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

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

Popsicle Stick Races

Gentlemen, start your engines,
Get your bets and wagers in.
Grab your umbrellas,
Tell all the young fellas,
As the pop sickle stick races begin.

It used to be I relished days,
When all it did was rain.
You couldn't play sports,
In swimsuits or shorts,
But a pair of bare-feet,
And inclined streets,
Were sourses that could sure entertain.

I always collected popsicle sticks,
To satisfy rainy day thrills.
Stuffed in a cup,
I'd gather them up,
Run out the door,
In a virtual down pour,
And head up the closest street hill.

Both roadsides would soon come alive,
As rivers rushed toward sewer holes.
The current moved along,
Steady and strong,
Width only deterred,
By the height of the curb,
As its rapids pitched and rolled.

Sometimes it was hard to find,
The most perfect starting line.
But once decided,
I'd crouch down beside it,
Choose 2 contestants,
From my prized investments,
And readied them in precisioned time.

Sometimes I would pause and wait,
Hold back before I'd begin.
I'd build a small dam,
With the palm of my hand,
Plug up the flow,
And get ready to go,
And place my contestants in.

I'd silently start to count,
On your mark, get set, go.
With no hesitate,
I'd lift my palm gate,
The inevitable rush,
Of water would gush,
Propelling my race crafts to flow.

Down the hill the sticks would glide,
Slightly shifting from side to side.
Fluming the lane,
Undetered by rain,
Swiftly they made,
The first driveway,
As I imagined I was hanging five.

Staying their quested course,
My sticks would pick up speed.
They virtually flew,
Past driveway two,
Past a mailbox,
Under some trucks,
With stick two in the narrowest lead.

I would walk, bent to the side,
Making sure neither flared too wide.
One slight mistake,
An unchartered wake,
Could cause them to bound,
Or wash aground,
Or away with a passing tire's tide.

With the finish line now well in sight,
I'd run ahead and get positioned just right,
As the sticks would approach,
I'd get in a crouch,
Stand ready to defend,
The sewer's way in,
And spare them a "down the drain" plight.

It looks like a photo finish,
Who won this time's hard to tell.
One thing that's nice,
If you don't get it right,
You rescue your sticks,
Grab two brand new picks,
And head back up to the top of the hill.



Copyright © June 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
061410

Canopied Calliope

Canopied Calliope,
Superfluously Sublime.
Serenity's Soliloquy,
Superlative Sacred Rhymes.

Tangerine Listerine,
Cerebral Censored Crimes.
Phosphorescent Movie Screens.
Fluorescent Shoe Shines.

Serpendine Jelly Beans,
Pickled Pepper Pops.
Piccadilly Popsicles,
Corrugated Cough Drops.

Immitation imagination,
Maniacal mayhem.
Mystical mutilation,
Sobrietol social sham.

Weerie Weather Worrywarts,
Magical Mini Mimes.
Egotistical escorts,
Whimsical wind chimes.

Pretzel Pasted Potato Chips,
Conceptually Clear Craisins.
Lollipop loopty loops,
Candy Coated Cravings.

Marmalade Lemonade,
Ice Crematorium Shells.
Cascades of Cellophane,
Colloquial Quested Quells.

Simulated Silly Saunters,
Recreational Reprieves,
Stimulated Safe Crackers,
Semi-sensational severed sleeves.

Canopied Calliope,
Synchronized Circus tunes,
Cavalcades of Parade fav's.
Carnivalesque choral croons.


Copyright © October 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110409