Best Thayer Poems
Beneath the darkness of heavy hearts,
Tears from nowhere weigh me down,
But I hear a sound,
A mighty sound,
Merry men,
Laughing tongues wagging,
And I hear a sound,
A mighty sound,
Lost memories rush in like tides,
Hands throw roses,
Landing like stones above the ground,
What a mighty sound,
Beyond the dark into the light,
I hear a mighty sound,
Scaring the moon, stars turn off their lights,
And I hear a sound,
Tomorrow appears with a glorious sun,
Mourning is over,
Night has fallen behind my shoulders,
And I hear a sound,
Children are born and some will marry,
I hear a mighty sound,
Clouds carry my burdens while songs fill the air,
Rains quench my thirst with every captured tear,
And I hear a sound,
A mighty sound,
I can't see you from here,
In the morning's light I have slipped away,
But I hear a sound,
A mighty sound,
Inside your pain something remains,
A mighty sound, A mighty sound,
I hear shadows fall,
The sea turning black and days turning pale,
And I hear a sound,
A mighty sound,
Blood on my tongue as I kiss death,
I hear everything you say,
I feel your pain,
Your tears heavy and wet,
I can't see,
But I hear a sound,
Inside my heart,
There,
With my last breath,
You'll hear a sound,
It's God's Almighty Sound.
~Vickie Thayer~
she tricked him,
she baited her,
her soft steps,
leaving no trail,
when she ran off,
the only thing they saw,
was her,
fuzzy bunny tail,
her intentions were hidden,
a clever disguise,
masked beneath,
her evil human eyes,
she was determined,
to take them all,
the big ones,
but especially the small,
after all, who could argue,
when the bunny wiggled her nose,
a carrot for them,
hidden beneath her clothes,
mesmerized and unaware,
sisters and brothers,
she didn't care,
all caught in her bunny lair,
her cute disguise,
surrounded her designs,
spoiling them,
she hid maggots and flies,
hopping away,
claiming no such tale,
the bunny thinks,
she covered her trail,
but children grow up,
no longer believing,
in fairy tales so ugly,
or a sister so deceiving.
(Vickie Thayer Poetess 2018)
He Sat On His Favorite Bench,
In Their Favorite Park,
Cracked And Crumbled,
His Eyebrows Knitted Together,
He Leered,
Sadness Clouded His Features,
He Drew His Lower Lip Between His Teeth,
From Memories,
His Thoughts Clouded,
Fighting Back Broken Tears,
An Old Woman Appeared,
She Gave Him A Dirty Look,
Her Nose Stuck In The Air,
She Sat Down On His Claimed Bench,
He Scrutinized As She Peered.
Suddenly,
Recognition Dawned On Their Faces,
Her Mouth Curved Into A Smile,
His Eyes Glistened,
Beneath His Almost Tears,
They Were So Much Older Now,
Unrecognizable At First,
But A Love Lost,
Had Prevailed,
And Was Found,
After So Many Years.
~Vickie Thayer~
I love books that have no end,
truth that is hard to bend,
letters I forgot to send,
and reading them again,
unmade beds that invite,
stories I need to write,
eating ice cream with contrite,
knowing wrong is sometimes right,
I love grass that needs mowed,
a garden that feeds my soul,
boots that kick my toes,
boats I never row,
bridges that go nowhere,
the triple dog I dared,
knowing my love was fair,
falling up the stairs,
I love price that's worth the cost,
my mind that I found lost,
tomatoes that never rot,
the demons that I fought,
never having enough on my plate,
hearing words you can't say,
leaving when I was told to stay,
being the keeper of my own fate.
~Vickie Thayer~
Life has a funny way of smacking you,
not that I'm laughing,
at the sting of redness,
left on my other cheek.
It is said that karma is,
a word they call a sarcastic woman,
the word that rhymes with,
and almost has the same meaning as witch.
I have waited for karma,
and all her craftiness,
she seems to be taking her good old time,
she is after all,
always threatening to come around.
Maybe it would be better,
if I stopped wishing,
and just realized,
it's not beyond the realms of possibilities,
That karma has already done her job,
been paid,
and is now on a sabbatical,
I think my red cheek has healed.
~Vickie Thayer~Poetry To Ponder~
2017
Below deep snow snug and cozy,
Waiting for winters final bow,
Miss black eyed susan,
Pokes thru nosey,
Her face to love kowtows,
I Rescue her from the nights chill,
Her beauty will not be still,
In my vase,
On display,
She sheds a single tear,
A cry of thanks and not of fear,
"I love you Susan",
She knows this girl is sincere.
~Vickie Thayer~
Parody of "Casey At The Bat" with apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The outlook was quite brilliant for the high school stud that year—
the senior prom was coming up, and Casey had no fear.
The babe he hoped to take he knew would happily comply,
for Casey was quite popular, the envy of each guy.
And she, of course, was stunning, in a Barbie sort of way,
and any fellow would be proud to date her any day!
There was ease in Casey's manner, a real confidence infusion—
that she would smile and tell him 'yes' was a foregone conclusion.
For Casey was the captain of his high school football team
and she was head cheerleader, with a face that made boys dream.
Deciding he would ask her to the prom with a sweet note,
composed in a romantic style, which late one night he wrote.
Next day at lunch, the courtyard packed with hustling and bustle,
wearing the shirt that he picked out that best showed off his muscle—
approaching boldly, Casey handed her his heart-shaped note.
His dream girl read it, then looked up and softly cleared her throat.
Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The high school pep band plays somewhere, and high school hearts are light;
And somewhere boys are laughing, and somewhere schoolgirls shout,
But there's no joy in his world—mighty Casey has struck out.
Written 25 Dec 2020
The Things I Felt As A Child,
Should Have Never Been Captured,
They Now Hide,
In-Between Wrinkled Pages Of Poetry,
For Me To Write,
With Years Of Pondering,
A Snapshot In Time,
My Minds Eye,
The Reasons Behind,
I Wanted To Die,
But Lived To Tell,
Me Too.
~Vickie Thayer~
She Had More Shame In Her Heart Than Sympathy,
Every Time She Heard A New Born Baby Cry,
Her Tears Were Not Of Joy,
Nor Of Empathy,
Tears Of Shame Flooded From Her Eyes,
Waves Swelling,
For The Child She Chose To Die,
His Mother Of The Sea,
Lies Barren And Empty,
Her Bites Of Regret,
Feeding Her Throughout Life,
God Does Not Forget,
The Unborn Child,
Who Forever Cries,
Whilst Thirsting For His Mother's Breast,
He Wipes Away Their Tiny Tears,
With His Angels,
Beautiful Lullabies.
~Vickie Thayer~
(With apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer, author of "Casey at the Bat".)
The Mudville nine and Casey have their chance for sweet revenge;
They play today in Dirtburg, their misfortune to avenge.
Two mighty Casey homers have us leading, five to four.
The bottom of the ninth arrives: three cheers for three outs more!
The lead-off slugger, Bugsy, flies to right: out number one.
But Smith and Jones both single; now the worrying’s begun.
So when our pitcher, Nelly, loads the bases with a walk,
In shaken insecurity we hush our hopeful talk.
We badly need a strikeout—better yet, a double play.
But cleanup batter Brutus may have something more to say.
Old Nelly sure looks nervous as he winds up for the pitch,
And Brutus eyes him coolly, and we see his muscles twitch.
And now our hearts stop beating as we hear the bat’s report.
And ahh, relief—we breathe again; he’s grounded straight to short!
The shortstop throws to second for the force: out number two.
The easy lob to first will end this rematch, right on cue.
The Dirtbag Coliseum is erupting in a din:
Uproarious cheers reverberate as Smith and Jones jog in.
The joyful, jubilant half-gibes behind each haughty face
Proclaim our Casey still a bum; he’s overthrown first base.
In "The Shootist", J.B. Books is not feeling up to snuff.
He has cancer. What are the concerns
of a man dying.
To die
commensurate with the way he lived his life.
Books dies in a gunfight.
McIntosh dies in the desert, under a broken wagon,
fighting Indians.
Norman Thayer will die of heart failure
by the side of his wife, Ethel.
Two police officers
die investigating a stolen moped at a gas station
in the Bronx.
One buys it between the eyes, the other in the back.
The killer out on early parole
from a manslaughter rap.
The DA blames the judge, the judge blames the parole board,
and the board says the jails are overcrowded.
What should I be doing, old turtle.
Devote myself to re-order the world
or crawl off to a lonely spot and preserve myself.
We are trying
to educate everyone to their individual capacities
and see that all are fed, clothed and sheltered adequately.
Because the suffering of one citizen makes suffering
for another, the slow death of one sometimes makes
the sudden murder of another.
There is this
black rock we live on and its lovely mantle of green.
It is all that is perfect. And everything of it is
perfect that respects its integrity. On the subway
I was amused to find, hidden in the confused
mass of anonymous, bleak graffiti, unseen
by the studied, expressionless passengers,
in pink, delicate script, vertically written,
the word *****.
People are the element I live in.
The world is pushy, we are bone,
the numbers of us overwhelm.
It is going to be hot again soon
and the Bronx will actively resent it.
Books dies in Carson City,
only two or three people will miss him at all.
He died alone as he lived,
with his enemies.
Tomorrow is coming, it always does,
yesterdays gone left in the dust.
A hungry child dies everyday,
someones mother has cried today.
Children growing up in poverty,
the tears have washed away his dreams.
Her belly hurts the food is gone,
Its been many days since she had some.
The rats they gnaw at her mother's pain,
they've eaten up every grain.
Food is the sustenance of life,
his hunger cuts the bread like a knife.
Vickie Hurtt-Thayer
When I Was A Small Fry,
My Father Would Often Try,
To Tell Us Stories All About Life,
One In Particular,
Sticks Out In My Mind,
The Story Of Watermelons And Their Rind,
We Were Told To Never Swallow The Seeds,
That The Watermelons Sweetness,
Is All We Should Eat,
He Informed Us,
That Eating Watermelon Seeds,
Grew Babies,
Well Now,
My Child Mind,
Being The Wondering Kind,
Wondered If A Seed My Stomach Should Find,
Instead Of Watermelon,
The Orange Pumpkin Kind,
Would I Have A Jack-O-Lantern Baby?,
Just In Time For Halloween?,
This Certainly Seemed Logical To Me,
Now All Of This Rhetoric Sure Did Stink,
Our Watermelon And Pumpkin Days,
We Had To Rethink,
To Avoid Conception We Never Swallowed Their Seeds,
Instead We Planted Them And Let Them Be,
In Rich Soil Beneath Sweet Apple Trees,
Our Garden Grew With Plenty To Eat,
Prompted By Stories Of Deceit,
My Father Was Held Accountable,
For Telling Stories That Tasted So Sweet.
~Vickie Thayer~
I Swallowed,
My Bitterness,
Down With Pride,
If I Said,
"It Tasted Great,"
I Would Have Lied,
Hate Got Stuck,
In My Throat,
Next,
To Regrets,
I Drank Last Night,
None Of These Pills,
Were Good For Me,
I Had To Play,
Referee,
"Foul Play,"
Was My Call,
As My Tongue,
Began To Loll,
With Much Distaste,
I Swallowed,
It All.
(Vickie Thayer) 2018
____Lakota Language____
hey'api,
khuta wasma,
wankan tanka,
han,
In'anjinyo,
wayanka,
he ta'ku hwo?
tate,
maypiya,
hanhepiwi,
wicahpi,
wa,
wanji cet'an,
wanji,
wanji,
sung manitu,
tanka,
khuta wasma,
wiyakas,
hin,
nunpa cantes,
wanji nagi,
khuta wasma
_____ English Translation____
It Is said,
Below Deep Snow,
Great Mysteries,
Yes,
Stand Up,
Look,
What Is That?
Wind,
Cloud,
Sky,
Moon,
Stars,
Yes,
One Hawk,
One Wolf,
Below Deep Snow,
Feathers,
Fur,
Two Hearts,
One Soul,
Below Deep Snow.
~Vickie Thayer~