For my Halloween blog this year I thought it might be fun to share my "not so scary" poem, The Happy Spider with you. So, here you go:

THE HAPPY SPIDER

By

Kent D. Walsh

(Uncle Kent)

I saw a spider crawling,

From a web above my door,

I couldn't believe how quick he went,

From the ceiling to the floor.

Oh he looked so awkward,

As he wandered upon my rug,

Traveling to his other web,

Where he had caught a bug.

He climbed the wall so quickly,

Until he reached his fine spun net,

Then I watched him in the center,

Where he carefully wrapped his catch.

I moved a little closer,

While the spider weaved some more,

And I could see him smiling,

As he labored above my door.

Then I looked around my room,

With my cloths all in a heap,

At my scattered toys and schoolwork,

And the bed where I would sleep.

As I looked into his eyes,

He seemed to give a wink,

Then I began to understand,

For the spider made me think.

All this mess belongs to me,

But to the spider it's clean and bright,

That's the reason he acts so happy,

To him it's a beautiful sight!

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Uncle Kent

Wow---this year has sure gone by fast. Summer is over and winter is fast approaching. The next thing you know, Christmas will be here.

I know some of you have already started your holiday shopping and are searching for that perfect reading gift for your children. Let me offer you some suggestions---first and formost I recommend my newest children's book, Thaddeus T. and Barnaby---your little ones will love it. A few others you might want to add to your shopping lists are, Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile by Bernard Waber, The Story About Ping by Marjorie Flack, and Frog and Toad  Together by Arnold Lobel. All are very special books and are some of my own personal favorites; they have wonderful descriptive illustrations, include lovable and colorful characters that overcome difficult situations, teach the value of friendship, are extremely warm and funny, and are able to provoke a child's imagination. They are all great choices!

If you would like to buy more than one of these books at a time---by ordering in multiple through amazon.com, you can often receive some pretty good discounted prices, or possibly even postage free delivery. You can check it out by going to the "About My Books" section on my web site, www.kentdwalsh.com, where you will find a preview of Thaddeus T. and Barnaby, my other books, and a direct link to amazon.com.

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Uncle Kent

In my memoir Disrupted Ambitions, not only did I mention some of my experiences as a youth, but I also introduced the different members of our family. So today, I would like to take this opportunity to talk about one of those special family members: our dog Tar Baby.

Tar Baby was a smallish pure-black mixed-breed puppy that my brother Dan had brought home one day after completing his newspaper route. A lady on Dan's route had found Tar Baby wandering around all alone, and figured he had been abandoned. She decided the right thing to do was to find him a nice home. When she saw Dan coming to deliver her newspaper, she suggested he take the dog home with him. Dan really liked the cute little thing, but warned the woman our mom would never let him keep it. He also noted that it costs a lot of money to feed a dog. The woman said, "Well then, I'll give you twenty-five cents so you can buy it some food." Now that sounded like a pretty good deal to Dan, so he picked the dog up, put him in his newspaper bag, and brought him home. It turned out he was right about Mom's reaction, because the first thing she said was, "No, you're not keeping that dog!" But after a lot of pleading by all of us kids Mom finally caved in, and Tar Baby became a member of our family.

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Uncle Kent

Disrupted Ambitions:

Evening came. The team had assembled in our locker room for what would be our fourth and possibly most important game of the year. Everyone was slapping helmets, hitting each other's shoulder pads and screaming, "We can do it, let's beat Olympia." I think everyone on the team felt positive and confident that they were prepared enough to win that night---everyone except me that is. I just didn't feel right! But I was determined to just suck it up and do the very best I could.

       The game began. It wasn't long before I took a couple of real good hits to the midsection, and it hurt. On every play I felt as though I were running in slow motion. I just didn't have the strength and energy to play the way I was accustomed to. Although I knew I wasn't up to speed, I had no idea what was going on. The game almost seemed like a blure. One time after we had turned the ball over on downs, I ran to the sidelines, where Coach Furno hurried over to me and screamed, "What the hell is going on out there Walsh? You look like you're moving in slow motion or something."

       I didn't say a word. I just stood there. Coach moved on to yell at someone else.

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Uncle Kent

Here's another excerpt from my book, Disrupted Ambitions:

       It was a long tiring drive down I-5 back to Vancouver. Don and Pat were in the back seat dozing off and on, and Coach Campbell was struggling to keep his eyes open. At the time I still didn't have my driver's license, although both Don and Pat did. Yet neither of them volunteered to give coach a break. Finally I thought to myself, maybe if I offered to drive, one of them would speak up and want to take my place. I was right about coach wanting a break. As soon as I asked if he wanted me to drive for a while, he couldn't pull over to the side of the road quick enough. He said, "Gosh Walsh, I really appreciate this." I glanced at my two buddies in the back seat; neither one of them said a word.

       I guess I had driven for about forty-five minutes or so, when coach woke up and started to look around. He noticed a car over in the right lane pulling alongside to pass. He said, "Watch out for that guy on your right, Walsh." After that he stayed awake while trying to make conversation with me. "How long have you been driving, Walsh?"

       Before I could say a word, there came this voice from the back seat out of Hayden, "Oh, about an hour now!"

       I thought Coach Campbell was going to come out of his seat. "What? You do have a license don't you?"

       Not knowing what to say I just said, "No not yet, but I'm working on it."

       I couldn't believe how excited he got. "Hurry up and pull over Walsh," he fairly screamed. "Wait! I mean not now, as soon as these cars go by."

       After the traffic passed, I pulled over, and Coach Campbell quickly changed places with me. He asked Pat and Don why they hadn't said something. They said he never asked; besides I was doing fine. Coach nervously drove the rest of the way home himself; all the while Don and Pat sat in the back seat laughing their guts out.

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Uncle Kent

Now that I have announced the upcoming release date of DISRUPTED AMBITIONS, I have had a number of people requesting more of the details about, what's in the book. Wondering how to best do this without being too repetitive, I decided to include a few of the books excerpts in my blog every now and then. So---here is one of my favorites:

     One day after school, just before track season started, Don McAtee asked whether I wanted to walk down to the sporting goods store with him. Only a few blocks from the high school, the store was just a few minutes' walk. Don explained that he needed to buy himself some track shoes. I said, "Hey Mac, are you going out for track and field with me?"

     "Of course not," he said, "I just want some track shoes to wear, that's all. I think they're really cool-looking."

     So I said, "Okay sure, I'd be happy to go with you."

     We walked down the street and entered the store; a clerk approached and asked whether we needed some help. Don said, "Yes, I need to buy some track shoes." The clerk asked what type of track shoe he wanted. Don hesitated for a moment and then said, "I don't know, just track shoes."

     The clerk kind of looked up and down at Don's slender 106-pound frame as if he knew Don wasn't any kind of track star, and with a slight glint in his eye asked, "Did you want the athletic type, or do you want the campus cutie shoes?"

     I could see Don's face; it began to turn bright red as he thought for a moment, and then through gritted teeth he answered, "I guess the campus cutie shoes." Let me tell you, I couldn't help myself as I just totally burst out laughing.

     After Don gave the fellow his shoe size, the clerk brought him a pair of brand-new, bright and fancy track shoes to try on. Quickly putting the shoes on his feet, Don said he thought they were just fine and that he would go ahead and wear them home. He wasted no time paying the clerk, and we started for the door. By then I had almost stopped laughing, but just as we were about to step outside I could hear Don whisper, " 'Campus cutie' my ass; what a jerk." I laughed all the way home. In fact the next day Don got mad at me because everyone in school was having so much fun teasing him about his "campus cutie" shoes. I have no idea how they all found out about it (honest!), but I guess word does get around."

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Uncle Kent

Now that THADDEUS T. AND BARNABY has been officially released and is available for purchase on amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, powells.com and other major online book sellers, I am preparing for the release of my next book, DISRUPTED AMBITIONS.

DISRUPTED AMBITIONS, is the true story of a promising young athelete whose high school dream of competing in the State Championship Wrestling Tournament is all but shattered when, at age sixteen, he develops life-threatening, bleeding ulcers.

With his strong will to live--and the incredible faith and hope of his parents, a very special football coach, and a talented and caring doctor--the young man survives the grueling operation that would save his life.

Still, determined to accomplish his high school dream, and not realizing the risks involved, he quietly and secretly begins the torturous and sometimes disappointing journey of trying to return to the same physical condition that he possessed before his medical problems began.

This insperational and emotion-filled book is meant not only to bring awareness to the symptoms and potential seriousness of ulcers, but also to provide a clear and distinct message to all: "Never give up your dream!"

This book is due for release near the end of 2008.

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Uncle Kent

On June 16, 2008 I lost my mother, Agnes E. Walsh. She was 82 years old. Mom was preceded in death by my dad, Edmund T. Walsh who died in 1990. They were married 48 wonderful years, and produced 5 children, 15 grandchildren, 22 great-grandchildren and 2 great-great grandchildren.

When we lost my dad, as you can imagine it was a very difficult and sad time for all of us. But for some reason, the passing of my mother was so much harder. Perhaps it's the realism of life hitting home---and of course the fact that both the ones that gave me life, no longer live---at least in this world, that is.

In trying to write something for my blog, all I could think about was Mom. So, instead of writing more stuff about my experiences as a youth, I decided I would just share a couple of the poems I had written for her many years ago. They were rough and unedited---but they came from the heart---and she loved them!

MY SECRET LOVE

On the first day that we met,

I'm sure it was love at very first sight,

Of all the woman in all the world,

This was the woman for me that was right.

She held me in her arms,

Giving me more love than any other woman could possibly give,

Sharing everything that she owned,

And I'll love this woman longer than this life I now live.

A woman who praises and protects me,

It feels like a dream,

She has won my love forever,

To me a saint she does seem.

She's a woman beyond compare,

And if it were mine to do all over again,

All those years with another I could not share,

For my choice would still be the same.

Her heart must surely be made of gold,

And her beauty can be matched by no other,

And I do love her so,

For this woman, is my wonderful mother.

MOTHER DEAR

Mother dear I love you so,

For all the things you say and do,

And all the years you've worked dear Mom,

To keep your children safe and strong.

You've given me a ton of love,

And I hope all this I'm worthy of,

So I give you all my love so true,

Because mother dear, I'm proud of you.

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Uncle Kent

About a quarter mile downstream from the place we called "the pond" there was an old abandoned wrecking yard, with a bunch of old cars and other junk lying all around. One day, while Jimmy and I were walking along Burnt Bridge Creek traveling to one of our fishing spots, we wandered up through the "junk yard". As we made our way through the piles of wrecked vehicles we noticed this scraggley, sad-looking old man standing by one of the old cars. He was dressed in dirty rags, worn-out shoes, and his face was so badly covered with scars and pock marks, that I don't think I could ever forget it. Then amazingly one day a few months later, while Jimmy and I were picking beans at a local bean farm we noticed an old man with a face heavily covered in scars and pock marks, only now he was clean shaven, dressed in newer cloths and shoes, and looked happy. He glanced over at us, and nodded his head as if he knew who we were. After we walked past him, Jimmy and I stopped and looked at each other. Jimmy said, "Did that face look familiar?"

I said, "It sure did. That's the old bum from the junk yard."

Jimmy said, "It looks like he's coming up in the world."

A few years later I would see him one final time. He was walking out of a clothing store in downtown Vancouver, dressed in a suit. From junkyard bum to bean field to Brooks Brothers: I still wonder today what happened to bring about this remarkable change. And I wonder what ever happened to him.

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Uncle Kent

Sometimes my friend, Jimmy Carter and I would take our fishing poles downstream from Leverich Park, to the place we called "the pond." "The pond" was filled with lots of bullfrogs and tadpoles, and a few trout, catfish and carp. Occasionally we would put a piece of red yarn on our fish hook, cast the line out on top of the swamp vegetation, and then jig it along in front of a bullfrog until he snapped at it. They were a lot of fun to catch. Once in a while, if we didn't have our fishing gear with us we would just wade around in the mud and muck trying to catch anything we could with our bare hands. It was a great thing to experience, and I never got tired of it, regardless of how old I got.

Along with catching little creatures of the pond with our hands, Jimmy learned the hard way that there are some things you need to avoid trying to catch. One day I was walking along Burnt Bridge Creek by myself, on my way to meet Jimmy at "the pond," when I noticed him running toward me, kind of hunched over. As he drew closer I could see he was holding his right hand up to his belly with his T-shirt wrapped around it. After he reached me I could see that his shirt was covered with and dripping blood. "What happened to you?" I cried. Jimmy removed the shirt from his hand and stuck it out so I could see. It was a mess; the fleshy web between his thumb and index finger was ripped all the way through for about an inch up into his hand.

I asked him how he cut it. He told me he didn't. He said he was walking towards "the pond" to meet me, when he saw a large muskrat swimming along the edge of the creek. So he snuck over behind the grass along the bank and grabbed it by the tail with his left hand. He said he was trying to grab it around the neck with his right hand when the thing somhow swung around and bit him. He said it wouldn't let go of his hand, so he finally released its tail, and when he did the muskrat's teeth ripped through his hand as it fell back into the water.

That incident certainly took care of our fishing trip for the afternoon. We immediately headed home to Jimmy's, so his mom could take him in for stitches and a tetanus shot. I asked him why he would ever try to catch a muskrat with his bare hands. He said he wasn't sure, but he never would again. We saw that muskrat swimming around in the creek every once in a while after that, but neither of us ever had the urge to bother the thing again.

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Uncle Kent

Recently, our local newspaper, The Columbian, wrote an article that featured my two children's books, Thaddeus T. and Barnaby and Dustin and a Mouse Named Cody in "The Mouse That Stirred on the Night Before Christmas". It tells of how as a young boy I found many exciting adventures playing in and along the banks of a small stream called Burnt Bridge Creek. Adjoining the creek was a pond where I would chase frogs and tadpoles and catch fish; and it is through those special childhood memories that I write many of my stories today.

Actually, a lot of those memories come from time I spent with a fellow I had developed a very unexpected friendship with. I was about eight years old when I met a kid by the name of Jimmy Carter. He was about a year older than I was and lived a few blocks down the street from our house---about halfway between my home and a neighborhood grocery store. Once in a while, when my mom needed milk or bread or something, she would let me walk down to the store for her. Whenever I bought something, the grocery clerk would drop mom's change into the bottom of the paper grocery bag. As I walked home, Jimmy would run up to me and tear the bag open, spilling the groceries and change on the ground. Then while I was busy picking up the groceries, he would grab the change and run off. This went on for some time, until Mom decided she'd had enough of it and called Mrs. Carter to complain. Mrs. Carter promised to have a talk with Jimmy, but it didn't help; he continued to tear my bag and steal the change. Finally one day Mom sent me to the store, and she said, "Now stick up for yourself, and don't let Jimmy Carter steal your change."

A little while later I came home all dirty and covered in grass stains, but the grocery bag was still in one piece. I smiled at her and said, "Look Mom, Jimmy didn't get your change this time!"

I won't say I won the battle that day---but I did win the war! After that, Jimmy and I became very close friends, spending hours, or even sometimes the whole day, playing and exploring along the banks of this wonderful little stream.

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Uncle Kent

My newest children's book, THADDEUS T. AND BARNABY, although not officially released as of yet, is now available for early purchase by calling the publisher, Vantage Press, Inc., toll free U.S./Canada 1-800-882-3273. Should you prefer to purchase on-line instead, pre-release orders may be placed through Amazon.com---they will notify you when the book becomes available.

If you would like a quick preview of this fun and adventurous story, just click on "What's Next", at the top of this page. From those that have already read the book I am hearing some exciting feedback; "the friendship between Thaddeus T. and Barnaby is more than just special---it's like a father and son; "the illustrations are both beautiful and at the same time, entertaining; "the story is truly captivating---my children want me to read it to them, over and over again."

A quick note about the books cover! The illustration, as seen on the website preview remains as it is, however, the print layout has been modified so that the title is now centered on the top of the page, the authors name has been expanded-upon at the bottom, and the coloring was adjusted to be warmer and gentler.

I hope you find as much joy in reading THADDEUS T. AND BARNABY, as I did in writing it!

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Uncle Kent

While growing up, my older brother Dan's greatest pleasure seemed to be, to harass and tease me. If it worked, and I became excited and angry, he would be totally thrilled. This all started when he was about one-and-a-half years old, (I believe at the time, I had just been born) and went on into our teens. On second thought---we are now both in our sixties and it is still going on. But the difference is, nowadays its all in fun, while back then it seemed like serious stuff.

During those early years I had a favorite game. Almost everyday after school, I would spend hours quietly playing by myself on the wooden floor at the top of the stairs, next to my bed. I had two different colored globs of clay that I would twist into tiny pieces about a quarter of an inch long, and stand them in line facing each other, as if they were two mighty armies charging into battle.

About that time, Danny, would come along squashing bunches of them with each step as he walked up the stairs to our bedroom area. Of course, I would scream and holler for Mom to make him go away. But then he would just turn-around and walk all-over them again as he traveled back down the stairs, as he was instructed by Mom.

A couple of years ago, while reminiscing, I was inspired to write about those days in a poem, Sibling Survival, and decided to give it to my brother for his birthday. Of course he loved it! So, even though it has now been some-what modified for publishing purposes, I thought I would go ahead and share it with you.

Sibling Survival

Kent Douglas Walsh

It was in the early spring many years ago. The skies were grey. Two

mighty armies met in the center of a large battlefield. A shot rang out;

a soldier fell. Then another! The battle began to rage. It was the war

of wars. Soldiers fell by the dozens. It was as if a large hand were sweeping

across these gallant men, crushing them into oblivion. Then the earth

began to rumble. The ground shook with massive tremors. They became

louder. Fear filled my heart as I saw him. A sick smile crossed his face

as he strode through the two hapless armies, crushing ten or twenty

soldiers with each step. I screamed in horror as he began to laugh.

He turned; again marching through these two proud forces, smashing bodies

as if they were made of mire. Again he laughed. Then the tremors faded.

The earth became calm. I breathed a sigh of relief as his laughter was finally

gone. Suddenly! As quickly as it had ended, the war was on again. Guns

blasing, soldiers falling, the war was raging. As the hours passed, men on

both sides fell to their mortal destruction. Finally it was over. Only one

remained. One lonely hero! I smiled as I cleaned the clay from the floor. For

it was I, that had survived!

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Uncle Kent

When it comes to poetry---I didn't just focus my writing on silly little rhymes for children, or loving romantic verses for my sweetheart. No! I've written a number of other things too. Things I guess you could say are more on the serious side. In fact, my favorite, a poem called Destination, has just recently been published for the very first time, so I thought I would share it with you!

Destination

On the edge of life we are riding

With the valley's of death below.

For a glorious future we are striving,

With failure and age as our foes.

We reach to grasp our horizons

With our blood, and our sweat, and our souls,

But just past our fingertips they are belying,

And our lives are spent trying to gain their control.

When our future has no tomorrow,

And our bodies return to the earth,

Let no man feel the pains of sorrow,

For this has been our destination

From the time of our birth.

Kent Douglas Walsh

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Uncle Kent

A few years ago, I wrote a poem called, "Perfect Strike" for my wife, Madeline, on Valentines Day. Usually for this type of special day, I would be very caring and cautious, as I sorted through the card section of a local store; always determined to select the right card with the right poem. But for this particular year, I wanted to give her something extra special. Something, from my heart to hers! So I decided, rather than go and buy another card written by someone else, I went ahead, and wrote one of my own.

As the years have gone by, every once in a while, Madeline, has removed the poem from the file folder where she keeps the many cards and notes I have given her over the years, and lovingly reads it, as if reading it for the very first time. Recently, after reading it several more times, she said, "You know something, Kent, this is so beautiful, I think you should put it in your blog for, Valentines Day".

At first I was hesitant; after all, this poem was written with only Madeline, me, and our family and close friends in mind. And I was worried that others may not appreciate its special meaning, quite the same as we do. None-the-less, after much thought, I decided to go ahead and include it. So here it is, and I hope you enjoy it!

Perfect Strike

Kent D. Walsh

It wasn't really long ago,

Our hearts had never met.

The dreams we dreamt could never be,

And our souls would never rest.

Then an arrow shot in the sky,

Found a place to set,

Bringing together two lonely hearts,

Creating happiness.

Cupid made a perfect strike,

When he fired that magic shot,

Not only changing our two lives,

But also those that watched.

We pledged unwavering love,

Until the end of time,

Now our dreams are coming true,

Because you, are my Valentine!

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Uncle Kent