Tag Archives: poems

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

Love’s Provision

 

Love’s  Provision

 

Across the road, the grass, just mowed,
surrendered to the snow.
And the silver plane looked cold, in pain,
as the wind began to blow.

And though not deep, the snow did heap
as it collected around each wheel;
wings were fluttering and birds were shuttering,
not happy with the new winter’s deal.

But the little plane provided, for the birds that had glided,
down to feed in the grass underneath,
a refuge from the cold and the wind’s strong hold,
that the winter, to them, did bequeath.

The reminder is subtle and subject to rebuttal,
but at times when we’re all feeling down,
it still is the case, others ‘down’ need embrace
and love…. when smiles turn to frown.

When hard times press, we have to address
the winds that batter and blow
and try to compile, at our feet, every smile
and keep them there…. stealing our glow.

But just like the plane, our warmth will refrain
from letting the cold get inside.
And others will bask in the strength of our task
and the warmth of our love…. will provide.

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

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Filed under Life, Love, mood

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

Another Day

Have you ever found yourself wanting to write something and the blahs seem indifferent to the idea?  Hence, you can not connect with any mood to help you write something…..and….you have a time slot to do it…..even?

Well….guess what?  It’s another day….and it’s acting like it.   lol   This is what my ‘blankity, blankity,’ mind came up with…..lol

Hope your unique day is filling.

 

 

Another Day

 

When first you rise and eyes are blurred
with hair that’s all a mess,
and sounds are muted in every word,
when first you rise and eyes are blurred.
And getting up you feel absurd
stumbling as you dress
when first you rise and eyes are blurred
with hair that’s all a mess.

Today is just another day
that’s relinquished in the end,
so why’s the body in such a fray
today is just another day
that’ll start up in the normal way
and you’ll follow like a friend.
Today is just another day
that’s relinquished in the end.

That it’s completely different from
all the other days,
it plays a ‘tune’ that’s hard to hum,
that it’s completely different from.
And being unique from whence it come,
its ‘print’ will show the ways
that it’s completely different from
all the other days.

© copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

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Filed under mental block, mind, mood, poetry, triolets, Words

Crumpled Paper On The Floor

Well, it is Saturday again….where did the week go.  I hope all’s well with you.  I was reminiscing on how it use to be when I did most of my writing with pen and paper and how there’d be a build up of  paper wads on the floor due to my starting and stopping in the writing process….back in the day.

The computer has certainly made my writing ‘area’ a neater environment to work in, saved me time not having to clean-up and yet, at times, I still miss the mess.  It looked like I had actually done something or spent time trying to.  It’s a funny thing….this life thing.

My best to all of you this Saturday day in April.  Smile if you can.

 

Ctumpled Paper On The Floor

Back in the day I would pick up a pen
and write on some paper and stop only when,
I’d make a mistake that would alter my thought
and I’d crumple the paper…. feeling distraught.

And if it was so I was lagging behind,
cause the heart wouldn’t agree with the bumbling mind,
I’d stop, start and throw crumpled paper to the floor
and hour after hour, I’d wonder what for

since ever so often I’d forget what I wrote
and search the floor’s carnage for a tossed away note
or verse or some saying….  I wrote that I liked,
and finding it, wondering…. why it got me so psyched.

But time has pressed on, it’s a keyboard I strike….
forming all of my words and…. if the thoughts I dislike
then I just hit a key and the old thoughts are gone….
No mess to deal with…. I simply type on.

But time has not changed the heart and the mind
and often my thoughts are distressed and behind
but at least I don’t worry about what’s on the floor
I just keep on a typing….still wondering what for….

but, in my defense….after all.…it’s Saturday.

© copyright 2013  t. j. gargano

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Filed under poetry

‘Character’ Set

I marvel at how something, seemingly, insignificant can, when scrutinized, become ‘visible’ and realized as a necessary part of an equation…in this instance, an ordinary scene outside in the yard.

The repeated scene unknowingly always had a certain set of props, which at first, weren’t realized.

 

 

 

‘Character’ Set

 

When I sit down to write, whether morning or night,
there are birds there to sing me a song.
The dog’s at my feet; the cat’s found her seat
and together we seem to belong
to the moment we’re in, with a feeling of kin,
as we look towards each other… now and then……
before the birds fly away, the dog goes astray
and the cat goes a-chasing….again.

It’s a comfort we know, we understand it…. and so
being close ‘round each other’s, okay.
Thus you might see the cat, by the dog, laying flat
‘neath the fountain where the birds splash away.
That’s how it goes; what’ll happen, who knows
it’s a mystery that I always get,
whenever I write, whether morning or night,
outside with this ‘character’ set.

© 2012  t. j. gargano

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Filed under animals, Blogging, crafts, Family, Friends, Love, poetry