Tag Archives: poetry

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

Spirit Show

Spirit Show

 

Despite all the tragedy that appears in the news,
it’s the spirit of life we must guard
as we face all our loved ones and help with their lives,
who we hold close with highest regard.

For we can’t be beaten or appear in their eyes
to have withered and succumbed to a fate
but bestow in them faith to find guidance from God
for all life’s travails that await.

We must try as we step to have warmth in our heart
as we battle the dangers, all around,
and show them no fear as we live through each day
as we keep them from beating us down.

We can’t win all battles…. that happen our way
but for the battles we win we can show
how our positive thinking gave a lift to our hearts
and to the face of our spirit…. a glow.

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

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Filed under Blogging, God, Life, Love, mental health, mind, poetry, spirit, Strength

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

Hobo and the Dog

 

In a recent stay in Denver, Colorado, I was appalled at a two block soup line.  My motivation for this poem was an old man and a dog……the man was  barely scooting along.  He had a golfer’s hat, a long, winter coat, a beard, newspaper and  shoulder bag.  It was 95 degrees.

A companion stood by the old man’s  right side; a little to the rear….his stance as of a guardian….or maybe….a messenger.

 

Hobo and the Dog

 

“I thought I knew what I would do
if ever she came my way,”
the old man said as he patted  ‘Over-due,’
standing…. talking seriously to the stray.
The city street was busy now
and they knew they had to move
and find a place to settle down
that fit within their groove.
The routine was their daily chore,
a challenge every day
to find a spot of warmth and more
not in others’ way.
But the arriving fall brings with it, cold;
thus, the city ‘walks’ they need
where the sun has stored a day of heat;
where the pigeons overfeed.

There was a time when life was good
and he had a place to sleep
in a place where he was understood
and friends and love ran deep.
But the years had taken all away
and his visions soon withdrew
and left him sleeping in the street, like the stray,
he had named ‘Over-due.’
“Over-due, it’s time we hit the sack.”
he said as he made his bed,
putting his pillow over a sidewalk crack;
motioning to the dog to play ‘dead.’
“What do you say if in the morning we rise,
leave this gutter life and go farther west?
Yeah, that sounds like a good plan, to me….”
stretching out against the dog….at last eternal rest.

© copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

 

 

 

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Filed under Homeless

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