Purple Penguins

Dapper Dan's from down below,
Weeble, wobble to and fro,
Winter bound in ice and snow.
Sporting feathered tuxedos.

Purple Penguins perched up-rite,
Playfully poignant, poised, polite.
Comedians dressed in black and white,
Slipping, sliding left and right.

Minstrels of cold South Pole nights.
Braving blizzards' blistery blights.
Antarctic's favorite frigid friends.
Marching onward with their kin.

Bashful birdbrained beaked heroes,
Tempting temperatures below zero.
People pause to watch them play,
All applause their pensive ways.

Caped connivers, fettered foul,
Sole survivors exist somehow.
Constantly struggling to fit in,
The always bungling purple penguins.




Copyright © February 2010
Kevin Mooney

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

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 Frisbee Catching Dog

I wrote this in September 1979 for my loving and faithful dog Nugget, the best dog in the world. He was my best friend for 12 years...


He certainly is a lazy ole fella,
This friend of mine.
Some say, "He's just a dumb animal"
I don't really mind.
Besides, I know him better than anyone.

Sure he's lazy,
Aren't all his kind?
He's a dog, part husky,
Their coats aren't fine.
And I know him better than anyone...

Don't let his laziness fool you though.
He's merely waiting for the time,
When I take him out,
Turn him loose,
And let that saucer fly.

For he's the Frisbee Catching Dog,
A legend in his time,
An honest-to-God celebrity,
With the ability to climb...

...high above friends and foes,
'till soaring disc he finds,
Then gradually to earth he floats,
then turning on a dime...

...back to me he brings the disc,
At my feet, he lets it lie.
Then sits and shines, as if to say,
"Come on, just one more time?"

So I grab the plate,
Cock my arm,
At once he's off he's off his behind.
There it goes,
The wind's got it now,
But where's that mutt of mine?

Oh well, like I said,
This ole fella's past his prime,
He's the laziest frisbee catching dog,
The world will ever find.
And of course, I know him better than anyone...


Copyright © May 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm074
090179

Itty-Bitty Persian Kitty

Itty-bitty Persian kitty,
You're so small, soft and pretty.
You sit and watch all you can.
Fit right in the palm of my hand,

Little Persian kitty cat,
Where the heck are you at?
You're always playing hide 'n seek,
Getting sillier week to week.

You're the cutest little kitten,
Feel just like a fuzzy mitten.
A fluffy, fuzzy ball of fur,
Always causing such a stir.

I love to watch you chase your ball,
When I roll it down the hall.
You use your paws to claw at things,
Fingers, toys and dangling strings.

You have a funny little mug,
It's scrunchy like a feline pug.
You barely weigh an ounce or two,
Pounce on everything that moves.

I'm not sure how big you'll get.
You'll never be the biggest pet.
I just pray you'll always stay,
Cute and cuddly and like to play.

My itty-bitty feline friend,
I'll love you dearly, thick or thin.
And when you've grown old and fat,
You'll still be my favorite cat.


Copyright © August 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
082811

The Man Of A Thousand Voices

Thank you Mel for giving us,
A thousand fond memories.
You were so many voices,
On all our early TVs.

Mr. Spacely from The Jetsons,
Barney Rubble to name a few.
Captain Caveman, Heathcliff, Tom Cat,
Woody Woodpecker, too.

Of all the toons that you crooned,
The one's we most adored.
Were all those famous LooneyToons,
We watched on Saturday morn.

Shhh...Be Berwy, Berwy Quiet,
The name is Elma Fudd
I'm auways hunting Wabbits.
Be quiet if you could.

Therwe pesky wittle queatures,
But one espeshewy.
Dat 'ole Bugs Bunny Wabbit,
Is berwy rascawy,

Munchin' on his cawots,
Aweways wants to pway.
Evwy time I twy to shoot him,
He seems to swip away.

I know I'w get him dis time,
Just you wait a see.
Shhh...Be Berwy Quiet,
Wabbits are my speshwulty.

Well sufffferin, succatash,
As Sylvester cat would say,
He's always prowlin somewhere,
Beneath Tweety Bird's cage.

Tweety on the other hand,
Likes to talk and swing.
He never seems too concerned,
Loves everyone and thing.

God bless Tweety's Granny,
With her trusted broom.
It helps and comes in handy,
When Sylvester's in the room.

Mee Meep, there goes The Road Runner,
With the coyote after him,
It's old Wiley Coyote,
And another Acme mayhem.

Speedy Gonzales, amazed all of us,
With his bursts and grace.
I always wondered who would win,
If he and Road Runner raced.

Fog Horn Leg Horn, that big blow hard,
Sounded like W.C. Fields.
You'd think a rooster ruling a barnyard.
Was such a great big deal.

Daffy Duck seemed out of luck,
With Bugs Bunny around.
If not for Bugs, Daffy might wear,
The WB Cartoon crown.

Yosemite Sam was a wanted man,
With mustache, guns and hat.
He never caught that dang varment,
Ended up on truck mud flaps.

Now Porky Pig, you gotta love him,
He's my favorite Loon.
I love the classic way he ends,
Each LooneyTune cartoon.

Bda, bda, bda,..that's all Folks.

Thanks Mr. Blanc.


Copyright © August 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
081511

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

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

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

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

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

Quincy Who

Jolly retired wealthy tycoon,

Indelibly adored.

McBarker was his loyal friend,

Blissful musical score.

A laugh-a-minute virtual guise,

Charismatically restored.

Kind of "top hat, trench coat" disguise,

Unselfish to the core.

Squinting always to be seen,

With nephew Waldo by his side.

Audaciously demur in every scene,

Silly predicaments of blind insight.

Mister was the first name he shared,

Always caught in some comic mess.

Gregarious, myopic acting flair,

"Oh you've done it again" he always says.

Our nearsighted vaudevillian-aire guest.





Copyright © June 2009

Kevin Mooney



kmm001

061509

Little White Tiger Cub

Welcome little white tiger cub,
To this world you've never seen.
The fearlessly, bold embodiment of,
A precious newborn King.

Like you, there are not that many,
My black striped noble friend.
Millions will watch over you,
As your life begins.

Take a moment, quietly pause,
Consider the world and all it's flaws.
Defend your self with tooth and claws,
Protect your ground with giant paws.

You're a welcome sight white tiger cub,
Sitting up and looking 'round.
Perched upon your solid rock,
Taking in your kingdom proud.

Roll around, learn to play,
Your role may suddenly change someday,
A species owes its future to you,
Grow strong, my friend and see things through.

One day you'll be big and strong,
Able to right what man's done wrong.
God willing, my friend, you will survive,
Defy all odds and multiply...



Copyright © January 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
011610

Little Polar Bear

Silly little polar bear,
With your coat of white.
Playing in the snow somewhere.
Blending out of sight.

Rolly polly polar bear,
Showing all your might.
Giant paws scratch the air,
In a playful fight.

Soft and fluffy polar bear,
Powder puff of white,
Eyes and nose black as coal,
Claws clenched firm and tight.

Itty bitty polar bear,
Sitting there upright,
Prince of northern pole cold air,
Sleep cub sound at night.




Copyright © December 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
121209

A Popeye Poem

Soft spoken sailor man
Timid bald spinach fan.
Rarely the loser of a fight.
Often seen with a can,
Non-typical muscle man,
Guardian of all good and right.
The father of Sweet Pea,
Oliveoil's sweetie,
The source of his Pappy's delight.
Hero of children
Even bow-legged women,
Forever foe Bluto's worst sight.
Impressive large forearms,
Not one who bore arms,
Icon of early TV.
Smokes corn cob pipes, wears hats of white,
Helps Wimpy with his hamburger needs.



Copyright © December 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
122909

Whatever Happened To...

This is a story 'bout songs once sung,
Short little jingles known by everyone.
So sit right back and read this tale,
Of sitcom songs and the stories they tell.

When Jed Clampett went huntin' for some food,
He found himself some bubblin' crude,
Twas kin folk said he should move away,
To Beverly Hills, Calforn-I-A.

In New York was this city gent,
Other direction was where he went.
Found him land spread far and wide,
Left Manhattan for the countryside.

Hungarian wife Lisa wanted to stay,
She was allergic smelling hay.
She adored her penthouse view,
Times Square and 5th Avenue.

Aboard The Cannonball, that famous train,
Hooterville's Junction's where they came,
The Shady Rest was run by Joe and Kate,
Its water tower was where her daughters bathed.

How 'bout that famous talking horse?
The one who Wilbur owned of course.
Seems he alone heard when Ed said,
Hello...I'm Mr. Ed.

Take 7 castaways, what do you get?
The tale of a ship and a fateful trip.
Five passengers and its fearless crew,
Lost at sea on a three hour cruise.

One family utterly dark and strange,
Had a 7 foot butler who gargled, "You Raaanggg".
Thing, Uncle Fester and Cousin It,
Made Adam's Family the spookiest yet.

Then there's the story of a lovely lady,
Who was bringing up three very lovely girls.
She met a man, that one named Brady,
Raising three boys in his own little world.

Their show was one that couldn't miss,
With Tiger, Sam and the maid Alice.
Getting together became more than a hunch,
As one big family they formed the Brady Bunch.

Mary was a beauty on the Van Dyke show,
She proved she could make it on her own..
She brought women equality and style,
She turned the world on with her wit and smile.

Archie liked the way Miller played,
Folks liked him and his bigoted way.
Meathead and Gloria never pulled their weight,
And poor old Edith's voice would grate.

Cheers brought laughter and another great tune,
We all knew when Norm came in the room.
Sam and Woody were glad you came,
It was nice to go where they knew your name.

Six Friends together for several years,
Were always stuck in second gear.
With Phoebe, Chandler, Rachel and Ross,
Joey was slow and Monica was boss.

What ever happened to great TV songs,
Those that had us singing along?
Shows aren't what they used to be.
They all seem lost in reality.

Give me good lyrics and a catchy tune,
One we can sing and all drink to.
At a party, bar or any gathering,
The best shows are those with songs we can sing.





Copyright © November 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
112309

Nymphs of the Night

Sitting quietly on my front porch swing,
Invigorated by the cool Fall air.
The Magothy certainly is a frenzy tonight,
A symphony of crickets everywhere.

An owl in the distance gives a hoot,
As a dog barks at a walker by.
Croaks of frogs add harmonic suit,
To this nighttime hypnotic lullaby.

A gentle breeze tinkles some chimes,
A distant siren breaks the spell.
A churning rumble of a boat going by,
Compliments the feverish quell.

Swaying in time with the cadenced discourse
of this nocturnal symphonic soliloquy.
Floating in air, rhythmically back and forth,
Watching heaven's celestial sea.

A nighttime canopy of endless stars,
An atrium of twinkling specks.
I often wonder where we are,
In God's solar planetarium GPS?

A bat flies by doing loops in the sky,
All at once I'm lucidly aware,
Of the cluster of mosquitoes, nats and fireflies,
The winged buffet that permeates the air.

I suppose to a bat it's a livelihood,
A way to avoid being hungry and bored.
An acrobatic aeronautical sport,
The prey an pneumatic smorgasbord.

A firefly catches my eye,
It flutters suspiciously near.
It lands on the rail for no reason why,
I stop swinging, bend over to peer.

What in the world, it looks like girl,
With wings and long pointed ears.
She's wearing a vest and ankle boots,
Some kind of bodysuit and short cut hair.

Her eyes seem catlike, as she looks all around,
She sits with a seductive stare.
She's quite peculiar, I move closer to look,
Then it hits me, I'm the only one there.

What could this be, it's a little scary,
Are my eyes playing tricks with my head?
Is this nymph of the night some Tinkerbell fairy?
Maybe I should just go to bed.

The bat then swoops by, again stirs the sky,
The group takes on a life of it's own,
The mosquitoes and nats start to pitch and swirl,
Like some circus or carnival sideshow.

But the fireflies don't seem to mind,
They seem to go along with the flow.
Their off and on blinking seems orchestrated,
Like some elaborate Christmas light show.

Before I am able to run for a jar,
My little pixie takes to the air,
She rejoins her nocturnal flock from afar.
I sit back and watch, now aware,

I never noticed before the patterns they impart.
With their blinking electrical lights.
At first there's an arrow and then a heart,
I think I'm now smitten with my Nymphs of the Night.


Copyright © October 2009
Kevin Mooney

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