Showing posts with label Rememberance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rememberance. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Walls of Flame - Hearts of Fame


Where have you gone our brave young sons,
Where have you gone and why?
To fight new battles, to rid new wrongs,
To protect new mountain sides?

Where have you gone young Hotshots,
Where do your souls now lie?
In heaven above and beyond,
Where do you now abide?

Granite mountains bear your names,
Etched forever in time.
Walls of flames cannot burn away,
Your legacy left behind.

Wherever you've gone my brave young throng,
Have a wonderful ride.
Your families will never do no wrong,
We'll always be by their side.

The walls of flame that remain,
Cannot contain the tide.
Halls of fame will bear your names,
Gratitude never subside.

Wherever you've gone our brave young sons,
Rest peacefully by God's side.
Your work is done, your fight's been won,
Carry yourselves with pride.

Your memory will never die.
Copyright © July 2013
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
070313

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Timothy (the day F. Murray fell)



Timothy McVeigh was executed June 11, 2001 for his role in the April 19, 1995 bombing in Oklahoma City which killed 168 people. This is a revised version of the '70's song Timothy by the Buoys.

A horrendous crime, the thirteenth sin,
No one had ever heard of them,
A friend and a man named Tim.

A Ryder truck that was rented then,
Filled with 2 tons of ammonium,
That April 19th, '95 a.m.

Timothy, Timothy, no one was watching you,
Timothy, Timothy, what the hell did you do.

F. Murray fell at 9:02,
That's when the Ryder rental blew.
No one knew exactly what, to do.

168 found dead,
19 children reporters said,
The heart of a nation, bled.

Timothy, Timothy, who was working with you?
Timothy, Timothy, God if we only knew.

As billions of lights shined down on them,
Oklahoma City's pride set in.
Despite the tragic end.

90 minutes later a cop stopped him.
A firearms charge leveled then,
They arrested the man named Tim.

Timothy, Timothy, all the world blames you.
Timothy, Timothy, my God what did you do.

It was 1997 when,
The jury selection would finally begin,
They then convicted, Tim.

They found a man Nichols conspired with him
,June 2001 was when,
They killed the man named Tim.

Timothy, Timothy, Satan's now looking at you.
Timothy, Timothy, your time was overdue.

There's nothing you could say,
You're not missed to this day,
Timothy, Timothy, McVeigh.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091210

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Simon Vincent Ladd





The eldest son of an Irishman,
Was Simon Vincent Ladd.
Raised outside of Washington,
When times were not that bad.
Men valued what they had.

Born in the winter of '56.
When it was good to be alive.
Penny jars and muscle cars,
Women with tall beehives.
Glasses over sized.

Half Catholic and half Protestant,
Were Simon's mom and dad.
Both got married way too young,
Victims of a social fad.
They struggled for all they had.

In '59 war broke out,
In North and South Vietnam.
Determined to stamp communism out,
We fought the Viet Cong.
Many felt it was wrong.

A brand new decade, 1960.
Simon Vincent turned four.
His parents barely managed each week,
On $100 or more.
It was tough being poor.

In that year's election,
John F. Kennedy won.
Despite some strong objections,
The war carried on.
Many cried we didn't belong.

When he was seven, Simon recalled,
His father was 25.
A handsome man, slender and tall,
Quite the athletic guy.
It was a balmy July.

Later on that summer, of 1963,
Two hundred thousand men of color,
Marched on Washington, D.C.,
Led by a Doctor named Martin Luther,
They shared a collective dream.

Times got worse, money was short,
Even his mom got a job.
The month before, Kennedy was shot,
More went to Vietnam.
People feared the nuclear bomb.

In '64 his sister was born,
Life got twice as tough.
His dad jumped 'round from job to job.
Tried different kinds of stuff.
Nothing seemed enough.

In '65 his father decides,
To sign up for the war.
Despite resistance from his wife,
He walks right out the door.
Things got worse than before.

Soon new checks came rolling in,
Dad finally found steady work.
They got a letter now and then,
A picture was an extra perks.
Mom no longer had to work.

In '67 Simon was eleven,
His sister was almost 3.
That Doctor spoke in New York City,
He was hailed a modern King.
It was a tenuous thing.

He opposed the war and poverty,
Spoke of life beyond.
He forged a war for equality.
Was anti-Vietnam.
Cautiously, life went on.

Though his father never bothered,
To visit or phone home.
The checks kept coming,
While Simon was becoming,
A young man on his own.

On April 4th of '68 Dr. King was shot.
It affected Simon a lot.
Many people protested, many people fought,
King haters boasted, he deserved what he got.
Simon thought definitely not.

That same year, with the election near,
Another Kennedy died.
How it happened wasn't clear,
He remembered his mother cried.
Simon just sat and sighed.

The war raged on in Vietnam,
As Nixon became President.
In '69 Apollo 11 set a precedent.
On July 16th the moon became,
Man's newest residence.

In July of '69,
Simon's sister turned five,
It was a turbulent time.
Simon's father was still alive,
The family still survived.

One month later, in mid August,
Four hundred thousand arrived.
At Yasgur's farm in a place called Woodstock,
A concert, rain or shine.
The largest of it's kind.

The decade turned and so did Simon,
A muscular, bright 14.
Everyday day the news reminded him,
How terrible war can be.
It was all he'd ever see.

In May that year a shooting occurred,
At a Ohio University.
Four students died, at Kent State.
As guards shot radomly.
In a protest violence free.

A telegram came later that month,
Simon remembered getting the mail.
His mom immediately opened the letter,
Then suddenly turned totally pale.
He consoled her to no avail.

He read that day his dad was missing,
He'd been listed MIA,
Lost somewhere in Northern Asia.
Around Memorial Day,
All the Ladds could do was pray.

To make things worse the income stopped,
Mom no longer got dad's checks.
Soon she had to go back to work,
The whole thing was one big mess.
That's how it went, he guessed.

The war raged on against the Viet Cong,
It was now in year eleven,
New York City opened tower one,
It seemed to reach to Heaven.
Simon's sister turned seven.

In '71, Simon had begun,
To look like a full grown man.
He helped his mom best he could,
Did what a 15 year old can.
The Beatles were his favorite band.

Later that year tower 2 appeared,
Majestically by one's side.
They called them twins, America cheered.
No one could match their size.
Simon wondered if that was wise.

In '72, Simon knew,
His dad would never come home.
Mr. Ladd gave all he had,
Now rested all alone.
In some God forsaken zone.

The President visited China,
Was re-elected that same year.
Tragedy struck the Munich Olympics,
As 11 Israeli's disappeared.
It was many folks greatest fear.

At 16 Simon realized,
If the war went on.
Its he who would be victimized,
Forced to carry on.
Soon the draft would come..

He thought alot about his father,
For many a sleepless night.
Sometimes he would sit and wonder,
What it was like to fight.
Was it wrong or right?

One thing always made him sad,
How much he missed his dad.
It had been seven years,
Of missing what he had.
How could he not be mad?

The year became '73 and still they got no word.
They'd asked for confirmation.
Sought what they deserved.
They got no information.
Simon would not be deterred.

Just when it seemed hopeless,
That the end was no where near.
A ceasefire was called on the 28th day,
Of January that new year.
Many didn't care.

There was still no word on Simon's father,
Or hundreds of MIA's.
Why would anyone even bother,
To search for them anyway?
God bless the USA.

On a blistery day in November, 1973,
A day Simon will remember,
The Lord shined mercifully.
There came a knock at the front door.
Of Simon Vincent Ladd.
When he opened it, there he stood.
Simon Vincent's Dad.




Copyright © December 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
122909

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Echoes of Mulberry Peak




Barely listen, strain to hear,
The quiet psalms of fallen men.
Phantom calls reign far and near,
Random rustlings feign gentle winds.

In solemn sorrow I stand alone,
Gazing down on hallowed ground.
Where countless souls lie atoned,
Eternal peace so violently found.

I wipe a tear and bow my head,
As images flash before my eyes.
The field-filled scores of immortal dead.
Their shallow graves patrolled by flies.

They struggled bravely to achieve,
A blessed reprieve from ambient drones.
They died so nobly for their belief,
Now nestled prone in leaves and stones.

For whom so honors these righteous souls,
Cast away, bar thought nor prayer.
Forgotten spirits from days of old,
Passed away, shorn tear nor care.

Gaze out morns, through dawn's faint stars,
As clouds of vaporous ghosts beseek.
Hazed white billows mourn ancient scars,
And shroud the echoes of Mulberry Peak.


Copyright © October 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
102009