little Windows

Sometimes the moon's like a window,
Like the hole in the top of a jar.
And all of the planets,
And all of the stars,
Are keyholes to where we are.

The night sky's a changing crescendo,
Crescent moons waning little and large.
Sparkling doubloons,
That brighten up rooms,
Some near and some very, very far.

At times God closes the windows,
Turns off some planets and stars.
The calamity,
Of twinkles we see,
Are like flashing head-beams from cars.

But when He turns on all the lights,
Opens all the windows of the night.
The stars and moonbeams,
And planets all seem,
To blend together with dawn's early daylight.


Copyright © June 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
060510

Teacup Pig

Teacup pig,
You're not too big,
In fact, you're very small.


Cute and pink,
Without the stink,
You're hardly there at all.


I've never seen,
A stranger thing,
Outside a pen or stall.


Teeny, tiny,
You remind me,
Of a little pig doll.


How you fit,
Inside of it,
Is a mystery to me.


You wiggly worm,
The way you squirm,
Brings laughter, love and glee.


Your little snout,
Is pushed right out,
As flat as flat can be.


When you pout,
I have doubts,
That you can even see?


I don't wait,
Or hesitate,
When I pick you up.


Are you a hog?
Or a little dog?
A little pinkish pup?


One of these days,
The doctor says,
You'll be all grown up.


I hope and pray
You'll stay this way,
The change is not abrupt.


Just in case,
I'll find a place,
To store much bigger cups.



Copyright © March 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
031110

Dr. Geisel Thank You Please

Doctor Geisel I presume?
On a bookshelf in my room?
Would you, could you, please do tell,
How you're able to spell so well?

Your stories intrigue both young and old.
Whether they're read or whether they're told.
Gee sir, please sir, help me see,
Satisfy my curiosity.

Doctor Geisel is it true,
The Cat in Hat was really you?
Some say yes and some say no,
I guess it's something to consider though.

My first book was Green Eggs and Ham,
Green Eggs and Ham and Sam I Am.
In all my life I've never seen,
Eggs and Ham so gross and green.

Then there's Horton and the Who's,
I've often wondered about them too.
Surely, the Who's that Horton knew,
Weren't The Grinch's Who-ville Who's?

Did Horton really hatch an egg?
Or were you only pulling our leg?
How can an Elephant sit so well,
On an egg and not break the shell?

And what of the Grinch, that grumbling stooge?
Some say he looked like Ebeneezer Scrooge.
Was Boris Karloff the voice we heard?
Somethings he did were quite absurd.

That poor max, his faithful friend,
What happened to him in the end?
You would have liked Jim Carey in green,
Ron Howard made him believably mean.

Dr. Geisel you were ahead of your time.
I watched the Lorax in prime time.
I liked his concern for the Truffula trees,
Nothing was worth ol' Once-ler's Thneed.

Now Marvin K. Mooney got a reprieve,
How many times was he asked to leave?
Could Marvin have been a political jest?
Was he Nixon's Watergate guest?

Oh Dr. Geisel we love your stories.
Their poetic rhymes and allegories.
Children find them simple and fun,
Yet they challenge everyone.

Dr. Geisel, thank you please,
For all your character memories.
I'm sure one day they'll reveal truths,
About ourselves and Dr. Seuss.




Copyright © July 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
072510

A Darker Poignant Calm

I originally wrote Poignantly Calm in March of 2009, It has always been one of my favorite poems. I like its message and I like its current, yet retrospective feel. This is a Another Poinantly Calm poem, a little more current and a little darker. Hope you like it...


I thought I saw JFK,
Wearing a baseball hat.
It was at a Red Sox game,
He'd grown old and fat.
No one seemed to notice him,
But he looked straight at me.
He tipped his hat, shook his head,
And nodded reverently.

And then there was this calm...

I saw Martin Luther King,
On a subway train.
He was carrying 2 large books,
And had a worried look of pain.
Both the books were old and tattered,
Each was worn and torn.
Their content seemed to him what mattered,
Their testaments forlorn.

And again there was this calm...

I thought I saw Pope John Paul,
On a Harley Davidson.
In front of a VFW hall,
Among several AA friends.
He tried to look away from me,
Knew that I knew him.
He wore a leather bomber jacket,
With a POW pin.

Stronger grew the calm...

I thought I saw my Father today,
It was rather odd.
He was older, much more grey,
He looked a lot like God.
He mouthed to me several words,
That I simply could not hear.
He had this very distraught look,
His eyes were filled with tears.

All became desperately calm...

An earthquake leveled Haiti,
A quarter million died.
One month later Santiago,
Chile rocked side to side.
An airplane bound for Russian soil,
Where a massacre occurred.
Crashed and killed Poland's President,
And shocked the Polish world.
An Iceberg the size of Rhode Island,
Breaks suddenly out of place.
A volcanic eruption in Iceland,
Stymies north airspace.
A child of 13 hangs himself,
Without a single word.
Seems only friends on Facebook,
Knew what his last thoughts were.

The whole world became calm...

Are these acts more prophesies?
Messages that God sends?
Are these signs indicative,
Of the world's impending end?
Are these images what they seem,
Or induced, subconscious psalms?
Lord I pray they're only dreams,
Illusions poignantly calm.


And once again, came rain...



Copyright © May 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001

050210

Another Poignant Calm

I saw an odd shaped cloud today,
It looked like a big balloon.
I wondered how it got that way.
Then it turned into a mushroom.
As it slowly drifted away,
A voice in my head seemed to say,
"Somethings terribly wrong."

The world felt eerily calm.

I thought I saw Bin Laden today,
Driving a rental truck.
As I passed him, he looked my way,
Smiled then pointed up.
An airplane passed overhead,
I imagined all aboard were dead.
Then I saw a sign that read,

Ahead All Is Calm.

I thought I saw John Lennon this morn.
At Starbucks standing in line.
He looked sad, his face well worn,
In his hand he carried a sign.
"The End is Very Near" it read,
He looked at me, "Imagine" he said,
"It's just a matter of time."

Everything felt calm.

I saw a girl at lunch today,
Christina Taylor-Greene.
Smiling she turned and looked my way,
Was eating a bowl of ice cream.
It was her 10th birthday,
September 11th, a special day.
But things were not what they seemed.

There was a definite calm.

I saw my father's face today,
He just looked and stared.
He spoke to me in a ghostly way,
Said "Son complete your affairs".
Time is shorter than it seems,
Watch for signs in news and dreams.
The world should be aware.

Nothing penetrated the calm.

A radical bombed Oslo, Norway,
Then went on a shooting spree.
By the time authorities had him contained,
The dead count was 93.
A Florida teen kills his parents,
With a hammer, in a violent rage.
While their bodies lay in their room,
Throws a party through his Facebook page.
A deranged woman in California,
Cooks her baby in a microwave.
Record tornadoes throughout the states,
Send hundreds to early graves.
Floods, the likes never seen before,
Breach town levies and river shores.
The entire country is enslaved,
By an uncommonly brutal, record heatwave.

Lord,

Are these events omens received?
Testaments to your omniscience?
Divine prophecies preconceived?
Premonitions of the Apocalypse?
Is your creation beyond reprieve?
What will the ultimate consequence be?


Know that in You I trust and believe.
It's You that makes me strong.
Your sovereignty and nobility,
The knowledge you're never wrong,
Provide me faith and courage to be,
Forever poignantly calm.


Once again it rained...


Copyright © July 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
072511

Eeny, Meeny, Miny and Moe

Four little explorers embark on a quest,
A dark, silent house, their noble first test.
With courage, grit and imagination in tow.
Off go Eeny, Meeny, Miny and Moe.

The foot of a mountain, they climb the steps,
Not knowing what horrors to expect.
As they reach the first level plateau,
They gather themselves then onward go.

A mountain climb for four weary souls,
A child's young mind never grows old.
With towel pinned capes and wooden swords,
Newspaper hats and laundry line cords.

As they reach the top of their sky-high stairs,
They huddle together to quell their fears.
No light exists in this lofty place,
Just shadows and darkness, and infinite space.

It's here the real adventure begins,
They huddle together with youthful grins.
A lone flashlight anoints their way,
As they struggle to live another day.

They move quietly from door to door,
Shuffling and crawling around on all fours,
Each room's explored with delicate care,
Closets are caves and dragon lairs.

They search beneath couches and beds,
Looking for treasures and shrunken heads.
Working in unison like a well oiled machine,
They seem to have formed a respectable team.

As the bewitching hour begins to toll,
The group decides their day to call.
A tent is pitched between two chairs,
To protect the group from predators.

For tomorrow's just a dream away,
Another adventure, another day.
That's how little imaginations grow,
Like Eeny, Meeny, Miny and Moe.




Copyright © January 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm004
011610

The Good Humor Man

Hark, what yonder tinkle breaks,
The still silence of the air,
Tis a knight dressed all in white,
Weilding stocks of frozen ware.

Yea, ye nave of Youngstown,
Carried forth upon adorned white truck.
Spare thy neighbor a cold cool treat,
Erst he be forsook.

Ring thy magical bells, me Lord,
Chimed beacons to women and child.
The Pied Piper of suburban streets.
Moves slowly through the wild.

Anchor there upon yonder corner,
To peddle a stick or two.
Sandwiches filled with solid cream,
Should satisfy a few.

Waffled cones with cold creamy delight,
Topped with sweet milk chocolate lids.
Dreamy sickles of orange and white,
Seem popular among many of the kids.

Oncest thou mission is complete,
As dusk eases cross yawning land.
Take heed of this urban Wizard of Lore,
The one called The Good Humor Man.



Copyright © July 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm050
070109

Abducted

I open my eyes,
Am I still alive?
Or am I caught in some sort of dream?
The last thing I remember,
Was getting ready to drive
From my house to the Dairy Queen.

I'm lying restrained,
Looking at the sky.
I can't figure out where the hell I am.
My body's tingling,
My mouth parched and dry.
I can't feel my feet or my hands.

A face looks down on me,
I look up, wonder why.
None of it makes any sense.
I try to whisper,
Am I going to die?
The look turns from curious to a wince.

The eyes are peculiar,
Out of proportion.
They don't even look human at all.
Then another face appears.
A light and distortion.
I try once again to recall.

I climbed into my truck,
Put the key in the ignition.
I remember a strange clicking sound.
A sudden bright light.
Blinded all recognition,
Next I was here lying down.

All is blank,
My memory thin,
How the hell did I ever get here?
Was I in an accident?
Is this an ambulance I'm in?
Are these Angels or the Grim Reaper I fear?

My head's kinda groggy,
I'm falling asleep,
My thoughts drift slowly to a blur.
I think I hear voices,
The tests are complete,
I suddenly start to stir.

I open my eyes,
And to my surprise,
I'm back in the front seat of my truck.
The windows are down,
I try to surmise,
I ask myself, "What the Fuck?"

I grab the wheel,
Shake my head,
Get out to ward off my fright.
A silent cool breeze,
Makes me look overhead,
Just in time to see a slow moving light.

It glides to the east,
Without any sound,
Then suddenly blends into the night.
Still shaking a bit,
I look all around,
What was this unearthly sight?

I close my eyes,
Lean against my truck,
Recount steps before interrupted.
I say a soft prayer,
For reassurance and blind luck,
I believe I have just been abducted.


Copyright © November 2009
Kevin Mooney

km001
111109

God's Perfect Angel

Last night I saw an Angel looking down at me,
She peered through sad, tearful eyes, that twinkled radiantly.
Her skin looked alabaster beneath fanned golden hair.
I tried to look right past her, as if she wasn't there.

Her wings were like a turtle dove's, white and shoulder high,
Attached to the middle of her back, hung just below her thigh.
She wore a sheer flowing gown that rippled in a wind,
A colorful floral crown sat perched majestically on her head.

She looked as if she knew me, her questions went unsaid.
Her stare went right through me as she floated above my bed.
She hovered there like a cloud, her visage quite serene,
It was like some ghostly shroud you'd see on a movie screen.

She looked faintly familiar, her face I was sure I'd seen.
Like a Fairy Princess, a celestial virgin Queen.
I thought I heard her whisper, only her lips never came apart.
I couldn't decipher the message she so desperately tried to impart.

Then I heard faint music and her voice rose gradually,
The two blended all together, in perfect harmony.
Then a chorus of unseen Angels joined the sing-along.
All their voices soon converged into one acapellic song.

Their words were hard to muster, their voices were not clear.
The melody was kind of eerie, a Gothic, chant-like cheer.
The Angel then put her hands together as if in silent prayer.
The room became eerily quiet.  I wasn't sure she knew I was there.

Was this all a hypnotic muse? Something seemed desperately wrong.
A self-conceived nightmarish dream where I did not belong?
The music slowly faded away as her eyes began to tear.
Her vision seemed to waver a bit, then slowly disappear.

The Angel then turned to vapor as the fan wisped her away,
There seemed to be no rational point in asking her to stay.
The room smelled somewhat musty, a slight coolness filled the air.
I layed there for a little while, then bowed my head in prayer.

Had all this been an hallucination? Was my mind playing tricks on me?
Or was this some divine revelation that God wanted me to see?
When I woke up the next morning it all seemed like a dream,
I searched around everywhere for proof of what I believed I'd seen.

In my mind I questioned whether it was truly real or fake,
It sure didn't feel like an illusion.  I swear I was awake.
As I got prepared for work, I turned on the T.V. set.
I searched and found the morning news.  The lead story said...

A little girl had just been found, initially feared for dead.
Her mouth and limbs had been bound, a bag was over her head.
Someone mysteriously phoned a tip, they'd left an anonymous word,
Authorities were precisely lead to a place where strange music had been heard.

As they entered the chamber of horrors where the young girl was kept,
She was found unharmed, though scared, while upstairs her captor slept.
The room was cool and musty, a slight vapor filled the air.
They searched for the source of the strange music but couldn't find it anywhere.

They flashed the young girls picture.  She'd been missing for days it seemed,
Suddenly I was struck with awe as I looked at the television screen.
For I knew at that very moment my vision was not a dream.
There was God's Perfect Angel, the one that I had seen.


Copyright © August 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
101709

Wormholes

Somewhere in space there lies a place,
That connects two dimensions in time.
A warped oasis a man forced faces,
When presented with 2 states of mind.

Twisting and turning, never converging,
Conjoining two disjointed schemes.
Resisting and yearning, forever diverging,
Thoughts remembered in dreams.

Somber moments of relaxed coma,
Create quite a perplexed surreal.
Whispered illusions, contort confusion,
Sustain the tight vortex concealed.

Once you've arrived on the other side,
What's apparent is things look the same.
You soon realize there's no place to hide,
Transparency's one of life's game.

Somewhere in space there lies an escape,
A bridge to a parallel world.
A path one can take, to ease mental breaks,
Where time's dimensions unfurl.

Portholes exist that scientists insist,
Pierce man's perception of time.
Tunnels amidst a black cosmic abyss,
Wormholes that fester the mind.



Copyright © April 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
041510

The Castles of Callisto

Dusk arrives to blanket the skies,
Celestial eyes appear.
Galilean moons rise in tune,
Millions of miles from here.


Shadows loom as vapors consume,
Callisto's stark terrain.
The silhouettes of castles rest,
Haunting those that remain.


Mountain peaks imprison the weak,
The immoral and insane.
Within the walls one hears the calls,
Of irrepressible pain.


Satan's manifesto,
Evils native son.
The Castles of Callisto,
Eternity's just begun.


Silence speaks while insanity seeks,
Minds twisted, confused and deranged.
Nobility rules this kingdom of fools,
Where thoughts are controlled and contained.


Whispers are heard but rarely a word,
The echoes of distant bells ring.
Listeners converge but never emerge,
Souls anguish, alone in its wings.


Governed by ghosts of ancient hosts,
Spirits belie their disguise,
Phantom thieves and pirates boast,
Of fortunes, treasures and lies.


No one escapes Callisto's fate,
Tenants are eternally bound.
To hesitate may be too late,
Your remnants may never be found.


The Castles of Callisto,
Sheer walls of hallowed doom.
Men have tried,
Been denied,
Locked up and marooned.


The Castles of Callisto,
Hell calls from every room.
Its sovereignty,
Just might be,
Man's final resting tomb.

Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
090310

Guido The Mosquito

In the town of Escondido,
There lived a mosquito named Guido.
He had a wingspan,
As wide as my hand,
And his last name was Esposito.

His brother-cousin Alfredo,
Came from outside Laredo.
He had no fear
When females were near
He was nicknamed the Texas Tornado.

Alfredo and Guido the mosquitoes,
Had fairly large libidos.
They could be found,
Hanging around,
Poolsides in their speedos.

In the evenings they wore white tuxedos,
Went to clubs and played blackjack and keno.
Though often annoying,
Folks couldn't help enjoying,
These social misfits and pal gringos.

All of the female mosquitos,
Made fun of the Espositos,
As they walked around,
Like a couple of clowns,
In their speedos and white tuxedos.

One day Alfredo and Guido,
Decided to go to Reno.
They hitched a ride,
By flying inside,
A '69 Gran Torino.

Little did either mosquito,
Know the driver was Tito the bandito.
He was heading,
To crash a wedding,
Then rob The Pink Flamingo.

When his plan became clear to Guido,
He asked his friend "What can we do?"
Alfredo replied,
Stay low and hide,
It's better the less that we know.

Well that didn't sit well with Guido,
So he decided to confront the bandito.
He thought maybe then,
The plot would end,
It was all he could think of to do.

Well Tito had a bag of Doritos,
Sitting on the seat of his Torino.
When he looked aside,
Guido climbed inside,
And perched himself on a frito.

When Tito reached in for a Dorito,
He pulled out the frito with Guido.
Without hesitate,
He up and ate,
Poor old Guido the mosquito.

Now Tito loved burritos,
Cheetos and all kinds of Fritos,
But what he just had,
Tasted real bad,Of course he'd never eaten a mosquito.

He instinctively spit out 'ole Guido,
And saw it was a large mosquito.
To his surprise,
It looked still alive,
And its body spelled "Don't go to Reno"


Well this totally freaked out Tito,
And he missed his turn to Reno.
You should have seen,
How his face turned green,
Then he noticed old Guido's libido.

He flicked the mangled mosquito.
Into the back of the Gran Torino.
Then changed his plan,
As he wiped his hand,
And decided to head to Toledo.

Well Alfredo flew down to poor Guido,
And asked if there was anything he could do?
Guido replied,
Then quietly died,
On the floor of the Gran Torino.

Alfredo flew out the window.
And made his way to Reno.
There he reminisced,
About the bravery missed,
Of his cousin and unsung hero.

How Guido Esposito,
The mosquito from Escondido,
Saved the Flamingo,
From Tito the gringo,
By pretending to be a Dorito.

So if you ever see a mosquito,
In a speedo with a large libido.
He just might be,
From the same family tree,
As Alfredo and Guido Esposito.


Copyright © July 2010
Kevin Mooney


kmm001
072510