Category Archives: kids

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

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Filed under kids, Love, poetry, Yellow Bus, young girls

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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“Who me?”

So this is February…..a little warmer than usual but okay with me.

I’ll start with kids……they walk with a bag that has no cares in it,  knowledge of only what they like, fresh, candid opinions about those things they like, with the rest of the bag full of  ‘innocence.’

And as for the  ‘innocence’   don’t try it, ’cause that’s one ‘fragrance’ grownups can’t market.  hehe

“Who, me?”

“Who me.  Are you talking to me?’

‘Yeah..I’m talking to you, little gurr..l,’ he said.

“Well, I didn’t do it…You’ve got the wrong guy.”

‘Oh, yeah?  That’s not what Zoe told me.’

“Who’s Zoe?  Ne..ver ..heard… of… her.”

‘Well, I’m going to tell your mommy.’  he said.

“Go ‘head.  See if I care….I was in this sandbox all the time.”

‘Okay.  We’ll see….we got the goods on you.’

“Who me?  Are you talking to me, man?”
“I’m Jude and I don’t do anything.”

‘Well, that’s the problem.  You spilled the milk
and didn’t clean it up and Zoe got in trouble….so there.’

“Are you talking to me?  Who are you?  I don’t know you, kid.”

‘Zoe is your twin sister…and I’m your mommy’s friend’s kid, Zak…
don’t pretend, Jude.’  You’re gonna git it’

“I’m not afraid”

‘You better be…Zoe took a picture with your mommy’s camera phone’

“oops.  Zoe’s gonna git in trouble…she’s not suppose to have mommy’s phone”
“I’m gonna tell daddy when he gets home that that’s not me and you pushed me, Zak”

‘Jude…don’t you dare!’

“Who, me?  Are you talking to me…….Zak?”

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