Category Archives: young girls

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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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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“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

At the Park

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At the Park

Standing still like a rock and stone;
grinning, smiling, all alone
kind of hiding…. but in silly pose
plastered in stripes and pinky clothes.

Hiding and seeking in the park
laughing, singing like a lark
darting, giggling tree to tree
yelling loudly “you can’t find me.”

Little girls just having fun
in the park where they like to run
playing tag….”you are it!”
‘til fully exhausted and have to sit.

When it’s time to leave and go
tears run down the cheeks aglow
To give up such a fun filled day
tears take the place, what one can’t say

Once back home, it’s time to dream
about playing in the park, eating ice cream
yelling, laughing, running all around
it’s back tomorrow; we’re jumping up and down!

© 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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Tess’s Death

I’ve never understood why a recruited young man or woman agrees to kill themselves while killing others in suicide bombings of a few innocent people and believe that there is a God that would agree to such tactics.  How does that ‘further’ the attraction of that religion, whatever it is.  What is gained in the ‘taking?’

 

Tess

She often met friends after school in the park
and they’d walk and they’d talk and sing like a lark
and end up in town where they’d check all the clothes
and try them all on, yet, they’d buy not one dress
and head on back home without dress……or stress.

She just turned sixteen and her world was quite free
and she loved all her friends and they all would agree
and she shared all her stories, as they too shared theirs
and they knew life was good to them, most every day
and they knew they were lucky……  in a lucky sort of way.

But the war all around them was sometimes, too near,
and the writing on the wall, at times, all too clear,
with bombs exploding nightly, and not all that far,
and she lived only blocks from the center of  town
but she still went to shop, and with a smile, not a frown.

“I’m going up to Steggers,” she called to her mom,
at the same time the terrorist was planting the bomb
in the basement, in the stairwell, where no one would see
on this busy Saturday morning ‘neath a fair sky of  blue
where the young lady terrorist, in the basement, now was through.

Tess eyed the American patrolling the street
who she met when he came to her school to speak
about the presence of soldiers and all what it meant
and she told him she was going into Steggers for a dress
and when she asked if he would go to her dance, he said ‘yes.’

Her spirits running high, she said ‘bye’ and went in
for the store opened early so the sales could begin
and she headed for the rack where she hid the red dress
and with her basket of sale items, she got in a line
to check out and get home, though she had plenty of time.

The bomb blew exactly at a quarter past ten
blowing out windows , throwing bodies and then
collapsing all quickly into a smoldering heap
and with fire trucks and local police now lending a hand
the hunt for survivors had already began.

They found her near the door with the red dress by her side
with some other things she bought; some other things she tried
and all of it was charred and wasted….. like her lifeless body
placed there dead in rubble by a young terrorist abiding her laws ,
taking Tess’s  happy outlook…and her answer to why?  Because…just because.

copyright © 2012 T.J. Gargano

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