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Timothy Mooney Sep 2013
Love is a misfit gambol
A blind "hit me"
When you're holding eighteen.
Twenty One seems so far away,
Gambling a small tomorrow
With stolen chits.
Timothy Mooney Sep 2013
Here's a poem for all concerned about the ***** words I write/
Every night I wrestle with them, all the filth which I have learned/
All the strife I water down to soften up the reader's eye/
Trying not to bug or bother anyone with pristine ears/
I have years of cursing loudly/
I have scars to prove that's true/
Snotty women so offended, Bar-room tables up-side ended/
Walking home without a ride/
Deep in angry mumble walk/
Spouting each and every letter/
Feeling better as I vent/
Where I went or what I'd done/
All my sins were fun, it's true/
Hence I've put them down prosaic/
***** words from me, to you
Timothy Mooney Sep 2013
Here's a little ***** ditty-
Ain't too long, or sweet, or pretty-
Kinda' short, won't take much time-
All about a gal I knew/

She was tall, bout' five foot nine-
Met me in a ***** alley-
Up there in that cold-*** city-
She was half as drunk as me/

What occurred then I'm not privy-
I woke up with sirens blaring-
Handcuffed in my skivvies, moaning-
In the lock-up. without pants/

Now I do a shameful dance-
wondering who just bailed me out-
Out there sits a hungry Chevy-
(better than a ***** alley!)
Timothy Mooney Sep 2013
Should I write a poem of sappy love/
Teenage emotion gone on a sneak-away ride/
Visigoth hormones usurping my pen, again/
Sad memories of those girls, oh, those girls/
High School dances like small caliber holes in my heart/
No exit wounds, the lipstick bullets fester in me/
Music so loud I can not hear her giggle to her coven/
About the way I tried to kiss her/
In the gym, in public/
Where all the Cool boys might see?
Or Should I, forty years later, just walk my dog/
And whistle as I bag up her ****/
Enjoying the evening as we walk/
While she wags and is happy to be here/
Beside me, regardless of my haircut/
Or the horsepower of my car?/
Why start now? I never cared then/
About them, the Loud Pretty ones/
With the guns aimed at my heart/
The only thing they knew how to do was shoot and run/
Where's the fun in that?/
Come on back, ladies.../
I have years of dog-**** waiting for you.
Timothy Mooney Sep 2013
Funny how these small things happen
Little ripples in the pond
Spooky  turtles poised for snapping
Just beneath the sweet reflection/

Funny how we seldom notice
What we do to cause reaction
What effects we leave behind us
As we blindly stagger on/

Funny how the Big Things linger
All disguised as normal silent
Meanwhile little ripples grow
While we lean back, smiling, napping/

Meanwhile all those spooky turtles
Gather down there in the cold
Surfing upside down to bite us...
(Little things get bigger....  Honest!)
Timothy Mooney Apr 2012
Funny that.
As the end nears
The music gets big.
When I should be paying attention
To the *****
And not
The noise...
Timothy Mooney Jul 2011
Life is funny
Hurts to get into it
Hurts to get out of it
Hurts a lot
In the Middle
Of it
Hurts to keep it
Hurts to lose it
It's always
A struggle
Just to hold
Onto it
We sleep
A third of it
Eat to ****
Then eat some more
Because of it
And yet
We desperately
Seek to
Keep hold of it
Funny or not
It's all we got
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