Somber Moments

Tempered times help define,
Who we really are.
Somber moments collect in time,
Like pennies in a jar.

Hypnotic scenes within dreams,
Haunt unsuspecting minds.
Thoughts that run undeterred,
Leave painful scars behind.

Tear stained eyes, emphasize,
The pains that we all share.
Together we then realize,
How much we truly care.

When all is said, look ahead,
Let God lead the way.
Let somber moments' weight be shed,
In light of a brand new day.


Copyright © July 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
072311

Christopher Colin Sinclair

No one ever had the flair of Christopher Sinclair.
He was quite debonair,
Had a certain savoir-faire,
A thirty-something millionaire,
He turned heads everywhere
Did Christopher Colin Sinclair.

No, nobody quite compared to Christopher Sinclair.
He took pride in others' stares.
Had the most perfect hair,
Shoulders strong, perfectly square,
The man stood out anywhere,
Did Christopher Colin Sinclair.

He had no time for others' affairs,
Nor did he pretend to care.
Though always well aware,
He was crass and insincere,
Good fortune had was never shared,
By Christopher Colin Sinclair.

But all was not as it appeared, for Mr. Chris Sinclair.
A second life was revealed,
A pedophile charge concealed.
A past offense proved unreal.
A sentence passed, turned on appeal.
Soon everybody knew the real, Christopher Colin Sinclair.

The once good name now was smeared, of Christopher Sinclair.
People whispered, sneered and leered,
Private gawk soon turned to jeers,
His fame and fortune disappeared.
No, no one dared venture near,
This vile man loathed and feared.

As time went by, no one cared, for the sinister Sinclair.
His face now drew disgusted stares.
To see him publicly grew rare.
His was now an empty chair,
He might as well have not been there,
The perverted Mister Sinclair.

The papers read he died in bed,
Alone, distraught the article said.
A wealthy man, one well bred,
Shot himself in the head.
A single shot that barely bled,
Left Christopher Sinclair dead.

When people heard they did not care.
His funeral had no one there.
No eulogy, no thoughts or prayers.
It seemed a shame, somewhat unfair,
That no one shed a single tear.
For Christopher Colin Sinclair.



Copyright © July 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
072311

A Unique Eulogy

To all those gathered here...

Please don't mourn for me this day,
Celebrate instead.
Remember all the good times had,
All the things we did.

As I gaze upon the faces,
Of those I won't forget.
I thank God for all His grace,
I have no true regrets.

To all the friends that I hold dear,
Your thoughts now comfort me.
There's no need to shed a tear,
For I've lived life fully.

To my children and to theirs,
I cherish the memories.
I live in you, I'll be there,
To guide you in your dreams.

To my beloved, my one true love,
The one I'll miss the most.
Please be strong for both of us,
Know I'm always close.

Without you by my side,
I'd be an empty frame.
You're my rock, my everything,
I know you feel the same.

Live your life joyfully,
We'll soon reunite.
And be together eternally,
In God's majestic light.


Copyright © July 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
071511

Bathed In Innocense

A newborn child's fingertips,
It's teeny, tiny toes.
Innocent eyes, warm pink lips,
Perfect ears and nose.

The fluffy down of a baby chick.
The march of a mother duck.
A teetering foal's first full kick,
A baby calf's first suck.

The whisper of a heartfelt hymn,
That tingle that you get.
The rising of a new day's sun,
It's final evening set.

The whistle of a distant train.
The coming of a storm.
The quench of an overdue rain,
The quiet of the morn.

Special moments that we feel,
Those we share and sense.
An experience uniquely real,
Bathed in innocence.


Copyright © July 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
070411

God Bless Our America

Founded for the future,
Of generations to come.
A nation built on freedom,
A place for everyone.

The vision of our ancestors,
Conceived in hopes and dreams.
Born through shear resistance,
Amid heroic means.

Built on truth and justice,
And our forefathers' blood.
Empowered by resilience,
Braced by faith in God.

The shackles of oppression,
Shed courageously.
Brought freedom through aggression,
Forged patriotically.

Tall stands Lady Liberty,
High above the rest.
Welcoming the weary,
Beleaguered and oppressed.

Land so vast and plentiful,
Stretched from sea to sea.
So fertile and so beautiful,
A shroud of sanctity.

Take pride as an American,
In everything you do.
God Bless Our America.
The red, white and blue.


Copyright © July 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
070411

Fallen Fathers, Forgotten Sons

As dawn breaks,
The heavens wake,
To earth's new tapestry.

The seeds we've sewn,
The men we've known,
Lie still, prone reverently.

Spirits of those,
That history knows,
Pride buried nationwide.

Our forefather's ghosts,
Our heavenly hosts,
Line meadows and countrysides.

Fallen Fathers,
Forgotten sons,
Fought for you and for me.
Those that died,
Gave their lives,
For honor and liberty.

Fields now lay,
In groomed decay,
Fertilized with the dead.

Lined with stones,
Eternal homes,
Soil hallowed and bravely fed.

Gravestones reveal,
What loved ones feel,
The sacrifices made,

Those won and lost,
The heartfelt costs.
The ultimate prices paid,

Fallen Fathers,
Forgotten sons,
Died with dignity.
Their families cried,
For their unselfish pride,
Their heroic bravery.

For their family,
For their country,
For Generals, Gods and Kings.

Buried deep,
They quietly sleep,
As Angels silently sing.

Some remembered,
Some forgotten,
Some ashes in the wind.

They fought for freedom,
They fought for justice,
Fought so we all could win.

Fallen Fathers,
Forgotten daughters,
Live forever in our hearts and minds.
Our tranquility,
And prosperity,
Are their legacies left behind.

Let's honor those,
Fallen heroes,
Those before us that died.

Bow heads in prayer,
Then silently share,
Our blessings from deep inside.

The men and women,
The sons and daughters,
The husbands and the wives.

Those that suffered,
Died for others.
That so valiantly gave their lives.

Fallen Fathers,
Unforgotten ones,
You are our nation's pride.
Let children sing,
And church bells ring,
Fly Good 'Ole Glory high.

So live forever,
Know things are better,
That your souls are sanctified.

Never fear,
We are always here,
To lay flowers by your side.

Your work is complete,
Now comfortably sleep,
You're remembered through tear stained eyes.

Let Father's who've fallen,
Never be forgotten.
Let their memories be memorialized.

Copyright © May 2010

Kevin Mooney

kmm001

053110

This Man That I Once Knew

This man gave me comfort,
This man gave me life.
This man made me who I am,
Taught me wrong from right.

This man gave me shelter,
Provided clothes and food.
Nurtured me with confidence,
Showed me what to do.

This man gave me values,
Prepared me to survive.
If it were not for this man,
I may not be alive.

This man was my father,
My mentor and best friend.
My soul mate and my confidant,
My comrade, my Godsend.

He's no longer with me,
Standing by my side.
He loved me unconditionally,
Up to the day he died.

Now his spirit guides me,
In everything I do.
He lives deep down inside me,
In both my two sons, too.

This man that I once knew.


Copyright © June 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
061811

Impenetrable Calm

An oppressively hot day, sadistically long,
Accentuated by an impenetrable calm.
Temperature's rising, humidity's thick,
It compromises a thermometer stick.
Air pressure's soaring, no real relief,
Sweat keeps pouring beyond belief.
Cumulus clouds gather up high,
Thunderheads start to multiply
A black horizon far from norm,
Ushers an approaching storm.
Wind, hail and sheets of rain,
The exhale of a coming train.
A cylindrical cloud appears,
Cone-shaped gyro-sphere,
It drops down from above,
Sucks up all that we love.
Lives swept side to side,
In its vortex none survive.
A burst of sudden chaos.
The worst all that's lost.
Immeasurable, intense,
Lifetime consequence.
In an instant its done,
Lifetime gone in one.
Survivors rise to see.
A leftover tragedy.
Here one minute,
Gone the next.
Never sure
What to
Expect
In the
End.



Copyright © June 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
061511

They Just Called Her Liz

 
This is an acrostic...

Lass and Roddy's Velvet prize,
Adolescent adored.
Star with striking violet eyes,
Took MGM by storm.
Hollywood Little Woman,
Older men's delight.
Luscious and voluptuous,
Lady of a Knight.
Yesteryear Fischer goddess,
Warner's chosen one.
Oscar's 2-time winning actress,
Owned own place in the sun.
Diva before Divas were known,
Insatiable at best.
Cleopatra celluloid clone
Original Wolf-ess.
Noted as The Best.


Copyright © May 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
051511

Poor Miss Cynthia Weir

Miss Cynthia Weir wore her hair rolled up in a bun.
She was slight, unsociable, avoided everyone.
Her glasses were unusual, the cat-like pointed kind.
She looked like a librarian or someone almost blind.

Most folks never noticed her, she was plain you see.
She wore average looking clothes, dressed somewhat modestly.
She liked shoes and large handbags that never seemed to match.
No Cynthia, most would say, was not much of a catch.

One day Miss Cynthia Weir did not come to work.
She did not call anyone or even leave a word.
Her co-workers called several times but never got a reply.
They finally called the authorities when several days went by.

When they went to Cynthia's house, Cynthia wasn't found.
Her neighbors said she lived alone and hadn't been around.
Her car was parked just outside, locked and full of gas.
Had Cynthia even been inside was the question asked.

No one had seen or heard from her. No one seemed to care.
It was like Miss Cynthia had vanished into thin air.
She had no friends or family to contact anywhere.
Yes, my friends there was just no more Miss Cynthia Weir.

They checked hospitals, checked the morgue, even checked the jail.
They went through her belongings, phone records and mail.
The authorities looked high and low but it was to no avail.
After several months went by her house went up for sale.

No one ever found her. Perhaps they never will.
A year's gone by and still no sign. It all seems so surreal.
Most folks have forgotten her and when she disappeared.
But I can't help but remember, poor Miss Cynthia Weir.


Copyright © May 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
051511

Oh So Many, Oh So Few

No one really knew her or what she claimed to be,
A queen of propaganda, virgin of the sea.
Those that dared to ride her,
Now lay down beside her,
Haunting those survivors,
Of her maiden odyssey.

Born to bear the brunt of praise and pageantry,
Hers was but a stunt in superfluity.
Though her name belied her,
No one dared deny her,
Fame could not disguise her
Sunken vanity.

Fifteen hundred souls lie lost beneath the sea.
Each a cold reminder how fragile life can be.
Unsinkable they said,
Unthinkable the dead,
Arrogance and tears shed,
For posterity.

Generations will reflect on her tragedy.
Honor and pay respect to all her misery.
Soberly they'll try,
Ask and question why,
So many souls had to die,
And so few live to see.

May you all RIP...


Copyright © May 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
051511

A Singular Grain of Sand

Strangers from a far off land.
Each a part of God's own plan.
Survive each week the best they can,
While they seek to understand.

Reaching for an empty jar,
Never knowing who you are.
Every soul's a twinkling star,
Some are near, others far.

A beach can be a funny place.
To beseech the human race.
Each divides lands and seas,
Parallel realities.

Give yourself a helping hand,
Listen to a silent band.
Be your own biggest fan,
A singular grain of sand.


Copyright © May 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
051411

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

No Greater Love

 This poem is written to the wonderful accompanying painting by my friend Paul McGehee called "Faithful Companion".  Be sure to check out all of Paul's art.  He is  a very talented local artist...

There's no love like a dog's,
When you're feeling blue.
It wags its tail, licks your hand,
Then cuddles close to you.

It never has a motive,
Mopes or just complains.
Its love is unconditional,
Loyalty remains.

A dog's love is pure love,
Precious, sure and true.
It can tell and understands,
When somethings bothering you.

They never have resentment,
Balk or show dismay.
Their sole source of contentment,
Is attention and want of play.

They never have an objection.
Never hold a grudge.
They vie for your affection.
With a bark or cold nose nudge.

They love you just the way you are,
Stay right by your side.
They treat you like a movie star,
Without a reason why.

And when their time has finally come,
They don't raise a peep.
They wag their tail, look at you,
Then quietly go to sleep.


Copyright © March 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
033011

Paper Pawns

Silhouettes of wind torn branches
Painted against the sky.
Greyness blends into blue,
As winter wanes goodbye.
Light lingers ever longer,
With each passing day.
Bitter cold memories,
Gently melt away.
Paper pawns sway to and fro,
Teetering side to side.
Questioning where to go,
No place to dwell or hide.
As Mother Nature silently,
Ambles on her way.
Another season passes by,
Quietly tucked away.
Like a feather in the wind,
Helplessly blown awry.
A soul succumbs to destiny,
Despite how hard the try.
Life's a mystic labyrinth,
Fate the final straw.
As paper pawns we are meant,
To wither one and all.


Copyright © March 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
033011

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

Excitement of 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 every sign.
Reaffirming countenance, moving forward blind.
Sensual sensations soon start to unwind,
Revealing hidden frailties, temptations long confined.
Reaching toward its virile force, finding peace of mind,
Feeling for its surreal source, that one and only kind.
Tingling from that sense you feel, pleasures intertwined.
Knowing that with confidence true treasures you will find.
Appealing expressed consciousness, temperatures soon climb.
Reeling from fluxed willingness, conjectures swoon sublime.
Realizing penned up passions, enticement's mental clutch,
Consensual inner spasms, the excitement of a touch.


Copyright © January 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
011511

The Solitude of Bronze

Sentimental moments,
Suspended still in time.
Solidified atonements,
Frozen, rain or shine.
Standing straight forever,
Seated sovereign-ly.
Hands held together,
In immortality.
Etched in perpetuity,
Solid chiseled stone.
Marbleised congruity,
Stoically alone.
Visages born of man,
Embraced exquisitedly,
Petrified grains of sand,
Encased eternally,
Defiantly reclusive,
Silent in response.
Heroically induced in,
The solitude of bronze.


Copyright © January 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
011511

With All That's Happening

The sun came up, a child was born
It was a beautiful thing.
He was proclaimed a King.

Some heard an Angel sing.

No one knew, to the world,
What that child would mean.
The hope his life would bring.

As a man he would demand,
A change in society.
Race equality.

A place where freedom rings.

On April 4th in '68, at 6:01 p.m.
A shot changed everything.
A single bullet bore through him,
And martyrdom did bring.

To Martin Luther King.

The sun came up, a child was born,
It was a wonderful thing.
Some heard Angels sing.

Christina Taylor Greene.

No one knew the day before,
What that day would bring..
Twin towers fell in a fiery hell,
A nation lay dying.

Lord what was happening?

Amid the strife, a single life,
Helped to ease some pain.
No one knew that her life,
Would break our hearts again.

It was just a matter of when.

The sun came up that Saturday morn,
It was a trivial thing.
As normal as can be.

Amid good weather, folks came together,
For a social gathering,
A political happening.

All knew well, Ms Gabrielle,
And showed support for her.
Not knowing what would occur.

Except Jared Lee Loughner.

Amid pained shouts, shots rang out,
Innocent people died.
With loved ones by their side.

Those that watched just cried.

Among the dead, Christina bled,
Another martyr born.
The target of his scorn?

An entire nation mourned.

In the aftermath, people have,
Tried to reason why.
Christina had to die.

So many innocent lives.

In days gone by, birds have died,
Fish in multitudes.
Floods have ravaged Australia,
Volcanoes erupted too.

Is the whole world coming unglued?

With all that's happening should man be grappling,
With what his future holds?
Did Martin die for you and I?
Was the rapture put on hold?
Was a September 11th child's tragic death,
A sign of things to come?
Is what's happening around the world,
A message for everyone?

Has the end begun?


Copyright © January 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
120410

You're Still a Good Man To Me

To all you Peanuts fans...


Oh Charlie Brown, you bumbling clown,
You call that a Christmas tree?
Everyone knows how your story goes,
Your riff with old Lucy.

Linus seems to understand,
With that blanket in his hand.
Snoopy knows that you're the man,
He's always been you're closest friend.

With sister Sally by your side,
And Schroeder's piano playing pride.
Maybe Violet's a better bride,
Instead of that red headed girl.

Pigpen needs a bath each day,
Woodstock only wants to play,
Is Peppermint Patty straight or gay?
Only Marcie can really say.

Does Snoopy's dog house have a bed?
Have alter egos gone to his head?
Is he a World War flying ace,
Or Joe Cool with a jazzy face?

Why do you stand on the pitcher's mound,
While all you teammates goof around?
When will Lucy have the gall,
To let you kick that stupid football?

Why don't grownups ever speak?
Is Mr. Brown a social geek?
Do the van Pelts really exist?
Why do your teachers speak like this?

Mwa, mwa, mwa. Mwa, mwa, mwa.

Oh Charlie Brown, just look around.
Why was your head drawn so round?
Was there a time you had hair?
What's with that silly shirt you wear?

I suppose Charles Schultz drew you,
Cause in ourselves we see you too.
All I know, as a Peanuts fan,
Charlie Brown, you're still a good man...to me.

Thank you Charles so much.


Copyright © December 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
120410

Elliot Garfield Where You Been?

American Graffiti first big film,
Close encounter with alien.
Always good for laughter and thrills,
Did well down in Beverly Hills,
Early graduate with Hoffman and Ross,
Made Simon's Yonkers seem less lost.
Young Baby Face in Dillinger,
American President's Senator.
What about Bob's psychiatrist,
A music teacher with own Opus.
Richard the third gimped gay with lisp,
Dickens Fagin in Oliver Twist.
Won Oscar for brilliant Goodbye,
In Jaws younger, resilient guy.
Narrowly escaped great white at sea,
Narrator in King's dark Stand By Me,
In Stakeout sleuth-ed with Esteves,
Nuts lawyer proved who Streisand is.
Gained acclaim as Mister Holland,
Aptly named Doctor Leo Marvin.
Cast as Quad in Clark's Whose Life,
Tin Men mocked "Balmur" life.
Offered London Producer's fame,
Replaced as Max by Nathan Lane.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
112610

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

Proud and Tall

The sun was bright,
The mood was light,
Weather conditions seemed just right.
That November 7th afternoon.

The crowd milled around,
Most bets were now down,
The world was watching Church Hill Downs,
The race would begin very soon.

There came the call,
And from each stall,
Marched 14 thoroughbreds proud and tall,
In the Breeder's Cup parade.

In front of them all,
Seventeen hands tall,
Came the mightiest Phillie of them all,
This was Zenyatta's big day.

She was loved and adored,
Had won it before,
Nineteen and 0, just wanting one more,
The five million dollar big prize.

The field this day,
Was by far and away,
One of the best to stand in her way.
Along with a whole world of eyes.

Though she had the name,
The fortune and fame,
Her toughest opponent this day would be Blame,
Her odds to win 8 to 5.

She'd won all her races,
As they all took their places,
The moment's excitement was etched on all faces,
As the anticipated race began.

They opened the gates,
Not a minute too late.
Zenyatta in the middle, out of gate eight.
All 14 thoroughbreds converged.

As the horses broke stride,
She was pinched outside,
Just like she'd been most other times,
She settled in the back of the herd.

Around the first bend,
She brought up the end,
Things didn't look good for the Phillie again,
She's been in this position before.

Down the far stretch,
It seemed she'd never catch,
The rest of the field and her 8 to 5 bets,
She fell even farther behind.

Then as in the past,
She ignited from last,
Caught the tail horse than began her first pass,
She moved up from the outside.

As she made the last turn,
Her legs started to churn,
A crescendo of cheers from the crowd was heard,
As she ran the last stretch in full stride.

Seizing the moment,
She passed each opponent,
Each one a victory, a bit of atonement,
It was deja vu once again.

But there in the lead,
Was that one mighty steed,
The one that odd makers had all agreed,
The one whose confidence was fed.

As Zenyatta drew nearer,
Blame seemed to hear her,
Neither horse gave or showed any fear,
As they pressed for the finish line.

The entire crowd rose,
As all eyes then froze,
Blame broke the line by less than a nose,
The Phillie a photo finish behind.

People seemed stunned,
Weren't sure who had won,
Maybe the greatest horse race ever run,
Decided in one picture frame.

The official call came,
The winner was Blame,
It all seemed surreal, kind of a shame.
No storybook ending this day.

Many asked why,
Her jockey just cried,
It was almost as if Zenyatta had died.
Most folks couldn't believe what they saw.

But what fans will recall,
Was how she gave her all.
Captured the hearts and souls of us all.
That Saturday afternoon in the Fall,
Zenyatta still stood proud and tall.


Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110810

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