Merry Christmas!

So much for a "small Christmas"! We all made out like bandits and I am writing this as Mom and I are curled up in the blanket I knit...curled up sitting across the room from each other in it's 17 foot long folds!
Dad gave me a small porcelain duckling that may soon appear in a kid's story or poem.
I hope you all had as merry a Christmas as we did here.

More writing to come later.

The Sounds of the Season

This Poem was written in college in a poetry class when I was supposed to be reading very serious poetry. I think it might have been Yeats. Or some very influential guy from the sixties movement. Anyway, this is what they inspired. And this is one of the poems that made it into one of CU's literary magazines, Tip O' the Tongue, 1999.
Enjoy.


Herman T. Hermunkel
By Kelly Hayes

Sitting for hours within his dark lab,
Dr. Herman T. Hermunkel took one more stab
at his unending search for an invaluable clue
to unlock the mystery of a rather pungent stew.

“Wouldn’t it be great!” he exclaimed to his peers,
“If our toots could smell lovely and erase stinky fears!”
Fellow scientists snickered and emitted a stench,
leaving Herman a rage he set off to quench.

Finally the day long-awaited arrived,
when all of the theories, stunts, and tricks he’d contrived
proved to be useful and profitable too,
as Herman T. Hermunkel’s Toot-Beautifying Goo.

He could make it all flavors – whatever you choose,
He would make millions for this popular ruse!
Vanilla, or roses, or strawberry tart.
No one would guess that sweet odor a fart.

C.K., or lavender, or sweet, sweet red wine.
Aroma therapy is next up in line.
Hermunkel’s a genius, a bonefied stud,
too bad he couldn’t patent it before drowning in mud.

If you have a sensitive snuffer or snout
and you’d rather have pleasant things to snuffle about,
Remember dear Hermunkel and his pledge to the fart,
and next time you toot, it could become art.

Oh, If Only

In the spirit of the season I remembered this poem written back in 1996, and as it happens also published in the 1996 Hartford Union High School writing magazine, Zyzzyva, in Hartford Wisconsin, thanks to my Aunt Mickie. It's good to know people.

Too bad this isn't written from real life. I do have my own mistletoe faithfully hanging, brought all the way from Poland. Now that's dedication to a kiss - or the effort to get one.

Mistletoe
By Kelly Hayes 1996

Waiting beneath the mistletoe
I stand, daring fate.
So far I haven’t seen a guy
who hasn’t got a date.

10 minutes later, I’m still waiting,
still standing sadly alone.
Maybe that dog in the corner will come,
if I can find a nice milk bone.

Ok, I’m sounding desperate
but what did I do to get this?
I didn’t think I was that ghoulish,
all I want is a kiss.

But wait, who is that?
tall, dark, handsome, and single,
right next to the tree
talking to Kris Kringle.

He just looked my way.
Could he have seen what’s above?
Yes, yes he did!
Oh gosh, it’s true love!

He whispers to Kris
maybe saying just a minute?
Come on, Romeo,
time’s wasting, let’s begin it.

But oh, how terrible!
Oh what shall I do!?
As Santa approaches
my heart hits my shoe.

What a horrible joke,
where’d the other guy go?
Of course he is sitting
enjoying the show.

Santa’s ‘bowl full of jelly’
is coming at me too fast.
I need a getaway plan
so I duck and squeeze past.

The man who began it is
laughing and hooting
and I think with regret
he is too cute for shooting.

I leave the party,
stricken and down.
The sky is clear
a perfect night for the town.

Across the street I see a man,
who looks hurt and lonely like me.
Oh well, my moment has past and gone,
but, I wonder who he could be.

I take another look and see
I know this man from work.
He really isn’t all that bad.
Not at all like the handsome jerk.

We exchange The Look
and like magic we know.
The star’s shine brighter
and it begins to snow.

He crosses the street
and our eyes stay locked.
I find I am in his arms,
warm, giddy and shocked.

As his lips meet mine
I inwardly grin,
Mistletoe or no,
let the games begin.