Still Creating That Twinkle In My Eye

“Still Creating That Twinkle In My Eye”

 

The blossom is gone from summers long, gone;

the coolness in the night…now stays.

But fires felt good from the piles of old wood

all of those cold, winter days.

 

Year after year where the driveway ran

we made the campfires burn.

Kids got older; the weather got colder

and life continued its…turn.

 

If we’d look through the ‘crack’ of time… going back

we’d probably cry when we saw

our moms and dads, all the ladies and lads

’round those fires in the lateness of fall.

 

I’d see my wife Nancy, full of bustle and life,

catering to all that she could…

scurrying around with an armful of smiles

in the light of that ‘fired’ up wood.

 

The kids were there…running around….somewhere

Amy… Betsy …and Matt.

With cousins galore, it was “heaven” and more

and noise from the front to the back.

 

But in time… the gatherings… dwindled down to a few

It became difficult for most to be there.

But we still can remember the time and the place

and the moments we all use to share.

 

Time does deceive and it’s hard to believe

that forty-five years have gone by…

And I continue to “toast”…the girl I love most

still creating… that twinkle…..in my eye.

 

copyright  t. j. gargano

 

The Always Listener

If we could impart feelings to someone who didn’t talk, but merely listened….to our venting….not to help rid ourselves of them for they are an integral, recurring issue in our lives….but just listen to them….always being there,  I suppose  that would be living in a perfect world cause people require attention.

Oh well, I thought it was a good notion.   Have a great day!

The Always Listener

If only you could be my friend
and talk to me each day,
and speak of things that clog your mind
the black, the white….the gray
in all those areas you usually fear
trapped deep within your heart
that cling and fester day to day
and hide down in the dark….

part of your soul that needs a voice
to give your heart a rest
and share with ease a piece of mind
and get it off your chest
yet fear not being harassed or judged
for thinking as you do
about what is normal in this life
according to your view.

That is what a friend can be
someone who listens for
a rant, a whine, a wish or groan
and be your swinging door
and hold you close and feel the warmth
in feelings of soul to soul….
the always listener who’s standing by
and keeps you in control.

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

Bus from the Past

In a posting on January 04, 2012, in my poem “The Kid’s Yellow Bus,”  I reminisce about the years when our two girls rode a yellow school bus twelve miles to their country school,   our son, who was born twelve years after the birth of our last daughter, stood and watched them go and come everyday.   Years later, the threesome rode the bus together briefly.

The fact that the bus still passes by the house brings back those memories which I refer to in this poem.   Life gets up and gets going for all of us and this is just one of those remembrances in the wife’s and my heart.  Thanks for dropping by.

 

Bus from the Past

 

It comes from the south every morning at six
screeching as it slows in the leaves and the sticks
that cover the road from the fall’s brisk winds.
And with front beams on high and its red lights aglow
through the fog the bus hustles to the stop sign below….

at the bottom of the hill where it meets the east road,
though it turns to the left and west with its load –
youngsters all asleep on their long ride to school,
still immune to the revving of the school bus’s whine
and the innumerable stops that it makes ‘on a dime.’

There once was a day when the bus stopped here
and picked up the kids and all of their gear
and hauled them away to that ‘place’ for a while
where they studied and played and spent the whole day
and learned what to do that would take them away.

And it came to a point that it was just a routine
and we took it for granted like the sounds of the scream
we heard down the road in the darkness each morn’
and listened for the screeching as it came to a stop
as we hurried the kids out through the screen door’s  plop!

After all of these years, we still hear the ‘screech’
on its approach from the south in the dark and the reach
of the early morn’s silence as we ready the day.
And pausing, momentarily, we listen for the past
the stop and screen door’s plop…. knowing blessed…. at last.

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

Little Sis

This poem is about my beautiful, younger sister…..Ruthann.

Little Sis

She’s always in mind, through every day’s grind,
and the feelings have been there for years.
But we live far apart….which challenges the heart
to be there to comfort the tears
when either of us stumble that leads us to grumble
about things that we soon won’t recall.
And we sort of know why….using words to imply
about matters not important, at all.

But her heart is of gold and too warm to let ‘mold’
even think…. of gathering there.
And remarkably so, she casts off a glow
that captivates those near her…. to care
about the strength of her love that she gets from up above
from God…. through smiles you can’t miss.
And the distance apart still challenges the heart
but never the love…. for Little Sis!

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

Change

What we do is indifferent to time.   Have a great day!

 

Change

 

Change is happening; its style is not static.
It can’t be bound; it’s usually problematic.
You can keep it at bay…. only for a while.
Adjustments are needed that you’ll have to compile
that’ll help you adapt and survive.

Its disguises are many; some hard to detect.
Oft times it may come…. at a time you expect.
But it’s often sneaky and you’re caught unaware
and you wonder how it happened that you didn’t prepare
and you turn to your senses to revive.

Change is constant; always present in life.
It will come to your body, to your car, to your wife.
It will come to your thinking or the size of your pants
you’ll see it in your uncles and grandmas and aunts
as each coming year passes by.

There’s nothing to do to keep it away.
Some adjustments might help to keep it at bay.
But time will march on with change at its side
so look for adjustments to ease up the ride
and lay back and smile at the sky.

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

 

 

Love’s Provision

 

Love’s  Provision

 

Across the road, the grass, just mowed,
surrendered to the snow.
And the silver plane looked cold, in pain,
as the wind began to blow.

And though not deep, the snow did heap
as it collected around each wheel;
wings were fluttering and birds were shuttering,
not happy with the new winter’s deal.

But the little plane provided, for the birds that had glided,
down to feed in the grass underneath,
a refuge from the cold and the wind’s strong hold,
that the winter, to them, did bequeath.

The reminder is subtle and subject to rebuttal,
but at times when we’re all feeling down,
it still is the case, others ‘down’ need embrace
and love…. when smiles turn to frown.

When hard times press, we have to address
the winds that batter and blow
and try to compile, at our feet, every smile
and keep them there…. stealing our glow.

But just like the plane, our warmth will refrain
from letting the cold get inside.
And others will bask in the strength of our task
and the warmth of our love…. will provide.

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

Spirit Show

Spirit Show

 

Despite all the tragedy that appears in the news,
it’s the spirit of life we must guard
as we face all our loved ones and help with their lives,
who we hold close with highest regard.

For we can’t be beaten or appear in their eyes
to have withered and succumbed to a fate
but bestow in them faith to find guidance from God
for all life’s travails that await.

We must try as we step to have warmth in our heart
as we battle the dangers, all around,
and show them no fear as we live through each day
as we keep them from beating us down.

We can’t win all battles…. that happen our way
but for the battles we win we can show
how our positive thinking gave a lift to our hearts
and to the face of our spirit…. a glow.

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

Last Call for Love

When I was called to war, it was before a love entanglement and I am thankful for that.  But leaving love and loved ones behind has always been a sorrowful aspect of soldiers going off to serve their country.  Whereas, many situations are adjusted to, many a soldier leaves for war unsettled in his predicament, especially when it is about unrequited love.

Last Call for Love

 

Call me if you want; tell me if you can.
You ought to know for sure by now, the kind of man, I am.
I won’t get flippant and lose control or try to make you cry
or make you do things you don’t like…. or even make you try.
Call me if you want; tell me how you are.
Tell me how your day has been ‘cause you’re the most by far
I truly miss from all the things…. I like in every way
that I would like close by my side, each and every day.

Call me if you want; I need to see you now.
We can’t afford to be apart; time will not allow
for us to try and figure out a plan to see us through
for much has passed before our eyes; we didn’t have a clue.
Call me if you want but my train is leaving soon.
I need to hold you in my arms beneath the silver moon
that casts a chilling, telling spell…. from where it sits above.
Come and hold me in this spell….ain’t it time to bind this love?

I wish, at least, you would have come to give me one last look
to see your smile in every face that pops up in this book
that I must read to calm me down…. headed back to war
for I’ll ‘live’ that wishful vision; you in the station door.
I’d rather you wouldn’t call me now; it’s time for me to heal
I know I won’t forget you ‘cause my memories all have ‘feel.’
But if it be I don’t come back, you’ll always know my love.
Sorry it was so hard on you; keep faith in God, above.

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

Mornings After Harvest

After months without a view because of the beautiful, tall cornfields, the distant horizon can be a mesmerizing sight, filled with the smells and sounds of a different, yet familiar, place.

Looking east from where I live, the lagging warm temperatures of day create a hazy, foggy pastoral scene,  of a morning,  across the recently harvested cornfields  and it is a blessing in magnitude hearing the geese feeding frantically and invisibly until the fog lifts.  Then when the sun begins its rise, the shadowy glimpses of distant objects on the horizon command your every instinct as you look, listen and smell the uniquely, coming day.

You are alive and you have taken the time to notice it!  Have a great day and try not to take it for granted…..look, listen and smell of it….for you are blessed to be alive!

Mornings After Harvest

Across the trampled field of corn, filled with geese in the early morn’,
  the distant horizon peeks beneath the fog
that partially hides the distant train headed north in a misty rain
  as my ears pick up the howl of a farmer’s dog
chasing geese along the fence, in and out of a fog, so dense,
  the geese themselves don’t know which way to go.
And all you hear are gaggle screams, like those heard…. in nightmarish dreams,
  as a lifting fog exposes the new day’s glow.

That’s how it is each country morn’, looking east where once was corn,
  across the fields now flattened for the plow
that soon will turn the stubble down exposing all the black and brown
  after feeding every deer and bird and cow
that lurk and wait for harvest day so they can romp and eat and play
  before the winter winds begin to blow
and life again is cold and harsh; birds all dreaming of the southern marsh,
  and the rest of us await the coming snow.

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

Brady M

My newest grandson arrived today.  Brady Matthew Gargano

Brady M.

We wait with great anticipation
his first glimpse of the light
as we wait the warmth of affirmation
with heartstrings of delight
that have worn thin each passing month
from the excitement of it all
as we’ve watched him grow within the womb
for his arrival in the fall.

His mother beams in painful glee;
His dad is full of pride
though hard to notice, we can see
the excitement in every stride
as he watches her closely…. in every step
and will…. her every day
as she brings to life their first born son,
as God has blessed their way.

She’s walked with guarded steps, the trail
that leads unto this life
to bring this miracle…. every detail
while in silence a drum and fife
will faintly blare the coming joy,
even though he’s coming late,
and we’ll all line up for the baby boy;
his arrival is on this date…..1 October 2013

© copyright 2013 t. j. gargano