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

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

Another War of the Worlds?

This poem is written to describe the accompanying art by RougePriest of the OP site - thank you Dan. In addition to being a poet, Dan is a very accomplished artist as well. Be sure to checkout the other poems I have written to his art - Faces of Infernal Destruction and Self-Denied, Satisfied and Crucified. This poem is also dedicated to the book and 1938 radio broadcast of The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells. It is intended to draw parallels to the the radio broadcast event and the 9/11 Trade Center attacks. It is a terrorist and war poem.


This is also an acrostic...



Americans favorite shows all tuned,

Network special news report.

Original programs now resumed,

Tensions build outside New York.

Helicopters fill the sky lined night,

Emergency broadcast systems sound,

Rising chaos, no threats in sight,

All towns quiet, Lady Liberty's down.

Live feeds indicate aerial assault.

Initial reports of alien attacks.

Elastic city's news at fault,

Neighbors crazed, lack of facts.

All seems hopeless, so unreal.

Television programs all seem norm.

Terrible bursts of glass and steel?

Another nightmare terrorist storm?

Choreographed to rational folks,

Kept confused through theatrical hoax.







Copyright © November 2009

Kevin Mooney





kmm041

110109

Parallel To Eternity

A break in the social equilibrium,
A crack in the window of time.
An invisible world running parallel,
An eternally extending line.

Some mirrors serve as sheer portals,
Television screens are tiny worm holes.
A world of identical mere mortals,
All playing identically formed roles.

Crossing the line can consume you,
Once there you may never come back.
In space the holes are like vacuums,
From a distance they appear to be black.

To step through one is to cross a dimension,
A warp in both reality and time.
For some it's an eternal suspension.
For others, like no experience they'll find.

Once through you can turn back and see yourself,
In your present day physical state and mind.
You can speak but you cannot hear yourself,
You can look but stare too long, you'll go blind.

The parallel world you're now a part of,
Is exactly like the one you left behind.
The only real difference I can think of
Is in this new world holes aren't so hard to find.

There one can look through any mirror,
See the same person in the same place and time.
Television screens cannot harm you,
As long as everyone's not off at the same time.

People are all cloned and duplicated,
The world's a virtual facsimile.
To be one's self is to be replicated,
A mirror image of all that men see.

A new world that our minds have created.
Running parallel from here to eternity.



Copyright © November 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
111309