Tag Archives: family

Little Sis

This poem is about my beautiful, younger sister…..Ruthann.

Little Sis

She’s always in mind, through every day’s grind,
and the feelings have been there for years.
But we live far apart….which challenges the heart
to be there to comfort the tears
when either of us stumble that leads us to grumble
about things that we soon won’t recall.
And we sort of know why….using words to imply
about matters not important, at all.

But her heart is of gold and too warm to let ‘mold’
even think…. of gathering there.
And remarkably so, she casts off a glow
that captivates those near her…. to care
about the strength of her love that she gets from up above
from God…. through smiles you can’t miss.
And the distance apart still challenges the heart
but never the love…. for Little Sis!

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

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“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

Pinky Poo

I’m sorry about the length of this poem but thinking of the grandchildren is always a consuming task. We live a distance from the two grandchildren out west in Colorado and therefore, being that they are only three years old, the task at hand, for both of us….grandma and me and them….is a nurturing, confidence-gaining…..and on-going process of….love.  Hence……Pinky Poo.  Thanks for dropping by.

Pinky Poo

 

She hides when she hears me coming down
the noisy staircase with its squeaky sound,
and I hear her giggle from her hiding place
and I pretend to look…. with puzzled face.
Where is my granddaughter, Zoe ella?
I bet she’s dressed like Cinderella.
Or maybe Snow White in a dress that’s blue
Come on, Zoe….now where are you?

In her toy room, in a dress of pink
she hides beside her kitchen sink
and jumps up screaming…. in high voice pitch
when I enter the room and hit the switch
that makes the darkness turn to…. day
and she freezes up when I’m ready to play
and heads for the living room and jumps on the couch
and I go to the comfort chair and pretend to slouch

With head in hands I feign a cry
as she hurries over and asks me why
as she tugs at my hands to see my face
and I ask for a hug but I get no grace.
She’s happy-go-lucky and running on high
in a teasing mood not poised to cry
and I ask her the girl’s name on her dress
and she probably knows, but won’t confess

and acting goofy she hollers ‘poo’
and I say ‘you’re funny’ and she moves close to
hugging me but refrains….pulling back….
and nothing’s changed….in her attack
still unsure of grandpa’s ways
wanting to, but still she strays
from getting close up on the chair
and at a distance….she shakes her hair

and I holler at her…’Pinky Poo’
and she looks up sternly wondering who
I’m talking with….saying ‘that’s not me’
and I hide my face so she can’t see
and again I ‘cry’…”where’s my Pinky Poo?”
and she brings a stuffed friend, soft and blue
and climbs so quietly upon my lap
and whispers softly against my cap

‘grandpa….grandpa….it’s okay
I pretend to whimper in child’s play
‘this is Toby and he likes you, too’
and ‘neath my hands I steal a view
of her pretty eyes in a moment true
before tickling her saying “Pinky Poo”
and she jumps off running in screaming joy
and back to her room for another toy.

We live quite far and she’s only three
but her trust is growing….in who I be
and time will turn these moments….true
and make them memories….like ‘Pinky Poo.’

copyright 2012  t.j. gargano

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