The Shores of Coeur d'Alene

This is an acrostic about Coeur d'Alene, Idaho...

Iridescent brilliant blues,
Dazzling, vibrant natural hues,
Amorosity billows proud,
Heaven's scent pours out loud.
Oregon's once rightful heir,
Spokane River gets you there,
Hills and Mountain pageantry,
Eye of the Needle legacy,
Alene's banks flair with grace,
Riverstone, a welcome place.
Thompson's Northwest boundary,
Oregon Treaty's quandary.
French for "Heart of the awl",
Abundant life, fish or foul.
Northern Rocky's hidden gem,
A slice of heaven, Canadian friend.
William Sherman's claim to fame,
Lakes and shores of Coeur d'Alene.

Copyright © March 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001

030610

Elwood P. Dowd Revisited

Most folks were proud of Elwood P. Dowd,
His demeanor and strict social grace.
He never prejudged,
Or ever begrudged
Those fortunate to enter his space.

He was quite a gentleman to friends and kin,
Seemed always quick with a quip.
Those folks who knew him,
Could see right through him,
Elwood always enjoyed a good nip.

His family was tolerant, often despondent,
He never hurt or caused anybody harm.
When away from his home,
His quirks were well known.
Many felt he should be on a funny farm.

Dowd went to great ends, to make new friends,
Most found him quite debonair.
Eccentric yet humble,
With never a grumble,
The man had distinct social flair.

What folks questioned most, was his one friend of boast,
One invisible to all those but him.
A rarely seen host,
A virtual ghost.
That Elwood always treated like kin.

He was six foot or more, a pooka of lore,
Starch white with two pointed ears.
He wore a black bowler,
That made him look older,
He often drew disjointed jeers.

Despite his affection and lack of reflection,
Dowd's acquaintance was to others referred,
A blind trepidation,
A figment's imagination,
A voice that fellow brothers never heard.

As others cast doubts, Elwood always looked out,
For his comrade and true trusted friend.
Folks could never see,
His stout loyalty,
His devotion and commitment to the end.

Some live their lives, just trying to survive,
Make it from one day to the next.
They move through life's scenes,
Invisible it seems,
To those who could barely care less.

One's social discord, inability to afford,
Life's wishes and indulgent pleasures.
Is never just cause,
To be shunned and appalled,
By those rich in abundance and treasurers.

Though Elwood P. Dowd stood out in a crowd,
He was wealthy in stature and habit.
Visibility didn't shroud,
The joy Elwood found,
In every man, woman, child and six foot rabbit.

Thank you Harvey.


Copyright © November 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
111509

Faceless Child

Teen suicide runs rampant these days. I never quite understand what motivates a child to take his or her own life. It's a sad reality and seems to be getting worse. Look for the signs and be vigilant. Someone may be quietly reaching out to you....

Child of wonder, bore preciously. A gift from God, statistically. A bundled joy of hopes and dreams, A faceless doll with broken seams.   Like a million ants appearing magically, drawn to the perfumed scent of verminal stench, of potato rot, flicked cigarettes and tater tots. Wanted, needed...discarded, unheeded. A constant burden, caught in a turnstile of mundane gyrations. Laughing sadly, wanting badly, crying gladly, glaring madly. Needing to be held together... with tape and Elmer's glue. Never taken seriously...in need of bear hugs and kisses. Lost self-esteem, found visine - persecution, blame, tempted to feel...bloated, blistered. Trying to fit in...to size 48 jeans - bell-bottoms, extra-wide loops. Cursing, hurting myself while the world watches quietly, ignorantly, calmly, blindly. Aroused, cared for, a temporary solution...of vodka and tonic. Tangerine Listerine, iced cold chlorine. A quiet place. Secluded, poluted. Sequestered, serene. A permanent escape, only illusionary, Contusionary, quite contrary. A happy space with velvet walls and purple passion fruit, cellophane mirrors, twinkling ceiling stars and chimney soot. Mindless adventures, never leaving my room...filled with thoughts of injustice, laughter...of the sinister kind. Trusted blinders on my eyes' windows, the venetian kind...portals to a world I can't understand, Can't cope with, find reason...for living, for dying, forgiving, denying. I am a marionette pulled by strings that disappear into clouds of mental anguish. Led to believe, bred to conceive, to repent. To wade through a cesspool-ed, Cubic-led, tunnel of escape. Wanting to feel, alive with purpose, with compassion, with meaning...to call my friends. Forgetting what it's all about, What the future holds..in doubt. Reaching for solutions...of vodka and tonic, Listerine and grenadine, NyQuil, Dayquil, Turpentine jellybeans. I am a child, a faceless child, suffering from... Imperfection, neglect-ion, seeking resurrection. Conformity, sobriety, A permanent vacation...from society. Don't laugh at me, don't cry for me... Out loud, insanely, profanely. Understand, this was all unplanned...carefully. Thought out, but spur-of-the-moment. It'll only hurt...the one's I love and those I thought I did. I am invincible, invisible, impermeably broken. My well laid plan cannot withstand, Scrutiny, starvation, incarceration. My blessed room, my cubicle tomb. The place I run and hide. I am a butterfly out of season. I have reached my peak. My wings are tired. I have conspired. It's tranquility I seek. A step-stooled stairway to heaven, or hell. It's hard to tell. I cannot dwell...or linger any longer. Just 2 steps to salvation's creation, to the edge of being... Bitter persuasion, contemplation, perpetuation. The tension's there, a mindless stare. Thoughts are running everywhere. I don't care. I hear music...muffled commotion, silent emotion... a tingling sensation, a last temptation. Standing on the threshold of a dream, Reality, a viable escape. Afraid, curious, defiant. Committed, serious, reliant. A final step toward eternity. The terminal plunge, the taut...lesson of life, The inevitable loss of...everything I've ever striven for. Consciousness, then realization, cold pervasion. The pain is minimal, never really there. I hear the final footsteps...of a life gone by, Slowly slipping away. My mind is drifting, still intact, Circling a drain of cerebral black. My feet are dangling. I am floating on air. Uninhibited, undenied, walking on a cloud 2 feet high. Stretching eagerly for another side. My world is fading, disappearing... Right before my very eyes. I am drifting down a river of solitude. Relaxation is seeping in, As I extend toward an approaching light. Darkness prevails, resistance curtails, No more struggles... To fight the demons I have learned to embrace. I am now free of the torment, confusion, resolution. My need to escape subsides...behold, peace. I am now truly alive.   I was a child with hopeless dreams. Bore preciously, raised normally. Caught in a whirlwind's soliloquy. A blemish of burden to those I met, An incurable disease, unwashable speck. A faceless child that no one sees, On bended knees, With crooked neck.

Copyright © July 2009 Kevin Mooney  

kmm020
101509

The Final Tour

This poem was written to describe and compliment the accompanying work of art by the popular new age artist, Jon Pitre called Heaven. You may want to look closely at the painting before your read the poem.


Everyone have your tickets ready,
The tours about to start.
Stay behind the bright white line,
Please don't drift apart.
Anyone with children,
Should step to the front of the line.
Help a child that's alone,
So they're not left behind.

Okay now, we're going to begin,
Tickets if you please.
Slowly step to the front, get in.
You might at first feel squeezed.
Everyone ready? Great, let's go.
Hold the railings tight.
Those of you in the middle.
Hold the person to your right.

It will only take a minute,
For us to reach the top.
The car moves fast yet pretty smooth,
And comes to a gradual stop.
Here we are, now everyone,
Slowly step outside.
You may feel a little dizzy,
We're up pretty high.

All of you look straight ahead,
See that twinkling light?
That's our destination friends,
Isn't it a wonderful sight?
Some confuse those vapors,
With ordinary clouds.
Actually they're a billion souls,
All wrapped in soft white shrouds.

Now you may be noticing,
All the bubble cells.
How they seem to replicate,
Grow bubbles within themselves.
These are both birthing places,
And where those passed now dwell.
This is where one's spirit goes,
Unless it goes to hell.

If you look very closely,
Within each bubble's core,
You'll see a very intense light,
And wonder what that's for.
That's is where creation starts,
That's where life begins.
That's where we all come from,
And where our lives will end.

See all the bubbles, big and small,
They dominate the sky.
Some are floating to and fro,
While others just pass by.
And within each and every bubble,
Someone's born and dies,
It's every human's life cycle,
No need to wonder why.

And as the bubbles drift away,
They lose their clarity.
Each core's bright intense light,
Is all that's left to see.
They become vestal spheres,
Of who we were and are.
Each a person's life-lived years,
Blends into the stars.

You may wonder what this means?
How it effects you.
The reality is that you're here,
To see as those passed do.
We're only moving forward friends,
There's no turning back.
You've all lived exemplary lives,
Please be assured of that.

For what lies here before you,
No mortal man can see.
You have crossed the threshold,
Of immortality.
This is Heaven, your new home,
There's no door or gate.
You'll not suffer or be alone,
It's every good soul's fate

Once inside you'll realize,
How good your life has been.
You'll look God straight in the eyes,
Then give yourself to him.
There's no turning back now,
No consequence or cure.
Here my friends, your first life ends,
This is the Final Tour.





Copyright © May 2010
Kevin Mooney


kmm001
050110

Severna Park

Dedicated to town I live in...


Nestled deep in the Chesapeake,
A town that folks adore.
Quietly lies,
Surrounded by,
Miles and miles of shore.

Wedged between two rivers,
Linking north to south,
The Magothy weaves,
While the Severn recedes,
Converging at each other's mouth.

Enriched with watershed wildlife,
Nurtured by the Bay,
Blue heron's stand,
In crab filled sands,
While fishermen earn their pay.

Lauded for history and culture,
A picturesque Atlantic gem.
Visitors seek,
A vestal peek,
Through Folger McKinsey's pen.

A summertime antique getaway,
Where beaches spill into backyards.
Cypress trees bend,
While seasons blend,
Into pastoral living postcards.

Baltimore's southern neighbor,
Anne Arundel's northern jewel.
Slips with yachts,
Challenge long wooden docks,
As schooners and sailboats rule.

In the shadow of old Annapolis,
Generations wind on forever,
Seafood feasts,
And iconic treats,
Severna Park, a Maryland treasure.



Copyright © December 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
010110

More Dog Letters To God...

Dear God,

I'm a lucky dog, with a comfortable home,
Fed regularly, bathed, brushed and combed.
I go for long walks, get occasional bones.
I have a fenced yard but can never roam.
Why is that?

Dear Dog,

You are very fortunate, my canine friend,
But the world's faster than you may know,
Too many dogs reach untimely ends,
With humans constantly on the go,

Dear God,

Sometimes my master forgets my water,
My throat gets parched and dry.
So I'll drink from the toilet, does that really matter?
It bothers him and I can't figure why.
Can you clarify?

Dear Dog,

Yes, people get busy and are prone to forget,
The necessities which pets need the most.
Don't worry too much and drink from the toilet,
Just avoid it if yellow or if somethings afloat.


Dear God,

Sometimes my butt itches so I try to scratch it,
But I can't reach, as hard as I try.
So I sit on the carpet and scootch forward a bit,
My master goes ballistic.  Why?

Dear Dog,

Well friend you see, carpets are expensive,
I realize they're more abrasive than grass.
I suggest the next time you get apprehensive,
Find somewhere more private to scratch your ass.

Dear God,

My best friend Jafar got hit by a car,
We were just playing and he chased a cat.
His master took him to a place that is far,
I never saw him again, where's he at?

Dear Dog,

Jafar is okay, he's here with me, just as other dogs are.
People spend money and go to extremes,
When the injured and ill are as they are.
Pets are more expendable it seems.

Dear God,

When people eat they sit at a table,
In chairs with their feet on the floor.
I get my food served on the floor, when they're able,
It's hard to listen when your eating on all fours.
Any suggestions?

Dear Dog,

People are funny, they spend lots of money,
They never like it thought that they're poor.
Their talk may be dull and what would the fun be,
If you never ate scraps off the floor.

Dear God,

And what's the deal with hot food on plates?
I always get my food served cold.
I must admit though, sometimes I can't wait,
Is it quicker to get served in a bowl?

Dear Dog,

No, not really, it's a matter of taste,
It depends on your owner and the time it takes,
People get caught up in their hurried haste,
It's not so bad though when you get to lick plates.

Dear God,

I've heard it said dog's look like their masters,
I've never known that to be true.
Is it right you created man in your image?
Does that mean dogs look like you too?


Dear Dog,

That's true, in a sense, I gave dogs my demeanor.
Canines reflect what good men should be.
They're special to me, their name makes it clearer,
Just spell Dog backwards and you'll see what I mean.


Dear God,

I understand dogs age faster then masters,
In dog years, one equals man's seven,
When humans die it's You that they ask for.
Is it true what they say, that all dogs go to heaven?


Dear Dog,

Yes my friend, that is true.



Copyright © October 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm022
102009

Walter Augustus Lee

People always touted him,
Walter Augustus Lee.
No one ever doubted him,
Or his sincerity.

He was there to give advise,
You never had to ask him twice.
There was never one as nice,
As Walter Augustus Lee.

Those he knew respected him,
Saw all good reflect in him,
Wanted to connect with him,
And his prosperity.

He always cared for those with less,
Treated them as honored guests.
Sought good will and happiness,
For all society.

He gave away most he had,
Comforted the weak and sad.
Seemed content, never mad,
As far as most could see.

He never turned a heedless eye.
Minced his words for reasons why.
Yes, there was not a nicer guy,
Than Walter Augustus Lee.

Life then took a sudden turn,
Exposed a frailty.
What seemed at first a mere heartburn,
Turned out worse, you see.

Doctors probed and ran some tests,
Bi-pass surgery seemed the best.
When they discovered the seriousness,
They let poor Walter be.

No one came to comfort him,
In his time of need.
He'd wait for God to come for him,
With solemn dignity.

As his last days passed him by,
He just prayed, not asking why,
He knew one day soon he'd die,
Alone and quietly.

Though all his life he had shared,
It seemed as if no one cared.
And so it was no one was there,
When Walter bid goodbye.

I never knew someone who could,
Praise the way he did.
I never really understood,
The final days he lived.

A righteous man with tender hands,
Who always did the best he can.
Somehow seemed a lesser man,
In posterity.

Poor Walter Augustus Lee.


Copyright © December 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
120410

I Took My Friend...

I took my friend to see the doctor,

He was feeling bad.

The doctor told me what was wrong,

What little time he had.

I looked my friend in the eye,

Could not find words to explain.

Tears welled up as I tried,

To ease his incurable pain.

The doctor told me all I could do,

Was comfort him and wait.

I watched the life in his eyes,

Fade then dissipate.

I bid farewell through my tears,

Told him it would be fine.

I loved him dearly, for so many years,

That beautiful friend of mine.

I didn't realize how much I cared,

How little time we had.

When I took my friend to be with the lord,

The best friend I ever had.

RIP Niles
December 2003 - March 2014

Copyright © April 2014
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
0420714

Purple Penguins

Dapper Dan's from down below,
Weeble, wobble to and fro,
Winter bound in ice and snow.
Sporting feathered tuxedos.

Purple Penguins perched up-rite,
Playfully poignant, poised, polite.
Comedians dressed in black and white,
Slipping, sliding left and right.

Minstrels of cold South Pole nights.
Braving blizzards' blistery blights.
Antarctic's favorite frigid friends.
Marching onward with their kin.

Bashful birdbrained beaked heroes,
Tempting temperatures below zero.
People pause to watch them play,
All applause their pensive ways.

Caped connivers, fettered foul,
Sole survivors exist somehow.
Constantly struggling to fit in,
The always bungling purple penguins.




Copyright © February 2010
Kevin Mooney

In The Mirror

I see myself and wonder why,
I never did complain.
Those around me shuffle by,
And never know my pain.

Some may never give a damn,
Some may really care.
Some may lend a helping hand,
They all just look and stare.

I see myself through tear stained eyes,
Through rain washed window panes.
I hear the sounds of children cry,
Of those that feel the same.

Shadows pass by hauntingly,
With voices just like me.
Echoes cast dauntingly,
With joyless memories.

Standing in a mirror,
Gazing back at me.
I see a face growing nearer,
Craving sanctity.

As I reach to touch him,
He reaches out to me.
Our finger tips press together,
But lack affinity.

I wish life were easy,
I wish that I was free,
Of all the pain and suffering,
Bottled up in me.

I want someone to touch me,
Without hurting me.
To cherish and to love me,
Unconditionally.

I warm to my reflection,
Then better understand.
That my forlorn objections,
Were all part of the plan.

I know that God still loves me,
I just don't understand.
Was He thinking of me?
Was I part of His plan?

I want the world to perceive,
I'm honest and sincere.
Strong at heart and confident,
Loving without fear.

I want the world to believe,
I have no pained regret.
I belong and nothing's wrong,
I'll move on and forget.

I don't need assistance,
Pity or therapy.
I questioned my existence,
But now I am happy.

I want the world to be relieved,
Forget what's happened here.
I want to be the one I see,
Reflected in the mirror.



Copyright © November 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
110610

A Death Poem

Have you seen Soylent Green?
How 'bout Logan's Run?
Life's not always as it seems,
It ends for everyone.

Imagine finding your name written,
In an obituary.
Or seeing it etched in stone,
In some old cemetery.

What if you saw your body,
In a mortuary?
Or woke up to hear somebody
Recite your eulogy?

If you had the right to choose,
How you'd want to die,
Would you go quickly, in your sleep,
Or suffer wondering why?

Would you die while in the sky,
Falling with no chute?
Or half insane in a crashing plane,
Wearing a brand new suit?

Would you drown upside down,
Aboard a sinking ship?
Or burn and cower in a falling tower,
That a plane just hit?

How 'bout from a shark attack,
While swimming in the sea?
Or from a heart attack,
That happens suddenly?

How 'bout from disease or cancer,
Something with no cure?
How 'bout if you know the answer,
When you'll die for sure?

These are questions often pondered,
The older that we get.
Most would rather just live longer,
Do things they haven't yet.

I suppose no one knows,
When their time will come.
We all should live each day as though,
Today is our last one.


Copyright © January 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
011611

The Face of Death

I walk the streets late at night,
I know who you are,
I know where you live and work,
I have a key to your car.
I am coming to get you,
Its only a matter of time.
No one can protect you,
There's no place to hide.

You may be in the shower,
Or in your favorite chair.
You might be asleep in bed,
You won't know that I'm there.
It'll be when you least expect it,
The last thing on your mind.
You may feel secure and protected,
When I get you from behind.

The pain will be minimal,
It will only last an instant.
The fear you'll have will be subliminal,
Your brain will fight against it.
The last thing that you'll ever see,
Will be all you remember.
You'll never even know it's me,
As your body is dismembered.

I embody your worst nightmare,
A fate you can't avoid.
I haunt shadows everywhere,
Loom within each void.
I embrace both fear and hate,
Consume life's final breath,
I'm a tomb with no escape,
I'm the face of death.



Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
092510

The Quiet Calm

Just before it starts to snow,
There is a quiet calm.
All of nature seems to sense,
The barometric hesitance,
That precedes the storm.

As the cold settles in,
Pale grey skies hang low.
Not an inkling of a sound,
Perfect silence all around,
While anticipation grows.

As first flakes trickle down,
Winter's ushered in.
The beauty and the majesty,
Of God's pure creativity,
Silently begins.

Close your eyes and listen closely,
You'll hear a distinct sound.
Hundreds of light little ticks,
Barely audible feathered drips.
As snowflakes touch the ground.

Mother Nature's artistry,
Gradually takes on form.
Trees and fields of painted white,
Crystal sculptures, heavenly sights,
Sanctify the calm.


Copyright © February 2010
Kevin Mooney


kmm120

021010

My Constant Companion

I have a constant companion who's always in front of me,
He's usually shy and hiding, in his shrouded canopy.
He likes to play peekaboo and always has a ball,
His stature often vacillates, from short to very tall.

His voice is non-existent, he has no face you see,
He's annoyingly persistent, uncontrollably.
His head is rather large, no arms or legs to play,
He's really quite peculiar, in a manly sort of way.

I have to take him with me, everywhere I go,
He's part of my persona, my unforeseen shadow,
His single-minded arrogance is embarrassing to me,
As he rises without warning, non-consensually.

And when I let him out to play he's happy as can be,
He stretches beyond amazement, his one-eyed world to see.
The women, they all love him, he's coy-full and carefree,
His greatest gift, the joy he brings, his masculinity.

And when the day is finally done, his purpose spent, complete.
He tends to dwell in a turtle-shelled, zippered hotel suite.
He sleeps calm and peacefully, his goals firmly met.
His dreams form increasingly, often warm and wet.


Copyright © June 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm029
061509

The Spurious Bull Frog

There once was a spurious Bull Frog,
Who sat curious on an old wooden log.
He thought pensively,
What his life would be,
If instead he'd been born a Bull Dog.

Oh what a life that would be,
No strife only prosperity.
Trade rib-its for barks,
Take long walks in parks,
Live and nap in the lap of luxury.

Instead of mosquitoes and flies,
He'd eat food that others would buy.
He'd trade in his croaks,
For a few doggy jokes,
Wag his tail as folks walked by.

Of course life as a frog's not too bad,
There's no fences or leashes to be had.
While munching his lunch,
He had a new hunch,
To houses he'd prefer lily pads.

And as the curious spurious Bull Frog,
Considered his mysterious bog,
It occurred to him,
To jump and swim,
Was more luxurious than being a Bull Dog.




Copyright © June 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
060510

Perpetual Nightmare

Lying here half asleep,
In a subconscious state.
Having prayed my soul to keep,
My mind's still half awake.
There's no sound, not a peep,
The silence escalates.
I finally try counting sheep,
Things start to deteriorate.

Something in the attic creaks,
The ceiling fan starts to shake
The ticking clock's rhythmic beat,
Begins to resonate.
I'm feeling numb, my limbs grow weak,
Lights grow dim then dissipate.
Barely lucid, unable to speak,
I start to hallucinate.

I try to take one last peek.
But it becomes too late.

And I begin to dream...

Mind drifting ever deep,
My thoughts turn into scenes.
Ghostly vision vapors seep,
Through billowing walls of steam.
Standing on a ledge so steep,
Balancing on a beam.
Whispered voices call to me.
Things aren't what they seem.

I notice several shadows,
Inching their way toward me.
I turn my back to retreat,
Then feel a hand grab me.
I struggle desperately to get free,
But cannot move my feet.
The situation's growing bleak,
I close my eyes, fain defeat,
Then reclaim reality.

I hear broken laughter,
Echoing in a breeze.
I sit up and raise my head,
Wrap my arms around my knees.
My body rises off the bed,
I'm floating effortlessly.
I feel the eyes of the dead,
Staring straight at me.

Something on me is crawling,
My legs start to burn.
Bugs are moving beneath my sheets,
Wiggling thousands of worms.
I try to move my frozen feet,
My stomach starts to churn.
My body can no longer compete,
I scream but hear no words.

There comes a distant knocking,
Someone opens a door.
I see the crack of a light,
Feel sanity start to restore.
The light continues to get bright,
It stretches across the floor.
The evil that was the night,
Possesses me no more.

I see the sun start to rise,
Then shadows disappear.
I'm no longer terrified,
No longer full of fear.As my room fills with light,
And morning time grows near.
I finally come to realize,
What's really happening here.
I've survived another night,
Conquered my worst fears.

I start to get out of bed,
For some reason I cannot move.
My arms are pinned at my side,
I'm trapped in a glass cocoon.
The walls around me are crystallized,
I can see my surrounding room.
I'm trapped inside a crypt of some kind,
Transparently consumed.
I struggle not to lose my mind,
To escape this invisible tomb.

I then relax, lay back and wait,
Lie still and start to stare.
The harder that I concentrate,
The sooner I'll get out of here.
But somehow I feel I'm awake,
Unconsciously unaware.
I'm trapped inside my mental state,
I pray to God that I escape,
Find an exit, a way to wake,
From this perpetual nightmare.


Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
103110

Little Windows

Sometimes the moon's like a window,
Like the hole in the top of a jar.
And all of the planets,
And all of the stars,
Are keyholes to where we are.

The night sky's a changing crescendo,
Crescent moons waning little and large.
Sparkling doubloons,
That brighten up rooms,
Some near and some very, very far.

At times God closes the windows,
Turns off some planets and stars.
The calamity,
Of twinkles we see,
Are like flashing head-beams from cars.

But when He turns on all the lights,
Opens all the windows of the night.
The stars and moonbeams,
And planets all seem,
To blend together with dawn's early daylight.


Copyright © June 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
060510

Teacup Pig

Teacup pig,
You're not too big,
In fact, you're very small.


Cute and pink,
Without the stink,
You're hardly there at all.


I've never seen,
A stranger thing,
Outside a pen or stall.


Teeny, tiny,
You remind me,
Of a little pig doll.


How you fit,
Inside of it,
Is a mystery to me.


You wiggly worm,
The way you squirm,
Brings laughter, love and glee.


Your little snout,
Is pushed right out,
As flat as flat can be.


When you pout,
I have doubts,
That you can even see?


I don't wait,
Or hesitate,
When I pick you up.


Are you a hog?
Or a little dog?
A little pinkish pup?


One of these days,
The doctor says,
You'll be all grown up.


I hope and pray
You'll stay this way,
The change is not abrupt.


Just in case,
I'll find a place,
To store much bigger cups.



Copyright © March 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
031110

Dr. Geisel Thank You Please

Doctor Geisel I presume?
On a bookshelf in my room?
Would you, could you, please do tell,
How you're able to spell so well?

Your stories intrigue both young and old.
Whether they're read or whether they're told.
Gee sir, please sir, help me see,
Satisfy my curiosity.

Doctor Geisel is it true,
The Cat in Hat was really you?
Some say yes and some say no,
I guess it's something to consider though.

My first book was Green Eggs and Ham,
Green Eggs and Ham and Sam I Am.
In all my life I've never seen,
Eggs and Ham so gross and green.

Then there's Horton and the Who's,
I've often wondered about them too.
Surely, the Who's that Horton knew,
Weren't The Grinch's Who-ville Who's?

Did Horton really hatch an egg?
Or were you only pulling our leg?
How can an Elephant sit so well,
On an egg and not break the shell?

And what of the Grinch, that grumbling stooge?
Some say he looked like Ebeneezer Scrooge.
Was Boris Karloff the voice we heard?
Somethings he did were quite absurd.

That poor max, his faithful friend,
What happened to him in the end?
You would have liked Jim Carey in green,
Ron Howard made him believably mean.

Dr. Geisel you were ahead of your time.
I watched the Lorax in prime time.
I liked his concern for the Truffula trees,
Nothing was worth ol' Once-ler's Thneed.

Now Marvin K. Mooney got a reprieve,
How many times was he asked to leave?
Could Marvin have been a political jest?
Was he Nixon's Watergate guest?

Oh Dr. Geisel we love your stories.
Their poetic rhymes and allegories.
Children find them simple and fun,
Yet they challenge everyone.

Dr. Geisel, thank you please,
For all your character memories.
I'm sure one day they'll reveal truths,
About ourselves and Dr. Seuss.




Copyright © July 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
072510

A Darker Poignant Calm

I originally wrote Poignantly Calm in March of 2009, It has always been one of my favorite poems. I like its message and I like its current, yet retrospective feel. This is a Another Poinantly Calm poem, a little more current and a little darker. Hope you like it...


I thought I saw JFK,
Wearing a baseball hat.
It was at a Red Sox game,
He'd grown old and fat.
No one seemed to notice him,
But he looked straight at me.
He tipped his hat, shook his head,
And nodded reverently.

And then there was this calm...

I saw Martin Luther King,
On a subway train.
He was carrying 2 large books,
And had a worried look of pain.
Both the books were old and tattered,
Each was worn and torn.
Their content seemed to him what mattered,
Their testaments forlorn.

And again there was this calm...

I thought I saw Pope John Paul,
On a Harley Davidson.
In front of a VFW hall,
Among several AA friends.
He tried to look away from me,
Knew that I knew him.
He wore a leather bomber jacket,
With a POW pin.

Stronger grew the calm...

I thought I saw my Father today,
It was rather odd.
He was older, much more grey,
He looked a lot like God.
He mouthed to me several words,
That I simply could not hear.
He had this very distraught look,
His eyes were filled with tears.

All became desperately calm...

An earthquake leveled Haiti,
A quarter million died.
One month later Santiago,
Chile rocked side to side.
An airplane bound for Russian soil,
Where a massacre occurred.
Crashed and killed Poland's President,
And shocked the Polish world.
An Iceberg the size of Rhode Island,
Breaks suddenly out of place.
A volcanic eruption in Iceland,
Stymies north airspace.
A child of 13 hangs himself,
Without a single word.
Seems only friends on Facebook,
Knew what his last thoughts were.

The whole world became calm...

Are these acts more prophesies?
Messages that God sends?
Are these signs indicative,
Of the world's impending end?
Are these images what they seem,
Or induced, subconscious psalms?
Lord I pray they're only dreams,
Illusions poignantly calm.


And once again, came rain...



Copyright © May 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001

050210

Another Poignant Calm

I saw an odd shaped cloud today,
It looked like a big balloon.
I wondered how it got that way.
Then it turned into a mushroom.
As it slowly drifted away,
A voice in my head seemed to say,
"Somethings terribly wrong."

The world felt eerily calm.

I thought I saw Bin Laden today,
Driving a rental truck.
As I passed him, he looked my way,
Smiled then pointed up.
An airplane passed overhead,
I imagined all aboard were dead.
Then I saw a sign that read,

Ahead All Is Calm.

I thought I saw John Lennon this morn.
At Starbucks standing in line.
He looked sad, his face well worn,
In his hand he carried a sign.
"The End is Very Near" it read,
He looked at me, "Imagine" he said,
"It's just a matter of time."

Everything felt calm.

I saw a girl at lunch today,
Christina Taylor-Greene.
Smiling she turned and looked my way,
Was eating a bowl of ice cream.
It was her 10th birthday,
September 11th, a special day.
But things were not what they seemed.

There was a definite calm.

I saw my father's face today,
He just looked and stared.
He spoke to me in a ghostly way,
Said "Son complete your affairs".
Time is shorter than it seems,
Watch for signs in news and dreams.
The world should be aware.

Nothing penetrated the calm.

A radical bombed Oslo, Norway,
Then went on a shooting spree.
By the time authorities had him contained,
The dead count was 93.
A Florida teen kills his parents,
With a hammer, in a violent rage.
While their bodies lay in their room,
Throws a party through his Facebook page.
A deranged woman in California,
Cooks her baby in a microwave.
Record tornadoes throughout the states,
Send hundreds to early graves.
Floods, the likes never seen before,
Breach town levies and river shores.
The entire country is enslaved,
By an uncommonly brutal, record heatwave.

Lord,

Are these events omens received?
Testaments to your omniscience?
Divine prophecies preconceived?
Premonitions of the Apocalypse?
Is your creation beyond reprieve?
What will the ultimate consequence be?


Know that in You I trust and believe.
It's You that makes me strong.
Your sovereignty and nobility,
The knowledge you're never wrong,
Provide me faith and courage to be,
Forever poignantly calm.


Once again it rained...


Copyright © July 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
072511

Eeny, Meeny, Miny and Moe

Four little explorers embark on a quest,
A dark, silent house, their noble first test.
With courage, grit and imagination in tow.
Off go Eeny, Meeny, Miny and Moe.

The foot of a mountain, they climb the steps,
Not knowing what horrors to expect.
As they reach the first level plateau,
They gather themselves then onward go.

A mountain climb for four weary souls,
A child's young mind never grows old.
With towel pinned capes and wooden swords,
Newspaper hats and laundry line cords.

As they reach the top of their sky-high stairs,
They huddle together to quell their fears.
No light exists in this lofty place,
Just shadows and darkness, and infinite space.

It's here the real adventure begins,
They huddle together with youthful grins.
A lone flashlight anoints their way,
As they struggle to live another day.

They move quietly from door to door,
Shuffling and crawling around on all fours,
Each room's explored with delicate care,
Closets are caves and dragon lairs.

They search beneath couches and beds,
Looking for treasures and shrunken heads.
Working in unison like a well oiled machine,
They seem to have formed a respectable team.

As the bewitching hour begins to toll,
The group decides their day to call.
A tent is pitched between two chairs,
To protect the group from predators.

For tomorrow's just a dream away,
Another adventure, another day.
That's how little imaginations grow,
Like Eeny, Meeny, Miny and Moe.




Copyright © January 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm004
011610