Category Archives: Friends

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

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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

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Filed under Blogging, Friends, heart, Love, mind, war

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.

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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.

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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

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Filed under beauty, dolls, dream, fairy, fairy tale, Family, Friends, God, grandchildren, heart, kids, Life, Love, mental health, mind, people, poetry, young girls

“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

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Filed under beauty, Friends, heart, kids, Life, Love, poetry, triolets, young girls

“That’s the Way It Is, Son”

“That’s the Way It Is, Son”

“In my class, dad,” the young lad said,
“is a cultural mix of our world….
And each of my classmates is a thoroughbred
on a flag of all nations, unfurled.”

“We all get along,” he continued to say,
“though our differences, at times, may be great.
And yet in the news, the story they portray
is towards each other…. it’s all about hate.”

“That’s been the way,” he said to his son,
 “from the beginning of time, as we know;
It’s a story that’s tragic and won’t be outdone
and will simply just be the status quo.”

“You must remember,” said the young man’s dad,
“that every person is a person like you;
some in situations not good… and that is sad
for many  ‘friends’ …it’s tough getting through.”

“I use to have a pen pal,” said the boy, “who I met
 when the teacher handed out a list of names
we could write to in the world and who I never did forget;
whose fun was getting water while mine was getting games.”

“That’s the way it is, son,” the father said subdued.
“You’ll find so many ways that life’s unfair.
But government’s peoples….are people just like you
who love their families with hearts of love and care.”

© copyright 2013  t. j. gargano

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Filed under Family, Friends, kids, poetry

Prairie Flyer – Part II

Prairie Flyer –  Part II

Then as I turned toward the counter’s bar,
the pilot started down and I noticed the star
on the scarf that the wind had placed on the wing
and getting it….the pilot was trying everything
but the wind, it seemed, was winning.

Then what I saw was hard to believe
as she stepped from the cockpit and tugged at her sleeve
taking off her cap….her hair falling down….
in long strands of blond, nearly touching the ground….
the white scarf flew wildly to her hands.

Gripped tight by pause, my eyes fixed in fear,
I awaken from my stupor from the feel of cold beer
that’s spilled on my hands as I head for my seat
at the counter in the back of the room…. where the heat
will feel good when she comes through the door.

I look towards where Harley is tending his beans,
stirring them vigorously…. some reaching his jeans….
the stove plates glowing brightly in oranges and red
as the wind wails and whistles at the smell of fresh bread
then it’s gone… the door opens….”Hi, guys.”

(to be continued….Part III)

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Prairie Flyer – Part I

Prairie Flyer – Part I

I saw it below, through the clouds, on the ground;
a speck in the dust, it was kicking around
making its way towards the hangar at the end
of the airstrip of dirt where soon I’d descend;
my trip back home…. nearly done.

I took off from Galesburg in a bright morning sun
in a brisk wind that rattled the old Gatling gun
for I’d flown out east…. to buy it for a friend
who wanted it for the museum…. and those who attend,
for an exhibit how air battles were won.

The yellow two-winger was just sitting there
as my wheels touched down in the brisk Kansas air.
It’s an obscure little stop for fuel and some rest
and not known by many….maybe a barnstormer, at best;
but I had stopped here….before.

But I didn’t know the plane sitting bright against the sky
and probably not the pilot, who I just taxied by,
as I headed for the ‘shack’ for some coffee and some fuel
and a chat with the Kansan….  Harley P.  O’Toole
and I yelled at him, “Hey, sunflower!” entering the door.

“Who’s flying the yellow bird sitting on the tarp?
I queried of Harley, who’s, when sleepy, not sharp.
But who is, I’m thinking, as I take off my coat
“Just landed,” he said, pulling hard on the rope
the Billy goat not wanting to go out.

“How you been, Jake?” he said with a hug.
“It’s been quite a spell,” as he gave me a mug….
the beer not as cold as I thought it would be
as I went to the window to see what I’d see
the pilot still sitting in his seat.

The ‘hangar’ was all ol’ Harley ever had
a one-floor oasis, a gift from his dad,
who was famous in these parts – a barnstormer’s friend,
and they all showed up to honor him….at the final end
and ever since, Harley’s picked up the beat.

Three hundred miles from Kansas City’s lights
the hangar was like home when dropping from the heights
And the stories of Harley were true…. that made his legend grow
and brought in flyers from all the states…. just like a minstrel show
but the bi-plane on the tarp, he didn’t know.

(to be continued….Part II)

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Filed under airplanes, Friends, Life, people, prairie, prairie flyer