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

Dinner Table Jib Jab

Okay now let's say grace.

Thank you Father for this meal,
And all else you provide.
We would not have anything,
Without you by our side.

May this food give nourishment,
To our bodies and our souls.
Bless us with encouragement,
Through us your truth be told.

Amen.

Now please pass the peas,
Do tell how was school?
Mashed potatoes, stewed tomatoes,
The weather's kind of cool.

Father how was work today?
Who needs buttered bread?
How was traffic, by the way?
Want biscuits instead?

Mary had piano lessons,
Honey, how'd it go?
More milk or water anyone?
When's your next school show?

Oh Darling did you see the news?
That actor was found dead.
No drugs involved, no alcohol,
Stroke is what they said.

Father can I borrow the car?
Friday I have a date.
I promise not to take it far,
And not be out too late.

Mother the house sure looks great.
You worked hard today.
What a great meal you've made,
Oh, and by the way,

Grandma called to speak with you,
I wrote the message down.
Seems Uncle Bob and Aunt June,
Are going to be in town.

Can I have some more meatloaf,
And some gravy please?
The mashed potatoes get my vote.
I like mine with peas.

Save some room for dessert,
I made a pecan pie.
I also have cool fresh fruit,
Give them both a try.

When everyone's meal is done,
The women will clean up?
After that we'll have some fun,
Save your coffee cup.

Then lets all gather 'round,
For some songs and games.
There's been enough jib jab now,
Its been a wonderful day.


Copyright © May 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
051411

Weeping Willow Trees

Sweeping, weeping willow trees,
Wis-ping in the breeze.
Waving wind whipped angel wings,
Wanting to be seen.

Swinging, swaying silhouettes,
Swishing sensually.
Dancing, prancing marionettes,
Each its own trapeze.
Swirling, wind swept,
Synchronicity.
Twirling, unkept,
Perfect harmony.
Silently, subtly,
Strutting to a fro.
Quietly, suddenly,
Putting on a show.

Sleeping, weeping willow trees,
Lazing listlessly
Quivering, withering,
Laying limp at ease.

Whispering willow trees,
Waiting patiently.
Wistfully, whimsically,
Wishing to be free.

Wilting weeping willow trees,
Weary, in dismay.
Will all the weeping willow trees,
One day wilt away?

Wake up weeping willow trees,
Watch and you will see.
The world one day will look your way,
Sympathetically.


Copyright © May 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
051311

Two Perfect Chips of Stone

This poem is dedicated to my sons Josh and Jake...

Thank You Lord, You blessed me with,
Two perfect chips of stone.
A pair of sons I never guessed,
I'd ever call my own.
It feels good, I must confess,
To see how nice they've grown.
It brings to mind the joys I missed,
The times I was alone.

I wish my folks had lived to see,
How perfect they've become.
They're different yet much the same,
Adored by everyone.
As children they were challenging,
Please don't get me wrong.
But they've become nice young men,
Found where they belong.

I suppose one can't foresee,
How bless-ed life can be.
In retrospect one can object,
To pain and misery.
As I reflect, I don't regret,
Decisions that I've known.
Lord I praise You helped me raise,
Two perfect chips of stone.


Copyright © March 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
033011

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

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

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

Like a Norman Rockwell

I want a life, bereft of strife,
Less worries, pain and sorrow.
A picture-perfect, love affair,
That breaches each tomorrow.

Holidays to dream about,
Season's blessed with with songs.
Family get-togethers that,
Last a lifetime long.

Simple scenes that blend together,
That form life's melody.
Pleasant thoughts that last forever,
A sense of certainty.

I want a life, with a wife,
And a family.
A perfect home, to call my own.
Love and prosperity.

Mental scenes of what life means,
Simple yet sincere.
Snapshots pulled from album screens,
That capture all the years.

I'd like to take my memories,
And place them under glass.
Paint laughs and jokes with warm brush strokes,
Sanctify the past.

As waning years are stained by tears,
They'll comfort and sustain.
All that I've so valued dear,
They'll help to ease the pain.

Yes, I want life memorialized,
To ponder and recall.
A painted mural immortalized,
A book upon a wall.

A treasury of what's happened to me,
Framed to both see and tell.
A collection of lifetime's subtleties,
Like those of Norman Rockwell.



Copyright © July 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
073110

Summer Signs

The sweet smell of honeysuckle,

Dampened by the rain.

Drips of morning dew running,

Down a window pane.

A symphony of water fowl,

Frogs and nesting birds,

Synchronize, then harmonize.

In melody, not words.

Crisp and cool, storm-filtered air,

A soft and gentle breeze,

Life stirring everywhere,

As far as eyes can see.

As the morning sun rise,

Breaks above the trees

I suddenly realize,

What summer means to me.

~!~

T-shirts, shorts, no more shoes,

Fancy grills and barbecues.

The smell of flowers and fresh cut grass,

Fishing for hours for trout or bass.

Baseball and Concerts after dark,

Amusement, Theme and Water-parks,

Dairy Queen and dreamsicles,

Homemade ice cream, popsicles.

Thunderstorms and scattered drizzles.

Boyhood laughs and girlish giggles.

Swimming pools and water holes,

No more school, just fishing poles.

Ice cold beer and bottled wine.

Longer days, come rain or shine.

Grapes picked straight from the vine.

Teeth carved out of watermelon rind.

Picking wild blackberries,

Whipped cream over strawberries.

Blueberries and fresh cherries,

Snow Balls, Cones and Mr. Freeze.

Fresh tomatoes and vegetables,

From homegrown gardens to tables.

Picture perfect, clear blue skies,

Beaches, burgers, boardwalk fries.

Peach cobblers and apple pies.

Mosquitos, ants and fireflies.

Picnics and the 4th of July,

Memories that never die,

Family gatherings, vacation times.

A poetic collage of summer signs.

Copyright © May 2010

Kevin Mooney

kmm0010

50110

A Touch

Reflections of young innocence hidden in the mind,

Recollections, time well spent, memories left behind.

Connections form a labyrinth of feelings unrefined.

Learning from relationships, facing uphill climbs,

Discerning all the joys and slips, retracing steps in time.

Yearning for acceptance, embracing what you find.

Reaffirming countenance, moving forward blind.

Suddenly subtlety's sensations soon unwind,

Revealing hidden frailties, temptations long confined.

Reaching toward its virile force, finding peace of mind,

Feeling for its surreal source, its one and only kind.

Tingling from that sense you sense, pleasures intertwined.

Knowing that with confidence true treasures you will find.

Appealing expressed consciousness, temperatures soon climb,

Reeling reflexed willingness, conjectures swoon sublime.

Realizing penned up passions, enticement’s mental clutch,

Mesmerizing inner spasms, incitement's gentle flux,

Sensualizing love's bridged chasm, the excitement of a touch.

Copyright © February 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm117
020510

A Jewish Cowgirl

Riding the plains of nightclubs and bars,
Wearing beer stains, teardrops and scars,
A special kind of lady in her own western world,
With a mind a little crazy, a Jewish Cowgirl.

When she walks in a room heads naturally turn,
Her smile breaks the ice, makes men's hearts yearn.
Her laugh is contagious, her giggles divine,
Personality outrageous with tequilla and wine.

Wherever she sits she attracts an audience,
She captivates attention with beauty and radiance.
Her mere presence has a way of making younger men stutter,
Her sincere tenderness makes their hearts melt like butter.

She wears tight fitting jeans and a black leather vest,
Eyes can't help but be drawn to her non-lacking chest.
A well curved body, not too lean or fat,
A tattoo not too gaudy, a horse on her back.

She attracts attention with warm smiling eyes,
Exacts her redemption with beguiling reprise.
Gentile women see through her disguise,
Her subtle innuendos and innocent lies.

She handles her suitors in a way that's just right,
Rejects social Tudors without argument or fight.
Her image is photographed in male minds she knows,
Her exits are choreographed wherever she goes.

As she rides off into her moonlit sunsets,
She counts her blessings, discounts regrets,
Each night's an experiment, an adventure unfurled,
A brand new experience for a Jewish Cowgirl.




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

Anissa Jones? Is That You?

I found some pictures in a drawer the other day,
of a girl about 7 years old.
She had pigtails, freckles and sandy blonde hair.
Her blue eyes were like a story untold.

I couldn't quite place her innocent face,
I had this feeling it was one I should know.
From back in grade school, as a child or teen,
or on some old television show.

She had a face like that of an angel,
A smile warm and serene.
Her skin was white and fair like alabaster,
A beautiful pretty princess or queen.

Then the thought suddenly hit me.
This was the face of a girl I knew.
Her and her little twin brother Jody,
In a swanky apartment on 5th Avenue.

I remember she had a doll, that wore silly glasses
and had her same style of hair.
I think she called her doll Mrs. Beasley,
You know? I think we have that same doll somewhere.

My wife and I met under peculiar circumstances,
A blind date, that single men have long feared.
When she told me her dad was also her uncle,
I just thought that it was sort of weird.

It turned out her brothers had once been her cousins,
Her parents had gotten divorced.
She had recently split from her first husband,
I didn't think it could get any worse.

So I married that girl despite all her baggage,
There was something definitely at play.
It might have been kismet or fate that grabbed us,
All I know is I loved her and needed someplace to stay.

Sometimes, though, it seems more than coincidence,
My wife's pictures in pigtails and sandy blonde hair.
Reflect a certain uncanny resemblance,
To that little girl from the show Family Affair.

She, brother Jody and her teen sister Sissy,
Were the wards of their Uncle Bill's care.
Butler Giles French and their 27A apartment,
Graced the 60's Monday night prime time air.

I admit as a youngster I was often quite smitten,
With that girl and her mesmerizing stare.
When I first met my wife I was caught love-bitten
By this girl's similar tantalizing flair.

When Buffy died, many cried,
Her fans mourned and were all quite saddened,
She had brightened the rooms of many homes.
Sometimes I wonder if it all really happened.
It crosses my mind, as thoughts start to roam.
Am I the one blind? Is her cover blown?
I think I married Anissa Jones.



Copyright © November 2009
Kevin Mooney

Happy Mother's Day Tracey

Note, this poem is an acrostic. Messages are formed with both the first letters and last letters of every stanza.

Acrostically Faithful and True



To my beloved wife,
Revered soul-mate for life.
Angelic best friend,
Colloquial blend.
Entrusted confidante,
Yearned for Godsend...

Fateful acquaintance,
Alluring prospect.
Impermeable abidance,
Tempting veneer,
Humble adorn,
Fancy proforma,
Untethered zeal.
Lustfully formal,
Loquaciously Shy.
Youthfully coy,
Truthful pseudo.
Respect-ant Adieu,
Ufettered flair.
Explicit rendezvous.

Together we're one,
Ordinarily content.
Lovingly pure,
Oz-like ardour.
Voracious discern,
Exuberant karma.
Facetious appeal,
Audacious, surreal.
Impermeable sincerity,
Translucently superb.
Heavenly delightful,
Fervent allure.
Unbridled bliss,
Longingly sensuous.
Laughter demure,
Yearningly adored.

The years past form a lifelong daydream,
Reflections of good-times gone by,
Allusions to events, a time-capsule surreal,
Collective freeze-frames of memories ago.
Every moment preserved like a show on TV.
You're my rock, my salvation, my own mistletoe.

In the time since I met you,
Life's been blessed from get-go.
Often extraordinary,
Victorious resolve,
Enjoyable improv.
You're my numero uno
One love, true and faithful,
Unmistakable alibi.


Copyright © June 2009
Kevin Mooney

Acrostically Faithful and True

Note, this poem is an acrostic. Messages are formed with both the first letters and last letters of every stanza.


To my beloved wife,
Revered soul-mate for life.
Angelic best friend,
Colloquial blend.
Entrusted confidante,
Yearned for Godsend...

Fateful acquaintance,
Alluring prospect.
Impermeable abidance,
Tempting veneer,
Humble adorn,
Fancy proforma,
Untethered zeal.
Lustfully formal,
Loquaciously Shy.
Youthfully coy,
Truthful pseudo.
Respect-ant Adieu,
Ufettered flair.
Explicit rendezvous.

Together we're one,
Ordinarily content.
Lovingly pure,
Oz-like ardour.
Voracious discern,
Exuberant karma.
Facetious appeal,
Audacious, surreal.
Impermeable sincerity,
Translucently superb.
Heavenly delightful,
Fervent allure.
Unbridled bliss,
Longingly sensuous.
Laughter demure,
Yearningly adored.

The years past form a lifelong daydream,
Reflections of good-times gone by,
Allusions to events, a time-capsule surreal,
Collective freeze-frames of memories ago.
Every moment preserved like a show on TV.
You're my rock, my salvation, my own mistletoe.

In the time since I met you,
Life's been blessed from get-go.
Often extraordinary,
Victorious resolve,
Enjoyable improv.
You're my numero uno
One love, true and faithful,
Unmistakable alibi.


Copyright © June 2009
Kevin Mooney