Nature Unstable

 

Nature Unstable

The clouds above foment and churn
forecasting trouble soon.
The birds are quickly to discern,
their lives are not immune
to Mother Nature when she’s mad
and makes her presence known,
when every living thing that has
a heart…. feels all alone.

The lightning strikes; the thunder booms;
moments stand unstable.
Seconds pass as each assumes
life will soon be able
to return to how it use to be
when all was calm and good
before Mother Nature showed her might
and we watched and understood.

Today the light will come to me
and shine along the path
that I must take so I can be
safe among the wrath
that festers everywhere I look
in places here and far
and demands that I look over you
no matter where you are.

© copyright 2013  t. j. gargano

The ‘Volcano Sistas’

Watching the grand kids at play is a wonderful experience at moments when our life needs a little excitement, don’t you think?  Back to pretend land and the fascination of our youth.  Have a great day!

The ‘Volcano Sistas’

Though four, they wander like most youngsters do
and you wonder just what is about to ensue,
when two little minds are playing their games
in faraway places…. only they know the names.

Though deep in their world, they know you are there
watching them play from your nice, comfy chair,
and ever so often they’ll give you a glance,
then return to their ‘place’ in a fairy-like dance.

They talk in strange voices of differing pitch
befitting of fairies or a wicked old witch.
They dress up in clothes matching each different mood
as they drink pretend tea that they’ve recently brewed.

They come up with names right out of the air;
a name that goes well with a girl in orange hair.
And they banter and barter in their magical play
in the faraway places…. they go to each day.

When it’s time to interrupt ‘cause their lunch time is near,
they freeze for a moment, not completely cohere.
Each differently thinking of what they should do
then hand-in-hand dance…. through fairy portal, to you.

And when you address them and call them by name
a mistake you have made and they’re quick to exclaim
they’ve come from far places and rode many twistas
and they’re not Jude and Zoe….they’re the ‘Volcano Sistas.’

© copyright 2013  t. j. gargano

“No Bed, Grandpa”

Visiting at my daughter’s home in Denver recently, tensions always rose each night when the time for the twins’ bedtime approached.

And although they seem to be starting to adjust to their ‘plight’ each night, one or the other still seems to ‘fight’ going to bed, in her own way.

Grabbing a blanket and holding close to a chair, a strong defense of crying is applied in rhythmic surges toward the rule ‘enforcers’…. in hopes of weakening their demands….and of course, to no avail.  In the end, though, they both got serenaded to sleep by grandpa.

 

“No Bed, Grandpa”

In stare through moistened, reddened eyes
having wiped away her tears,
she sends her ‘arrows’ in disguise
in stare through moistened, reddened eyes.
They pierce the heart not by surprise
with sweetened vengeance that coheres
in stare through moistened, reddened eyes
having wiped away her tears.

Holding her blanket against her cheek
leaning against the chair,
she glares defiantly; her eyes bespeak.
holding her blanket against her cheek.
My heart is wavering in heightened beat,
still captured by her stare
holding her blanket against her cheek
leaning against the chair.

Saying ‘I love you’ with poignant heart,
I let my ‘arrows’ fly,
whose sting doth make my love impart
saying ‘I love you’ with poignant heart.
“No bed, grandpa,” is the difficult part
in the tears of a four year old’s cry….
saying ‘I love you’ with poignant heart,
I let my ‘arrows’ fly.

© copyright 2013  t. j. gargano

“Likes”…..thanks

THANKS FOR THE “Likes”

Continuing thanks for new and old visitors to The Poet’s Crafts and for recognizing some of my poetry.

shrinksarentcheap
poemsandpeople
hanspostcard
Coco J. Ginger
blackandwrite

Eric Alagan
Gator Woman
fairytaleepidemic
jeglatter
thomasmaxwell12
Michael Armstrong
kjpgarcia
thetruthyoualwaysknew
Renard Moreau

Jane Thorne
abstinenceandthecity
BookHublnc
VIKRAM ROY
The CoF
Roxi St. Clair
Starrystez
The Procrastitorian
Modern Faye Magazine
bottledworder
Jenniferwritingsofamrs
Life Of An Optimistic Kid
Lateral Love Australia

Zellie M. Quinn

Still Wondering What For

Well, it is Saturday again….where did the week go.  I hope all’s well with you.  I was reminiscing on how it use to be when I did most of my writing with pen and paper and how there’d be a build up of  paper wads on the floor due to my starting and stopping in the writing process….back in the day.

The computer has certainly made my writing ‘area’ a neater environment to work in, saved me time not having to clean-up and yet, at times, I still miss the mess.  It looked like I had actually done something or spent time trying to.  It’s a funny thing….this life thing.

My best to all of you this Saturday day in April.  Smile if you can.

 

Still Wondering What For

Back in the day I would pick up a pen
and write on some paper and stop only when,
I’d make a mistake that would alter my thought
and I’d crumple the paper…. feeling distraught.

And if it happened to be I was lagging behind,
cause the heart wouldn’t agree with the bumbling mind,
I’d stop, start and throw crumpled paper to the floor
and hour after hour, I’d wonder what for

since ever so often I’d forget what I wrote
and search the floor’s carnage for a tossed away note
or verse or some saying….  I wrote that I liked,
and finding it, wondering…. why it got me so psyched.

But time has pressed on, it’s a keyboard I strike….
forming all of my words and…. if the thoughts I dislike
then I just hit a key and the old thoughts are gone….
No mess to deal with…. I simply type on.

But time has not changed the heart and the mind
and often my thoughts are distressed and behind
but at least I don’t worry about what’s on the floor
I just keep on a typing….still wondering what for….

but, in my defense….after all.…it’s Saturday.

© copyright 2013  t. j. gargano

Your Place

Your Place

 

There is a place I like to go
to sit and try to dream
when part of life has lost its glow
and lowered my esteem
down to a point that makes me feel
I should have offered more
and that is why I look to dreams
for what I’m looking for.

And where’s this place I journey to
to sit and gaze in stare;
perchance to stumble on a view
and catch it in my snare;
catching dreams that float around
when everything is still
in a place that’s like a whim
and only lasts until….

I waken to a soothing breeze
and wrinkles ‘cross the stream;
whispering notions in the leaves
I know it’s not a dream?
And I feel much better than I did
although I can’t explain
but I know, you know this place, like me
where refreshing soothes the pain.

Your place might be a comfy chair
or maybe in your bed
or beneath a tree in the city square
or on the road that’s up ahead.
But mine is usually by the stream
that meanders among the trees
where solace found, stills my heart;
and life’s again, at ease.

© copyright 2013  t. j. gargano

Mellifluous Stray

Mellifluous Stray

 

Perhaps there’s a place stowed away in our minds
that holds all our dreams that have died,
and all of our passions that have failed to bloom
now stored and waiting….inside.

And maybe it’s not ‘cause we failed at the time
to see all the signals going by
but maybe the timing was awkward, as such,
that we didn’t see the dream in our eye.

And if in our minds, we still have some time,
then maybe we’ll find them…. if we start
appreciating the little things that appear in our lives
and see a clear picture with our heart.

Stand firm and reach low when the forces are strong
and it seems life is closing you down….
when the positives, it seems, have left you to dread….
now rise and turn it around.

Give one more chance to a dream you once had
and give of your heart, all the way.
And walk proud and true in everyone’s view
as your troubles mellifluously stray.

© copyright 2013  t. j. gargano