Tag Archives: blogger

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

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

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Filed under bloggers, Blogging, countryside, Fall, fog, God, heart, Life, Love, mental health, mood, Nature, poetry, prairie, snow

Supposedly

For those of you who follow me avidly in my email, I have finally returned home from my trip to Colorado, where I had an enjoyable time in the mountains and with family and cousins.  Hope all has been good with you.

 

Supposedly

 

Supposedly, the world is such
that what we sense is real
but struggle to confirm what we can’t touch,
though there’s a ‘presence’  we can feel.
These things unseen all factor in
and influence us every day
which is why…. involuntarily
we sometimes lose our way.

But has this always been the case
in all of life….before?
In centuries past with slower pace
was the ‘presence’ less or more?
Was it there at all to help life move
on structured whims of chance
or down a road toward distant gate,
it positioned in advance?

There is a journey all will take
like a nightly trip to bed
and what we know, we will forsake
and go to dream….instead
and know the ‘presence’ that 
we’ve felt
that’s led us through the strife
and shared the moments that guided us
on destined road of life…..

supposedly.

 

© copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

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Filed under Blogging, dreams, heart, Life, poetry, road

Forgive and Live

Forgive and Live

 

Stillness looms across the field.
The moon, not full, is bright
Silhouetted trees do yield
the pleasantness of night.
In quietness, the beauty’s shone
as a tear slips from the eye
and you drift into dream…. ‘neath the sky.

Awakened to the sound on distant track
the northbound’s coming through.
the moving lights mean she is back
and all is right and true.
Missing her has meant a lot
it’s time to tell her so
It’s time to live the only life, you know.

It’s time to do what must be done.
It’s time to love….and live
It’s time to start the distant run
stop judging and forgive
For time is fleeting; that’s for sure
so hug her tight each day
and chase the constant, nagging blues….away.

© copyright 2013  t. j. gargano

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Filed under dreams, Life, Love

New Hawk

Hope you all have a safe, happy weekend.  Today I present my latest original hawk….his name is ‘Coor.’

(gargano's original Prairie Hawk)

This hawk is 17″ long with a wingspan of 35″ made from 83 aluminum cans.  I’m not a big beer drinker but I have a great source for obtaining all kinds of cans…beer and soda varieties.  Cute isn’t he?   haha

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BS Hawk

In an earlier post of mine, “Copying the Hawk Form,” I mentioned how I made things from beer and soda cans, especially airplanes.  But one day, after watching a large prairie hawk fly around, I figured that if I could make airplane wings, I should be able to somehow copy the form of that hawk and, thus, I made that first hawk out of Budlight cans (my avatar at the moment).

In my earlier post “Good Knight,” I show a picture of a knight upon a horse, which I made for a dear friend of mine who has a form of autism.  Now I’m not making anything that will end up at the Smithsonian or anything, but it is fun and  probably nerve settling, to a point.  Nice little hobby if you have patience.

Well, anyways, here are a couple of pictures showing another hawk I just finished for a client and a dragon, that originally was going to be a mermaid.

You have to bare with me….the name of this site is called  The Poet’s Crafts…so I’d better show you a craft…haha

(the Budweiser Select Hawk)

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Filed under aluminum hobby, prairie hawk

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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Some Who Drop By

There’s nothing like ‘friends’ dropping by to say ‘hello’ or say they ‘like’ something or just to give you a little friendly support….from all over the world.  My thanks and I give you this ‘dittie’.  My best to all.

Some Who Drop By

Sitting here, facing my VAIO, thinking of what to write
being clueless in my mind…..like the dimness in the light
that shines above me,  I await a fiery impulse from my brain
which has yet failed to wake up from the short hours of sleep
because, for some reason, it was the late hours I chose to keep.

My classification is ‘newb’ as this blogging all goes
and I marvel at the knowledge that each blogger knows
that have chosen to follow by ‘liking’ my stuff.
Like ‘janethorne’ in theUK– ‘ flaringfelicity,’ too
‘Eric’ and ‘meiro’ to name just a few.

There’s ‘flyingodiva’ and ‘fourwindowspress’
bloggers with posts that always impress
me and they are only a few, of quite a few more
like ‘clownponders’, ‘chicpress’ and ‘perfectafflatus’
bloggers in the mainstream that keep coming, at us.

But my day would be empty without each of these few
like ‘purplepeninneverland’ and ‘mazeaday’, who‘s new
and ‘allaboutlemon’ with her wide open posts
like others I enjoy when they come to my house
like ‘Aslan’, ‘lesleycarter’ and ‘philosophermouse.’

‘Deidraalexander’s site, and ‘novicejournal’, have the touch
that keeps me checking in, for their posts offer much
information that helps to soothe my everyday blues….
and so does ‘lonelym,’ ‘muskadel’ and ‘disseminatedthought’
keep me a going, like ‘bluesander’, ‘kitybloger’ and  stulanglaut.’

And while ‘gabrielpoetry’, ‘jhasmoments’ and ‘lindavernon’ aren’t new
they’re different from ‘aviewfromacarpark’ and ‘theanonyblogger’s’ view
and its these differences that make the world go round, and thus
it’s fun to get new bloggers like ‘vikramroy’ and ‘juliecatherine’, yesterday,
‘cause blogging makes this world seem brighter…… in every little way.

copyright © 2012 T.J. Gargano

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Filed under Blogging, Friends, poetry

Tony Mazza – Part I

Mr. Tony Mazza

Although my father’s huge family lived in an Iowa town, my father was transferred with his company to Pierre, South Dakota in the early ‘50s, where I spent ten years of my life, growing up.

In the 50s, discrimination and prejudice had not yet been held accountable and the local Indians were not allowed to drink or buy alcohol in Pierre.  This fact will become more relevant, later.

My grandfather, for reasons I won’t discuss now, settled in Iowa, changed his name, and he and grandmother had a large truck-farm, a bakery and a grocery store.  With all the kids they had, they had plenty of help to run their businesses.  They had come from Pennsylvania, where they had settled after coming over from Italy.

Due to a situation that developed in Pennsylvania, it was necessary for my grandfather to relocate faraway and Iowa was chosen to become his new home.  From that time forward, my grandfather had three bodyguards who protected him and his family.  And of course, they became “family” also, present in all the pictures, etc.  One of the bodyguards was Tony Mazza.

Now as bodyguards go, Tony didn’t fit the description; at least not as we think of bodyguards today – burly, tall, robust, serious, tough and tough-looking.  I’ll give you burly and serious and probably, tough, but he certainly wasn’t tall and robust.  But, in all fairness, that was through my eyes as a kid.

He was not much taller than me, sporting no…absolutely no teeth, always chomping down on a huge cigar, while holding a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer that he always got from the grocery store my dad and two of my uncles co-owned there in town.  He always wore a brown suit, white shirt and black tie and he wore it in the dead of winter and in the heat of the summer…..I never saw him dressed any other way and was always told that he owned no other accessories.  I had to believe that.  He never was unclean however, if you know what I mean.  He was a dapper zapper.

The grocery store was down from where my Uncle Bill lived on 3rd Avenue in an Italian neighborhood and quite often our family would be at Uncle Bill’s house where we had four cousins to play with.  I, however, liked being down at the grocery store, in the backroom where the meat was cut and the guys would sit on wooden stools and chairs, sloshing their shiny black shoes in the sawdust, that heavily covered the cement floor, telling countless stories of who knows what, always cussing, laughing, joking and sometimes, crying.  It was a good life.  It’s all gone now………it’s all gone now.

The thing about it was that no one cared that I was around;  I was sort of respected and ‘part of’ the group….well, that’s the feeling I had, anyway.  Please understand, I didn’t talk….I just sat on a little stool and listened and played in the sawdust, that did draw some reprimanding remarks from ‘all my fathers,’ at times.

copyright © 2012 T.J. Gargano

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War Heart

When “Uncle Sam” called me into service at the beginning of the Vietnam War, I saw many young men who were lost, bewildered, lonely and frightened…and those were the ones who showed those emotions.

Most men, of course, didn’t show them because they were ‘men,’ I suppose.  That is inbred in most, I believe.  Anyway, whenever on base, before or after deployment, ever so often, even the more meek would venture out into the local social arena, to hopefully escape, if only for a few hours, the pressure and fear of the war.

War Heart

The night was young and I had nothing to do
so I put on my civies and, out of the blue,
came a knock on my door and there stood, Joe.
He said, ‘wacha doin? and I said ‘I’m goin to town’
“Right,” he said…… saying it, jokingly, in frown.

For I seldom left the barracks on a weekday night
and he was sure I was kidding and he thought he was right.
But I heard someone talking about a girl in a club
and how good she was at singing and playing her guitar
so I had made up my mind to go down to the bar.

Joe couldn’t make it and I headed for the bus
and the snow on the ground was cold , plus,
I had a thin jacket on cause that’s all I had
but I wanted to see her since my feelings were down
and frostbite risk, or not, I was going to town.

The bar-club was swanky but the cover crowd was thin
and I entered into darkness, smelling vodka and gin,
as I followed the hostess to a table by the stage
and got my first look at her, as she tuned her guitar
barely hearing the hostess say ‘ what do you want from the bar?’

With darkened room, she glistened in the light
in her dress of black and her boots of white
and sang many folk songs of passion and love,
while stealing my heart and taking it away
and making me ready for another day.

I still see her smile, all these years gone by
and miss too, her songs, that brought a tear to my eye
while remembering the memories when she eased my path
during those years of loneliness when I was away from home
when the war-heart was beating wildly…… frightened and alone.

copyright © 2012 T.J. Gargano

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