Let's Celebrate Again!

The Giants Win!
The Giants Win!
Hallelujah, Praise the Lord!
Let's celebrate again!

From the depths of the National League West,
They're now baseball's absolute best.
Hip hip, hurray, hip hip hurray,
Who would have ever guessed.

Not since 1954,
Had they won the World Series before.
Back in the days of Willie Mays.
Known as The Say Hey Kid in his days.

Sixty six long years ago,
Twenty four thousand days or so.
Not since they played in the old Polo Grounds,
Never in their new San Francisco town.

Not since Thompson or Walter O'Malley,
Durocher, Mueller or Antonelli.
Wilhelm, Westrum or Eddie Stanky,
Katt, Alvin Dark or Willie McCovey.

Juan Marichal or Gaylord Perry,
Orlando Cepada or an Alou named Matty.
Red Schoendienst, Dusty Rhodes or Bill Rigney,
Dave Kingman, Bobby Bonds or his son named Barry.

Hurray for Torres, Sanchez and Huff,
Lincecum, Cain, Rowand and Ross.
Bumgarner, Burrell, Uribe and Posey,
Renteria, Wilson and manager Bochy.

Yes, let the celebration begin,
The Giants are world champs again.
No, not the New York Polo Ground ones,
Those black and orange Californians.

Hip, hip, hurray, Hip, hip, hurray,
Their fans will certainly remember this day.
No one can take it away from them,
The Giants are baseball's champions.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110710

The Abandoned Work Boat

This poem was written to go with the accompanying pencil drawing by the artist Paul McGehee.


In a field, near an old broken pier,
Set the remnants of an abandoned work boat.
The frame worn and sheered, reflected its years,
Several pylons kept it afloat.

Called Viola, its reflection told ya,
It had once served superfluously.
Its bows lined with tires were subtle reminders,
Of its yeoman austerity.

Viola was old and stories were told,
Of how prominent and noble it had been.
What would it take, to reinvigorate,
This once mighty sea dog again?

With a little TLC, this work boat could be,
The resurrection of its once vibrant past.
When it trolled the bay, for its catch each day,
Of crabs, blue fish, oysters and bass.

So many today are retired, put away,
Laid off like Viola in their time.
Our country's become an unemployed kingdom,
Where many have not reached their prime.

It's sad to see so many worthy,
Standing in employment lines.
The hypocrisy of bureaucracy,
Has become our nation's worst crime.

So many folks live with so much to give,
Yet haven't the means to survive.
They struggle to eat and make ends meet,
Find shelter and just stay alive.

Sure jobs exist, on paper and lists.
Yet it all seems like one big charade.
Those who've applied are routinely denied,
While those considered aren't paid.

Given a chance, the old boat could enhance,
Lives with so many mouths to feed.
It could be her way to earn her own pay,
Provide for so many in need.

So Viola received a spiritual reprieve,
Was restored and soon prospered again.
She overcame strife, found a virtual new life,
Is no longer worthless or abandoned.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110610

A Hero's Last Stand

The light at the end of the tunnel
Beckoned him once more.
He anxiously waited for his turn,
Like so many times before.
As his teammates each took the stage,
He inched closer to the door.
Then stepping into the spotlight again,
Heard the crescendo of the crowd's roar.

Like a Modern Gladiator,
He was dressed from head to toe.
His armor was his helmet and pads,
His legacy held in tow.
He hesitated in acknowledgment,
Basked in the moment's glow.
Before him stood his comrades,
Across stood his foe.

He fought a mighty battle,
Led one fierce final charge.
In the end, though bruised and rattled,
His stature loomed ever large.
When the dust had finally cleared,
His team had failed to win.
Still the crowd stood and cheered,
Their beloved hero again.

He graciously shook the hands of those,
He'd bowed to in defeat.
In the stands his fans all rose,
The stadium was on its feet.
As he left the field of play,
Those on both teams stopped.
Removed their helmets in respect,
To honor the man at the top.

The darkness of the tunnel,
Beckoned him once more.
He limped his way, helmet in hand,
His body battered and sore.
At the threshold of his departure,
He acknowledged those he adored.
He waived his helmet one last time,
And stepped through history's door.

The light within the tunnel,
Welcomed him once more.
He walked alone,
Toward his new home,
And never played anymore.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110110

Those Short Eyes

This is my contribution to the Original Poetry Wooden forum competition on child abuse prevention. Sorry if it offends...


Short Eyes: a pedophile, or one who is jailed for child molestation


I see eyes looking at me.
Innocent eyes, tenderly.
Brilliant eyes, calling me.
Children' eyes, dauntingly.

I see eyes staring at me.
Icy eyes, glaringly.
Sinister eyes, wanting me.
Piercing eyes, haunting me.

Innocent child,
Innocent eyes.
Radiant smile,
Quiet and shy.

Come and sit with me a while.
I'm a friendly pedophile.
I'm an evil that lurks and festers,
I'm the Devil, a child molester.

Where's your father?
Where's your mother?
Do you have a sister or a brother?

Make a wish,
I insist.
Look, I have a special gift.

Be aware,
Do not stare.
Will you let me touch you there?

Do not yell,
Never tell,
Crawl into your little shell.

Ball into your private hell.

What a surprise,
Such beautiful eyes,
Can I caress inside your thighs?

Don't mind my sweat,
I like it wet.
Will you be my special pet?

Here one sec,
Gone the next.
You never know what to expect.

You're never going to forget.

Children beware,
Of strangers' stares.
Be conscious of their hidden lairs.

Don't be blind,
Know the signs,
They come in many shapes and kinds.

Their short eyes, are their disguise.
Be vigilant and recognize.
Confident and extra wise.

Know they're out there, everywhere.
Lying, hiding, always there.

Know that someone out there cares.
Trying, fighting for your care.

Don't be afraid to ask or share.
Don't be afraid of your fear.

Don't give in to strangers' lies?
Yell for help, vocalize.
Run and hide, to survive.
Tell someone about the guy.
It doesn't matter what your size,
Don't become his next prize.

A permanent, living, breathing prize.

Somewhere, out there, freedom lies,
Beyond their grasp, binds and ties.
Reach for those you recognize,
Don't speak or go with those short eyes.


Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
103010

October

This is for my dad...

Its that time of year again,
When nature sheds its skin.
Leaves turn brown,
Hit the ground,
Decay and then blend in.

Its a time to gather,
Harvest family and friends.
To recollect,
Pay respect,
Count blessings and make amends.

Its a time to plow and reap,
Clear fields and restore.
Time to save,
What you crave,
Then pray to God for more.

Its when young couples marry,
Brand new lives begin.
Heartfelt praise,
On wedding days,
Become much more than friends.

Its when those passed are buried,
Fond memories laid to rest.
When grounds are sewn,
With those we've known,
Fall's fertile soils are blessed.

Its a time of reflection,
To prepare for life to end.
To recognize,
To realize,
Just how good life has been.

Its a time of contemplation,
Of what you value most.
Tranquility,
Serendipity,
Thank the Holy Ghost.

October's always meant to me,
A good time to atone.
A season when,
My best friend,
Set out on his own.

Fall's a solemn season,
Warm somber feelings, sad.
That time of year,
Of hope and fear,
When God took home my dad.


Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
102310

Dear Mom...

I had a friend who was adopted and never knew his biological mother.  He's a Christian with strong, anti-abortion beliefs.  This a letter written by him to her.

Thank you for my birthday,
And all those in between.
I often wonder where I'd be,
If you had not had me.
Though I never knew you,
Or the father that you made,
I think about you all the time,
And the price you paid.

I know I was a burden,
Something you did wrong.
When you're young life's uncertain,
I'm glad that you were strong.
The life you bore and gave me,
Might not have ever been,
If you had never saved me,
And God had not stepped in.

Mother can you hear me,
I wonder if you can.
Though another raised me,
I'm still who I am.
I foster no ill feelings,
Hold no one at fault.
I've learned a valued lesson,
One I was never taught.

I have a new perspective,
How precious life can be.
I am more receptive,
To others just like me.
Mine is a unique view,
Of what life truly means.
Had it not been for you,
I never would have seen...

The beauty of a sunrise,
The solitude of rain.
The innocence in childrens' eyes,
The way the seasons change.
The colors of a rainbow,
The moon and stars at night.
The silhouettes of distant mountains,
Against the day's last light.

Mom, know that I still love you,
And bear no hidden scar.
The children that now call me dad,
Ask me who you are.
I tell them you are special,
The mom I never knew.
That because you made a choice,
I am here for you.


Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
100810

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

Stop The Drama

Stop the drama, Mr. Osama,
You're never gonna win.
One day God will find a way,
To payback all your sin.

The world's a better place you see,
As long as you're a refugee.
Good will win in the end,
Justice will prevail.

Stop the drama, Mr. Obama,
False promises you send.
We all pray for the day,
We all work again.

We've lost our hope and dignity,
Playing games of wait and see.
How much worse can worse be?
We shout to no avail.

Stop the drama, Mr. Osama,
We no longer care.
Your the face of Islamic disgrace,
Stir hate everywhere.

One day we will find you,
Huddled in your scorn.
That's when we'll remind you,
Of that September morn.

Stop the Drama, Mr. Obama,
Do what you foretold.
The politics make us sick,
The rhetoric's getting old.

We all want the wars to end,
Give us back our children.
Let God be the judge of them,
Do what's right and fair.

Stop the drama, Dalai Lama,
Can't we all be friends?
Find a way to take away,
The suffering of men.

Let us find peace of mind,
Help all heartbreaks mend.
We all search for better times,
Can't you tell us when?

Stop the drama, Mr. Obama,
Lead us back again.
Rise above like a dove,
In search of new dry land.

I suppose the man we chose,
Is not the one who won.
Don't give in and bow to those,
To whom you're bound to run.

Stop the drama, if you want to,
Be the best you can.
Faith's the cure to endure,
God is your best friend.

All our dreams and all our hopes
Struggles with which we all cope,
There's no better anecdote,
Then fortitude and prayer.

Seek salvation for our nation,
Prosperity and care.
Love thy neighbor without waver,
Know that God is there.



Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
100710

Downpour (a psalm)

Whenever life's constant grind seems to get you down. Turn to God and you will find no better friend around. This is a psalm for those that feel completely overwhelmed...

Lord, wash away my sorrows,
Cleanse me to my core.
Ease the heartaches that I swallow,
Pave the path you'd have me follow,
Prepare me for those tomorrows,
I may see no more.

Lord, I rest within thy word,
Commit to thy control.
Though my vision may be blurred,
My faith will never be deterred,
Eternal life through thoust assured,
To you submit my soul.

Lord, everyday the sun does rise,
Though clouds may taint my view.
I take solace you are wise,
Forgive my sins and countless lies,
Love me without compromise,
Make my life anew.

Lord, when the rain will not refrain,
Life's troubles have no end.
Give me strength to sustain,
The fortitude to not complain,
The will to rise above the pain,
To survive and win.

Lord, in the end your my best friend,
The one that I turn to.
Through mental storms' relentless winds,
Life's downpours and endless sins,
Let death not be where my life ends,
I place my trust in You.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
093010

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

My Three Shadows

I have three little shadows,
Who follow me around.
They are barely 3 feet tall,
Much closer to the ground.

Whether I'm in the house,
Or doing things outside,
They are quiet as a mouse,
Always at my side.

I don't have to call for them,
They know where I will be.
It's hard to hide from all of them,
When it's only me.

When I go upstairs at night,
They're sure to meet there.
I always bring a treat for them,
To show how much I care.

In the morning when I wake,
With pillows 'round my head.
My lazy little shadows wait,
Till I get out of bed.

One day when I'm old and grey,
Feeling all alone.
I will wish my shadows were,
There to take me home.

It's funny how one yearns and aches,
For things no longer there.
We should all appreciate,
The shadows that we share.



Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091210

Time Well Spent

I spent the day in the presence of,
One that I so dearly love.
We reminisced on days gone by,
Hugged and kissed, then said good-bye.
As I reflect, I wonder why,
I neglected, failed to try,
To savor the moments we'd just had,
Bottled them, good or bad.

Together

In retrospect it's plain to see,
I overlooked the subtleties.
Those that I now understand,
I treasure more than ever planned.
How was I to foresee,
How much that person meant to me,
Not knowing that the time we passed,
Would end up being our very last,
Time together.

Forever



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

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

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

Tsunami Wake Reprise

This is a first attempt at a form of Haiku called a Renga. The format is 5-7-5 / 7-7 / 5-7-5 / 7-7 / 5-7-5 / 7-7 / 5-7-5 / 7-7 / 5-7-5 / 7-7. Not sure if they're intended to rhyme. Hope it works...

Mega thrust earthquake / Early morning violent shake / Victims not awake

Oceanic sea floor break / Seismographic second take

Massive tidal wake / Uncertainty, real or fake? / Prewarning mistake

Indonesian fear outbreak / Sri Lankan shores lie in wake

CNN newsbreak / Quarter million lives at stake / Viewer breath intake?

Misery, widespread heartache / Outcome bleak, future opaque

Please God don't forsake / Those caught in Tsunami's wake / Help for Heaven's sake

Ease suffering and heartbreak / No more lives destruction take.

All asked to partake / In a Worldwide mourning wake / For disaster's sake.

Retrospective take / In aftermath's five-year wake / Faith it did not take.

Copyright © May 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001

050210

The Scent of Summer Rain

I love the scent of a summer rain,
When it's been overdue,
It cleanses away pollen stains,
Left speckled by morning dew.

It quenches thirsts for subtlety,
It eases mental strains.
It's essence has a stale fragrency,
That pleases idle brains.

It softens sun baked window panes,
Clears soil caked, dusty feet.
So often it's unjustly blamed,
For rivers in urban streets.

My soul is cleansed of temperate pain
As it pours in tearful sheets,
An effervescent cool refrain,
From morbid summer heat.

Often provoked by hurricanes,
They rinse dullness from pale blue skies.
Violent Tornado and Cyclone remains,
Causing streams and rivers to rise.

Drizzles sweet as sugar cane,
Nature's waterfall overflows,
Hailstones in it's quake proclaim,
Majestically arched rainbows.

I yearn for dawn's passionate disdain,
The rumble of turbulent skies,
Those days when thunderhead clouds contain,
Teardrops for weathered eyes.

Burdens wash down bubbling drains,
Leaving skies vibrantly blue.
They still a mind's quiet refrain.
Make the whole world feel brand new.



Copyright © May 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
051110

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 Dog

Boy and man's best friend,
A virtual living trend,
Mix of canine blends.



Copyright © April 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001

042910