MY TINY CAMELOT

they called him
ken,
he who made
me-
delivered by mom
flo.
he wandered
away,
she drank and
broke.
down they went,
clueless to
us-
my brother
and me.
a car ride
i recall, to
hell -
a foster
home
of evil;
then came
jack
on tv.
i watched and
named him
ken in my
heart, but
Kennedy
was the truth.
where ken was
gone,
i saw jack.
the smile
and hair the
same. one
gone-
the other
on tv.
a few years
later,
someone killed
my dad on tv.
ken died
in 1993.
it's November
again -
1963 stained me.
no one knew
jack was my
dad
but me.
my tiny
Camelot
in a sad
season.
i miss him
still.

@copyright 11/24/2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

ONE OF THOSE DAYS

It has been one of those days, nothing to write home about but a grumble under the breath for no particular reason. I'll blame it on the kink in my neck. They always make me ornery in a way no other discomfort does; it makes you look and feel gratingly whacked!
I got my H1N1 vaccine shot this morning; the free shot cost me $10.00. On the flip side, the shot my daughter got was painful for her and as prepared as I was to grimace - I barely felt the needle and have no pain at all hours later. Tit for tat.
Face book, normally temperamental anyway, has been downright combatant today. I can't sign in on the first try, can't post on the first try, took several friends and sent them into Hide, and keeps saying I can't do this and I can't do that. After 5 hours of this, neither has called a truce.
Well, this is enough of a rant to have done some good. Neck is still kinked but the heating pad is warmed up, Tylenol is ready and my orneriness seems to have mellowed. Goodnight!

TAKE / MOMENT / HE WALKS POEMS

TAKE THEM BACK
take them back,
those words.
take them
to a
place
as dark
and cold
as my heart
felt
when your
words
broke it.

A MOMENT PLEASE
Sorry,
but a moment
please,
just a moment
to pick me up
off the floor,
salvage and
assemble the pieces
before you walk away.
@copyright 2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

HE WALKS
he walks
in a way
that
warms my loins;
he strides
long and lean.
he steps in
rhythm to
my pulsing
anticipation.
he stops
a breath away
and holds me
in his
magnificence.

@copyright 2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

PILLOWS MAKE POOR SHOULDERS

When I say I'm sick
and want to be left alone
I don't really mean alone -
if it leaves me by myself
hearing the echo of my cries
and feeling my fruitless tears
run down my face
without your gentle touch
to wipe them dry.
Pillows make poor shoulders.
They can't wrap around me
quite the way you do
nor whisper tender words
of love and consolation.
Next time I'm sick
and want to be left alone -
come closer
and wrap your arms around me.

@copyright 2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

NO WORDS

Ask no words of me
for now -
at least until
my mind can reason
without
useless bursts of emotion.
Allowing silence
to calm my weary soul
is the comfort I need but
at only *this* moment,
knowing as it ends
is where you begin
and my words
will rush into you.

@copyright 2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

MY METEOR SHOWER STORY

I'd heard about the meteor showers to occur tonight and was excited to watch them, hearing they may not appear like this for another 33 years. It got me thinking. The first shooting star I ever saw was when I was but 8 yrs old laying on the lawn with some relatives I didn't know who lived in Ogden Canyon. I was more afraid of snakes and cougars, bears and wolves than this tribe of ne'er do wells so I focused on the sky. It didn't take long before IT happened. The brightest star I'd ever seen shot out and flickered bright heading straight to earth. It was the coolest thing since bloodying Paul Rasmussen's nose when he cheated in tether ball. Frozen in my brain I never saw another til my 13th birthday party sleep out with 8 other girls I'd just met in my new and wonderfully safe Foster Home. This time I was only afraid of garden snakes and Peeping Toms (had encounters in Kearns) so I again focused on the sky. It took a little longer but as the others slept and tossed, there it was! Not one, not two, but three of the most perfect shooting stars fell earthward as synchronized as the 4th of July!
Throughout the years there have been a couple small ones I've seen while driving up the canyon to go fishing or on a late night drive but none sparked the sense of wonder and delight. I had totally expected to capture that tonight. BUT...
I get my coat and gloves on and go outside at midnight looking to the easterly skies and wait..and wait. After about 45 min I knew I needed my polar bear coat to keep warmer so went inside. Now I haven't worn the coat for a year so it was deep in the closet and I needed to stretch my reach and as I did so my foot came down on a lost, small Halloween chocolate bar that acted as an ice patch and down I went into the closet bringing coats and sweaters and hangers down on top of me as I lay squished on my shoes and boxes. A few ouches and grunts later I backed up and out with "the" coat in hand. A bruised side, knee, hand and ego did not keep me from racing back outside to watch for the meteor shower.
Warm in my better coat with hood and gloves I stood atop the driveway gazing right to left in anticipation. After about 15-20 minutes I heard a low, calm voice say, "You move another step closer and I'll blow your head off!" Big pause as my brain scrambled. "Danny?" Another big pause... "Kathy? What are you doing out there?" At the moment it sounded awfully stupid. "I'm watching for meteors." "Oh, ok" was all he said out the dark window. I then decided how grateful I was for the internet and how many times I could watch the meteor shower in the safety of my warm, safe home and went inside.

MY BROTHER, MY FRIEND

My dearest Lord,
how patient and kind,
how ever-understanding,
tolerating the weak
and complicated me.
You see beyond
my mask and
happy pretense
while inner heart is breaking
and, with arms wrapped
snug around myself
My soul reaches out
to wrap myself around you.
Your righteous garment
could protect me from
the hurt or temptation
the pain and the grief.
Yet, You stand back to
Whisper in my ear -
warm consolation and
promises of strength.
And with the breath of
Your clean, holy air
I renew, regain myself-
committed to guide my life
home bound to You -
My Brother, My Friend.
How can I ever fail
with you beside me?

@copyright 2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

IT'S ME

Yes!
Look -
It's me!
Here...
Right here...
Oh, see me
Please.
I am
Right here.
Waiting for you...
Love
I am... I am
Here.

~copyright@2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

WATCHING YOU SLEEP

Watching you sleep
Fast in your dreams
Is the closest I
Could ever stand
Of saying goodbye.

~copyright@2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

ADMITTANCE

Lord, I'm late
writing this,
binding my talents
to You;
but being who You are -
You knew I'd get here,
Breathless,
but eager
to be about our business.

~1980/2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

Fevered Touch

Just now -
Yes, just now
I touched you
so softly and gently
you didn't know
tho my body screamed.
I felt my heartbeat
would pound inside your ears
and yet
you were oblivious
to the baring of my soul.
In a fevered touch,
my face inflamed and
eyes downward
you smiled and
looked away;
so unaware
of my deep desire
and passion
too long bridled.

@copyright 1997/2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

The Attack of the Fruit Cocktail Salad

It was supposed to be a routine day. I needed to drive a ways to purchase a special fruit cocktail salad as it was the only thing I seemed to have been able to eat with no ill effects. Recent surgery and further underlying issues have made eating painless nearly impossible. But, this salad was working and worth the drive. Of course my daughter lived nearby so I purchased the salad and stored it in her refrigerator while visiting the grandkids and shopping at Target. Later, I called Dan to let him know I was on my way home with my special salad. I, dodged orange cones and a flag man I was certain was suicidal.

As soon as I returned home I realized a critical mistake: my salad was still in my daughter's refrigerator and it was evening rush hour...that was okay, I NEEDED that salad so I drove back in, retrieved the salad and fought my way back home...slowing to a near stop when I approached the manic flagman...waving as I passed him.

A little over an hour ago I sat down for a quiet, slow meal of fruit cocktail salad. It was great. I was happy to have made the extra trip. The world was good.

Then I tried to put the lid back tight on the plastic container. Wouldn't close. I cleaned off the edges, it wouldn't close. (Now, mind you, my husband had been baking a turkey all night and I did not see the layer of grease all over the countertop.) Left to right or right to left it wouldn't close so I put an elbow on the counter, took a deep breath, and with all my strength pushed on that lid until it DID snap shut with my pajama top in it. As I tried to UNDO the lid, my arm slid on the grease, the lid abruptly opened, my pajama top was freed and so was the fruit cocktail salad - all over the countertop and inside my top. Would you believe it then simply snapped shut over what was left? The impromptu wrestling match was over. I never know when my life is going to go "Lucy" but I've learned it's best to just laugh it off and move on.

I Am My Cross To Bear

I am
my cross to bear
and with each step
I falter
wishing
the burden be lightened.
Yet, understanding
somewhat reluctantly
for every thing
there is a season.
Under God's
infinite wisdom
and his personal perfection
My understanding will
be made known
in God's proper time.

~2009 Kathy Thayne Herman

My True Baseball Story of 1959-61

I was always athletic in my school days. From 8-17 yrs old I played baseball, volleyball, basketball and soccer (tho I hated soccer so much I quit and never watch it). When I was 9, I was living in a foster home in Kearns, Utah. I remember days of playing baseball in a vacant lot on the corner. It was serious business then for some reason; perhaps we were so young and happy to get out of our miserable homes and release mighty tension that we played hard and only to win. It was never a matter of playing for the sake of the game; it was playing to win the game. I never understood the fierceness in their hearts as I was just happy to be out of the house and away from the evil that dwelled there. But, there was no room for my glee and at first I was last to be chosen for a team. They didn't "want no smiling faces" I was told. They didn't "want no girl", especially one who'd "never played before" and I should sit on the boulder and watch.
Well, if I didn't play I had to go back to hell, er, home so I took their verbal swipes, dodged tossed mitts my way and missed swings til my arms burned. It didn't take long, thankfully, before I caught on. The smile went off, the shoes dug and swiped at the dirt, the legs took flight and the body slid into home. By the end of that summer I was often team captain. I once picked a girl but she couldn't throw to the pitcher's mound so I made her bat girl... a job she relished, by the way.
The next summer we played with such intensity we would draw a neighborhood crowd. Boulders were dragged around and placed for the curious. A couple of times local gangs dropped by to watch and not once ragged on us or interfered. I think they understood our "need". The skinned knees, elbows and chins were signs of greatness. Even with the victory we gruffly slapped each other on the arm. Lordy, sometimes I wanted to just hug 'em but I would have been decked! I was, after all, a ball player. The 3rd and final summer was cut short. I had to miss a game and Harold Pearce played for me. He dropped dead at age 11,on first base. An aneurysm.
We tried to play one more game for Harold but in the first few minutes our childhood caught up with us and we all cried. Like babies we wept for our fallen teammate. He was the strongest voice urging us to win, win. And we were spent.
Parents got the notion that somehow Harold died because of our games, we were too intense. I had the notion all along that had I been there he wouldn't have played that day and maybe he would have been okay. I now know that was wrong; it was inevitable. A neighbor brought a tractor and pushed tree branches and rocks all over the field. Our season was over.
But I learned then I could be tough if I had to. I could survive this home and somehow get out. I learned that winning isn't everything. I learned that playing was everything; Harold never got a chance to learn that. Poor Harold.

MLB Sunflowers

While channel surfing last night I stayed awhile on The World Series. In that short time I couldn't help but wonder how many sunflowers crop up every spring with all that chewing and spitting from near the dug-out to the home plate. Bleeding hearts out there may suggest they be harvested to stock the local food banks. I shouldn't complain about the sloppy, caveman-like chomping and spitting of the seeds as it beats the heck out of the sloppy, caveman-like chomping and spitting of that black-brown drool of tobacco.