Pet Cementary Epitaphs

As I ponder my lifetime,
I think of those I've left behind.
Ghosts of family and lost friends,
Memories my mind holds in.

But those that seem to haunt me most,
Are those of loved ones I held close.
Ghosts I seem to never forget,
Echoes of all my long lost pets.

George

Here lies George, my dad's old cat,
Pearly White and not too fat.
He always came whenever we'd call,
His favorite game was fetch a ball.

Dominique & Felipe

Dominique & brother Felipe
Toy French Poodles quite unique.
They always fought for mom's affection,
Their love for her beyond exception.

Lady

Lady and mom never got along,
Growling at her was where she went wrong.
She never meant to do any harm,
I think that's why she went to a farm.

Nugget

Named for the color of a Chicken McNugget,
The type of dog that most folks covet.
My best friend since he was a pup,
Together he and I both grew up.

Kimba

Like the cartoon little white lion,
Not too bright but worked hard tryin'.
Loved to run and play out doors,
Faithful friend of mine and yours.

Zachery

Liked to walk and lived to play,
Never balked or ran away.
Warm and friendly were his best traits,
Now he guards the pearly gates.

Cookie

Creamy color, faithful friend,
Warm, sweet nature to the end.
Mom Mom and Henry's loving pet,
One their sure not to forget.

Tiffany

Little princess to you know who,
Cocker Spaniel through and through,
Tracey's savior in hard times,
Always loved her curtain time.

Mack

Beloved pup and devoted friend,
Held chin up until the end.
Loved life full and truly cared,
Died too young, it wasn't fair.

Pets are difficult to lose,
We give our hearts to those we choose.
They're like our children, daughters and sons,
So honor them when their time comes.

RIP.

Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
081810

The Last Judgement

This poem is a tribute to The Beatles White Album and was written on 9/9/2009. It's an acrostic. Try to guess what the acrostic is...

So the four angels were released,
Who were prepared for this hour,
Day, month and year to kill,
A third of man thus empowered. (Revelation 9:15)

There rose a dark angel from the abyss,
A fallen star from a fiery mist.
He was given the key to the pit,
A prophesy soon rose out of it.

Revolution.

Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine...

Back in the days of Kings and Czars,
Dearly beloved, most prudently proud.
Glasses be raised both near and far,
Oh for the love of an LA crowd.
Wilderness hones each fragile magpie,
Tears both stain and broken hearts still.
Withered remains of guitars that fly,
Help heal souls and hopes fulfill.

Marvelous martyrs meander near,
Idiosyncrasies wasting away.
Blips on screens, fouls that fear,
Pestilent parasites caught in the fray.
Rock the child, recline the weary,
Do not allow them to slither away.
Why should a child's future be cheery,
If only the poor are willing to pay.
Judge yourself on Judgement Day.


Born to die, the birthday lament,
Years gone by one can never get back.
Mother must I forever repent?
Every one's destined to fade to black.
Seven seals sent seven Angels,
Hell turned shelter then to stone,
Lambs and Lions lives are fragile,

Rest assured they'll atone.
Hades harbors hazy winters,
Sinners suffer sweltered nights.
Champions are never made from winners,
Resolution resolves fights.
God is good and always right.

Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine...

It's Judgement Time.



Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney
kmm001
090909

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

Nocturnal Classic Rock

Nazareth's love hurt the hair of the dog,
Oyster's reaper feared astronomy blue.
Cream's white room was heavy and long,
Traffic's Barley Corn probably died too.
Uriah Heep's Gypsy was wired wrong.
Rush's heart was closer to the trees,
Nugent had a sweet stranglehold on.
Aerosmith's sweet emotions could please.
Led Zeppelin had their heavenly song.


Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
080810

Shoo-fly Pie

What the heck is shoo-fly pie?
It sounds gross to me.
I could never, ever try,
An bug baked pastry.

Who will try this shoo-fly pie?
It looks so darn yummy.
There's no way, the reason why,
Is I'm no darn dummy.

Shoo-fly pie has no flies,
That's a fallacy.
Sugar, molasses, eggs and spice,
Comprise the recipe.

So why do flies like shoo-fly pie,
What's it that they see?
Flies have eyes that often spy,
Things sweet, warm and nasty.

If you try and shoo the flies,
I'll try your shoo-fly pie.
Shoo the flies so that I,
Don't eat flies that fly by.

I took a bite and you were right,
I do like shoo-fly pie.
But If I might, be polite,
Next time you decide to ask us.

More folks might, take more bites,
Of this pie you so like,
Made with sugar and spice just right,
If you just called it molasses.



Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
080810

Welcome to the Freak Show

The bearded woman smiled at me,
Then took my last fifty cents.
I took a breath,
Scared to death,
By the aura of the tents.
 
As I entered cautiously,
My skin began to crawl.
The air was thick,
And I felt sick,
I heard a man then call.
 
"Welcome to the Freak Show",
Was what he said to me.
It seemed like hell,
Though I could tell,
Fake from reality.
 
"These things you are about to see,
Are going to blow your mind.
"Nature's freaks,
Forsaken geeks,
The weirdest sights you'll find."
 
Down an endless corridor,
Were rooms set on display.
I almost balked,
Then slowly walked,
Toward the first lit bay.
 
Inside there sat one lone man,
As normal as me and you.
Then I saw,
To my awe,
Three legs instead of two.
 
In the next opening,
Waving claw shaped hands,
I could see,
The deformity.
They called The Lobster Man.
 
Then I heard a high shrill squeal,
Coming from next door.
My body froze,
When I saw the nose,
Of the Pig-Girl on the floor.
 
As I moved on I could hear,
A woman laughing at me.
Then I was aware,
Of a rocking chair,
With a lady both huge and scary.
 
In the next stall I then saw,
A man that had two heads.
Both heads turned,
And murmured two words,
"Go Back" was all they said.
 
I looked back from where I came,
And nothing looked the same.
Each opening,
That I had seen,
Was now a closed dark frame.
 
Looking forward down the corridor,
I saw a twinkling light.
Despite my fear,
It seemed near,
So I continued to see the sights.
 
In the next room I could see,
A man dressed all in white.
Protruding from him,
Was his dead twin,
His body, no head in sight.
 
Next a young boy covered in hair,
His body completely engulfed.
His sign shared,
Please beware,
Of the world's only Human Wolf.
 
Then I saw the scariest of all,
Horribly deformed and bent.
The crippled body,
The mangled oddity,
The man they called Elephant.
 
He motioned toward the entrance,
Tried to point me there.
I misunderstood,
And solemnly stood.
It seemed all I could do was stare.
 
I'd seen twenty or more horrors,
Was overcome with sadness.
How could fools,
Be so cruel.
What justified this madness?
 
Then I saw the twinkling light,
Coming from the final stall.
As I arrived,
I realized,
It was no light at all.
 
Instead there stood a mirror,
About 3 and a half feet tall.
I was aghast,
When at last,
The reflection I then saw.
 
I could see my whole body,
My face was white and pale.
Behind me,
There seemed to be,
A long and dangling tail.
 
The sign in front of the last stall read,
"This is the final exhibit.
Please enjoy,
The Monkey Boy",
There was no door or exit.



Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
080710

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

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Percy P. Orangutan,
Had a purple boomerang.
When he threw it,
People knew it,
Cause it made a real loud bang.

C.C. the Chimpanzee,
Liked to play hide and seek.
Now she's here,
Now she's gone.
She can play all day long.

Spunky their monkey friend.
Always likes to play pretend.
If you smile,
He smiles too.
Sometimes he acts just like you.

They all live at the local zoo,
And play together like kids do.
But all are shy and don't like when,
Other people are watching them.

One day Percy and C.C.,
Got together with Spunky.
They decided,To play a game.
So Percy grabbed his boomerang.

He picked it up and turned around,
But CC wasn't to be found.
Spunky fell down to the ground.
He did not make a sound.

Percy got worried then,
Both of them were his best friends.
Where the heck did C.C. go?
Poor old Percy did not know.

As for Spunky, he laid still,
Percy thought him dead or ill.
He went over to check on him,
That's when Spunky cracked a grin.

He could not contain himself,
They laughed so hard that Percy fell.
Just then CC reappeared,
Percy laughed then heard a cheer.

Right outside the looking glass,
A group of children had just passed.
They saw the threesome playing around,
Stood and watched without a sound.

Then the primates realized,
Much to all of their surprise,
Their playful pranks were recognized,
And brought sheer joy to children's eyes.

Then the three in unison,
Turned to see the children grin.
All together they grinned too.
As if it all had been on queue.

The children couldn't help but see,
The monkeys' curiosity.
Then they all jumped up and down,
And acted just like little clowns.

Spunky recognized their game,
Then decided to do the same.
So did Percy, then C.C.,
They all jumped 'round real silly.

Then the children hid their eyes,
The threesome decided to oblige.
They covered up their eyes too.
Then all together played peek-a-boo.

The kids then covered up their ears,
The monkeys did the same to cheers.
Then with their hands they hid mouths, too.
The three now knew just what to do.

Percy, Spunky and C.C.,
Were as happy as can be.
They played games all afternoon,
More hide and seek and pretend too.

The three primates sure had fun,
Playing games with everyone.
From that day on they weren't shy,
Especially when kids walked by.

Now outside you will find,
The primates have a brand new sign.
People come from near and far,
To see the brand new monkey stars.

It reads:

Welcome to the local zoo.
There's Orangutans, Chimps and monkeys too.
They like to play games with you.
Hide and Seek and Peek a Boo.
They imitate and pretend they're you.
They act just like they're your friend, too.
But their favorite game to do.
Is Monkey See and Monkey Do.


Copyright © July 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm
001073110

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

The Carnival of Souls

A synchronized crescendo,
Of thunder claps draw near.
Streaks of light fill the skies,
With a sense of fear.

Crashing, dashing,
Darkness, flashing light.
Crashing, gnashing,
Day turns into night.

Persistent pulsations,
Deep within my head,
Slowly wane then dissipate,
Fears no longer fed.

An overwhelming rumble,
Solid sheets of rain.
I stagger then I stumble,
Reeling from the pain.

Crashing, flashing,
Feeling much less tense,
Gnashing, mashing,
Making much less sense.

As the thunderstorm subsides,
There's a calm refrain.
In my mind I recognize,
The faint sound of a train.

Clattering, pattering,
Pecking at my brain.
Spattering, battering,
My mind's window pane.

There comes a sudden rapping,
At my closed front door.
What is really happening?
I can't tell for sure.

I cracked the door slightly,
To see who might be there.
A tall man bows politely,
Our eyes lock in a stare.

I feel like I am floating,
Floating in the air.
Levitating, loathing,
How I got up there.

Suddenly I notice,
Blood is everywhere,
Bleeding, feeding,
Visions I dare share.

The tall man isn't breathing,
He's just standing there.
I have a sensual seething,
As windchimes fill the air.

Darkness now surrounds me,
Silence fills my ears.
A numbness now abounds me,
The fervor of despair.

I can see slight movement,
Sirens start to whine,
Blinking lights are proof that,
I am still alive.

Now I hear faint music,
A calliope of songs,
Rhythmic, blind amusement,
I sense that something's wrong.

Uniforms approaching,
Suggest I am someone.
They point weapons at me,
As if I have a gun.

My body has no feeling,
As I hit the ground.
I'm looking a the ceiling,
Trying to look around.

Men are looking at me,
Some just turn away.
I don't know exactly,
What to do or say.

I still hear the music,
It's slowly getting cold.
I feel like I am losing,
The life I dearly hold.

There's a light above me,
Pulsing, pulling fast.
God I hope you love me,
Need I have to ask?

There's no more horizon,
No moon or setting sun,
The tall man's hands and eye's are,
Guiding everyone.

As he collects tickets,
Bells begin to toll.
Welcoming the wicked,
To the carnival of souls.



Copyright © July 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
073010

I Am...

I am a book that no one's read,
A voracious hunger that's never been fed.
A phantom that haunts those I've known,
A vision that's seen but never shown.

I have no body, no heart or soul,
I live in the minds of the young and old.
No one can see me though I'm always there,
A flick of a light or wisp of cold air.

I have no sense of presence or time,
No conscious pretence of what's yours or mine.
I take what I want, live as I choose,
I have no remorse for those I abuse.

Some people find me a breath of fresh air,
Other's remind me how little I care.
I rise every morning before every sun,
At the end of the day my work's just begun.

I've always existed and always will,
Many've resisted though welcomed my thrill.
I've been portrayed in songs and scenes,
Crudely displayed upon movie screens.

Some seek my guidance, covet my rules,
Find false reliance, submit like fools.
Some think they know me, the hate that I feel,
Attempt to show me what's fake and what's real.

Though some men deny me, reject I exist,
They often find me, reflect then subsist.
There's no place to hide that's outside my reach,
Those who have died I loath and beseech.

God has his children, the lambs of his flock,
Teachers that teach them to cling to his rock.
I don't pretend to be who I'm not.
I never intend to be void or forgot.

Copyright © July 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
072510

There Comes A Time

There comes a time in everyones' life,
Thoughts test mortality.
The further we go,
The more that we know,
Yet the less we're able to see.

In retrospect we all soon forget,
Years seem to take their toll.
What we long to feel,
Minds gradually conceal,
Memories fade into black holes.

Before we die we should all try,
To inscribe life's victories and woes.
Bless loved ones and friends,
Before it all ends.
Provide memoirs for family and foes.

A lifetime's last epitaph,
Should not just be words etched in stone.
Leave an impression,
An eternal expression,
A collection of words of your own.



Copyright © July 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
072510

Blackbird

Blackbird swimming in the dawn's grey light.
Shake your soakened wings with all your might,
Things aren't right.
You were only bathing now you're fighting to survive.

Blackbird sinking in the breaking light,
Spread your darkened wings instinctively.
Damn BP.
Escape this God forsaken hypocri-sea.

Blackbird try, Blackbird fly,

Reach for the heights of the clear blue sky.

Blackbird try, Please don't die.

There are no more answers, no more reasons why.

Blackbird giving it a final try.
Shaking desperately, trying to reach the sky,

Please don't die.

The world's forever praying for your blessed kind.
The world hopes and prays that your freedom find.
The world hopes and prays your race never dies.

Blackbird, why?

Oh God why?


Copyright © June 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
061510

You Talkin' To Me?

Manhattan Irish Italian,
American idol, screen and stage,
Robert, though a junior,
Took Hollywood bull by Rage.
Iconic Taxi Driver,
Neurotic Foster slave,
Supported Coppola's Godfather,
Famed Vito's early age.
Al Capone imitator,
Vietnam prisoner vet,
Ordained psychotic hunter,
Ruled at russian roulette.
Introduced Jake and Noodles,
Travis Bickle and Jimmy C,
Eccentric among good fellas,
Al Pacino and Joe Pesci.
Cady was fear personified,
Tilden Cop Land's reality,
Original New York wiseguy,
Remembered for "You Talkin' To Me?"

Kevin Mooney
Copyright © May 2010

kmm001

052210

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

An Albino Rhino

 






There once was an albino rhino,
The only such rhino I know.
He was certainly a sight,
A pale ghostly white,
No color from horn tip to toe.
 
All of the regular grey rhinos,
Found him somewhat absurd.
He never socialized,
Was often ostracised,
From their otherwise, colorized world.
 
One day the albino rhino,
Met a pink phosphorescent elephant.
He didn't know,
An elephant could glow,
But saw her special and like him different.
 
They became best friends which was rare,
Ignored random gawks, laughs and stares.
After awhile,
All the elephants smiled,
Saw them as an interesting pair.
 
One day some hunters came by,
Thought they'd give elephants a try.
The grey rhinos knew,
There was nothing they could do,
But stay back and not question why.
 
But the albino rhino couldn't stand,
To watch his friend's slaughtered by man.
He considered the situation,
Then in sheer desperation,
He decided to execute a plan.
 
As the hunters drew close and took aim,
That's when the first charge up and came.
From dust that was stirred,
Came the cloudy white blur,
Of a ghostly rhinoceros frame.
 
Slightly rattled and somewhat confused.
The hunters were not that amused.
Though something charged by,
In the blink of an eye,
Their deadly efforts would not be refused.
 
Having had their first shots deterred,
They refocused, regrouped and conferred.
Dug themselves in,
Retried once again,
And took aim at the pachyderm herd.
 
Suddenly the earth shook and swayed,
The hunters turned, looked in dismay.
Toward them rumbling loud,
Came an enormous tumbling cloud,
And sharp horns of a rhino parade.
 
Without time to regress or refrain,
And no one but themselves to blame,
The hunters bid adieu,
Then backed off and flew,
Leaving guns and sought after game.
 
When the clouds of dust had all cleared,
Two crowds of musk appeared.
They stood tusk to face,
Each distinctive race,
Then both elephants and rhinos all cheered.
 
As a great celebration began,
The rhinos regathered their clan.
But off to the side,
Attempting to hide,
Was the albino rhino that first ran.
 
Together with horns and trunks raised,
The two herds offered honor and praise,
To the Albino Rhino,
They all now loved so,
For his courage and unselfish ways.
 
As for his precious pink friend,
The rhino remained loyal to the end.
Despite her big ears,
She never had fears,
Of standing out in a crowd again.
 
The moral of this story should make sense,
Don't worry if you have a difference.
God's creatures are born,
With all features and forms,
What counts is the love you dispense.


Copyright © June 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
061310

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

The Stars (A Haiku)

Celestial Sea,
Astrologic Canopy,
Einstein's specialty.


Copyright © April 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
042910

Natas L. Useifer

Natas L. Useifer was a lanky, fair-skinned lad,
He was often ridiculed,
For the peculiar name he had.
Kids found him an easy target,
For the silly names they hurled.
But things were never what they seemed,
In Natas Useifer's world.

See Natas was born on the 6th of June, in 1966,
A Monday morning like any other,
He arrived at 6:06.
He never knew his father,
His mother was seldom seen.
No brothers, no sisters, no Aunts or Uncles,
He was quite an independent teen.

He had long, coal blackish hair
And deep-set, piercing eyes,
Wore spectacles and old, dark wear,
Like a Halloween disguise.
He had bony fingers with pointed nails,
Sharp chin and protruding brow.
Was slight of build, seemed somewhat frail,
Meek yet scary somehow.

The other kids made fun of him
And his fiendishly creepy ways,
He was often teased at school,
Called geek or freak or gay.
They found Natas quite naive,
When it came to social rules.
Found ways to belittle and torture him,
Ways often very cruel.

One day John Bates played a dirty trick,
Made Natas look like a fool.
Natas got this scary look.
But never lost his cool.
He gave John an evil stare,
One that curled the skin.
Bates just smiled, he didn't care,
Ignored his sinister grin.

At gym that day, while most kids played,
Nothing else was said.
But when the teacher looked away,
A tree limb hit John's head,
No one seemed to see it happen,
He just layed, then minutes later,
John Bates was pronounced dead.

Everyone gathered 'round John's body,
To mourn their fallen friend,
He'd walked over to retrieve a ball.
No one ever saw what happened.
Who knew that the limb would fall?
All that anyone could remember,
Was a sudden gust of wind.

Some kids looked right at Natas,
Wondered where he'd been.
Questioned if he'd been involved,
Had somehow made it happen.
All that anyone could recall,
Was him sitting on a bench,
Several yards from it all,
Eyes shut, fists tightly clenched.

Natas L. Useifer was never held to blame,
The death was ruled an accident,
An act of God, a shame.
As for Natas, if he weren't innocent,
He would never tell.
He just grinned that evil grin,
And wished old John Bates well.


Copyright © April 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
042910

Tornado

Cone-shaped, funneled wind,
Vortex wrought with destruction.
Twister, Cyclone kin.



Copyright © April 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001

042610

The Moon

Night sky's lunar light,
Ever-changing, bright and white,
Man and child's dream flight.



Copyright © April 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001

042610

The Boss

Grew up blinded by the city's bright lightT
Reigned supreme in Freehold's Branch BorougH.
Early success with A Park and E ShufflE
Earned him nicknames Doctor and B.
Tenth avenue froze out his Earth band triO,
It was Run that brought out the criticS.
New Jersey's son left no Backstreets with doubtS,
Got Rosalita out, both live and in studiO,
Streets of Fire and Dark Side were prooF.

Fostered a Bad and Promised Land hiT,
River was double the fun to play witH,
Out in the Street he was always On FirE,
Made Courtney Cox the whole world's desirE.

All Born in the US Danced in his streetS
Shared Spirits nightly with the fans he would meeT.
Brought his Hometown to each American's front dooR
Used folk and rock style to forge every scorE,
Revelled with Glory Days and Tunnels of LovE,
Youngstown and Joad made audiences erupT

Painted Empty Skies with each brash Rising verB
All working men rise to his raucous personaA
Revered Pop Icon from fan to faN
King of folk rockers and JunglelanD.

Copyright © April 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001

042610