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

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