Pardon My French

Parlez-vous francais?
Oh, by the way.
There sure is an array,
Of French stuff these days.

Close your eyes, pass the French Fries,
They go great with French Onion Soup.
A little French Bread on the side,
Along with a glass of French Vermouth.

A little dab of French Vanilla,
In French Coffee cannot miss.
French silk pie and a silk pillow,
May just earn a guy a French Kiss.

I like salad with French Dressing,
Along with a slowly roasted French Hen.
A Fresh French Pastry sure is a blessing,
But don't let French Dip go to your head.

A French Horn is a wonderful instrument,
A French Trotter a beautiful horse.
A French Window's a subtle supplement,
A French Drain a reliable recourse.

French mustard instead of Ketchup,
A French twist to spread it on.
French toast and warm maple syrup,
Served with French press and a fresh croissant.

Is there really a French Foreign Legion?
Do movie goers like French Foreign Films?
Did Mr. French leave for a reason?
French Poodles best names come from butlered realms.

I'm not saying the world's less pragmatic,
I like Italian and Spanish, too.
German and Russian I find less romantic,
But "French" seems to preface our food and our mood.


Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
081810

Nymphs of the Night

Sitting quietly on my front porch swing,
Invigorated by the cool Fall air.
The Magothy certainly is a frenzy tonight,
A symphony of crickets everywhere.

An owl in the distance gives a hoot,
As a dog barks at a walker by.
Croaks of frogs add harmonic suit,
To this nighttime hypnotic lullaby.

A gentle breeze tinkles some chimes,
A distant siren breaks the spell.
A churning rumble of a boat going by,
Compliments the feverish quell.

Swaying in time with the cadenced discourse
of this nocturnal symphonic soliloquy.
Floating in air, rhythmically back and forth,
Watching heaven's celestial sea.

A nighttime canopy of endless stars,
An atrium of twinkling specks.
I often wonder where we are,
In God's solar planetarium GPS?

A bat flies by doing loops in the sky,
All at once I'm lucidly aware,
Of the cluster of mosquitoes, nats and fireflies,
The winged buffet that permeates the air.

I suppose to a bat it's a livelihood,
A way to avoid being hungry and bored.
An acrobatic aeronautical sport,
The prey an pneumatic smorgasbord.

A firefly catches my eye,
It flutters suspiciously near.
It lands on the rail for no reason why,
I stop swinging, bend over to peer.

What in the world, it looks like girl,
With wings and long pointed ears.
She's wearing a vest and ankle boots,
Some kind of bodysuit and short cut hair.

Her eyes seem catlike, as she looks all around,
She sits with a seductive stare.
She's quite peculiar, I move closer to look,
Then it hits me, I'm the only one there.

What could this be, it's a little scary,
Are my eyes playing tricks with my head?
Is this nymph of the night some Tinkerbell fairy?
Maybe I should just go to bed.

The bat then swoops by, again stirs the sky,
The group takes on a life of it's own,
The mosquitoes and nats start to pitch and swirl,
Like some circus or carnival sideshow.

But the fireflies don't seem to mind,
They seem to go along with the flow.
Their off and on blinking seems orchestrated,
Like some elaborate Christmas light show.

Before I am able to run for a jar,
My little pixie takes to the air,
She rejoins her nocturnal flock from afar.
I sit back and watch, now aware,

I never noticed before the patterns they impart.
With their blinking electrical lights.
At first there's an arrow and then a heart,
I think I'm now smitten with my Nymphs of the Night.


Copyright © October 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
102809