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Annette Gagliardi Poem
I slipped my hand in his
as he led me to my feet.
He helped me walk; he helped me talk.
He gave his food for me to eat.
I slipped my hand in his.
He showed me how to live.
With honesty, integrity;
With love and joy to give.
I slipped my hand in his,
My toes upon his feet
And there, with laughter, song, and stance,
He taught me how to dance.
I slipped my hand in his
On that lovely summer day.
We strolled on down that flowered aisle
As he gave his girl away.
I slipped my hand in his.
His every labored breath,
With heart a’galloping in his chest;
He led acceptance of his fate.
I slipped my hand in his
And sat down by his side.
Just as he showed me how to live-
He showed me how to die.
by Annette Gagliardi
Copyright © Annette Gagliardi | Year Posted 2017
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Annette Gagliardi Poem
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Copyright © Annette Gagliardi | Year Posted 2017
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Annette Gagliardi Poem
The frigid night releases Desperado
who slides between the sheets.
Ever-so-slowly she glides her toes
toward her lover who snores & sleeps.
The rise & fall of his sinewy chest
gives courage to her plan -
which is to snuggle ever-so-close
to the heat rolling off her man.
If her mission is successful
and temptation can be tamed;
frozen feet, ever-so-cold
will thaw and live again.
So, stealthily, silently slides her toe
in search of its chosen need.
While unsuspecting Romeo
lies in slumber’s sweet flower & weed.
Under the covers in darkness
Desperado surrounds her foe.
Both love and hate beguile her
as she tries not-too-far to go.
Those feet on that sightless journey
do find the prize they seek.
And ever-so-greedy they scurry
to the source of that slumbering heat.
A VOICE EVER-LOUD in the darkness
SHATTERS the still of the night.
Desperado’s frozen caresses
have given him such-of-a-fright !
. . . . ! . . .(pause). . . . ! . . . .
After a time there is slumber.
The oh!-so-frigid will go.
Once again he lies snoring & sleeping.
as he snuggles his Desperado.
Copyright © Annette Gagliardi | Year Posted 2017
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Annette Gagliardi Poem
I heard the Owl call his name.
The flowers nodded.
They heard the same.
I heard the wind’s whispered sigh,
And the leaves of the trees asking, “Why?”
It touched my heart and hugged my mind.
It’s sparkle danced on those tears of mine
As the mysteries of heaven slowly unwind.
I looked to the stars in the heaven above
And felt the star shine down his love.
The light of his life has brightened our days.
His star shine from heaven will now guide our ways.
Copyright © Annette Gagliardi | Year Posted 2017
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Annette Gagliardi Poem
I wanted the moon to fill up the night
like a presence we couldn’t ignore,
to shine bright as day in the dark quiet air
like’s been told in stories of yore.
I wanted the harvest moon rising
poetically over a hill.
But, I got a sliver of somebody’s nail
in a vast night-darkened shill.
Alas, tis the day and the tale needs a tell
there’s something to say & I should
though the moonlight last night was not a bit right,
but, I can’t speak a lie if I would.
So, I’ll tell of the dark and the failing moon too;
I’ll focus on darkness instead of the blue,
and woodland spirits will dance a sweet jig
on the single white shaft of dew.
by Annette Gagliardi
Copyright © Annette Gagliardi | Year Posted 2017
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Annette Gagliardi Poem
This busted broken body-
is not me alying here.
I’ve gone quickly on to Exodus.
You need not shed a tear
Past wrinkled steel and busted glass;
past smoke and pain and fire,
Myself left quickly in the night.
Our Lord did lead me higher.
The ground will hold my broken shell,
but just like my old suit.
It fit me well and good awhile.
Then I outgrew it by a foot!
I need not that used suit.
I need no body now.
My spirit soars amid the stars
with a soft and sparkling glow.
By Annette Gagliardi
*Published in “Awaking to Sunshine” summer of 2000, a Poetry.com publication.
Copyright © Annette Gagliardi | Year Posted 2017
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Annette Gagliardi Poem
I stroll leisurely along the avenue as silent trees stand sentinel.
Not one leaf rustles or whispers;
no branch breathes or even sighs.
No gust catches me off guard at the top of the hill
so that I pull
my scarf more snuggly ‘round me.
All is still.
The earth exhales its evocative perfume.
The birds quietly murmur
to each other among the leaves.
The squirrels merely mumble
as they scavenge for winter’s food;
their chatter subdued among the boughs.
The Crow’s raucous call remains unvoiced.
I wonder if animals are aware
of the change in the air?
How restrained they are -
how subdued the normal clamor.
As I walk, only my footsteps echo
in my ear - all other sounds are suppressed
to a subtle understated shuffle -
the day is like walking
through cotton – or a cocoon
of softest flannel- so subtle,
so serene, so restrained.
The autumn colors’ resonant pigments,
subtle as the ripple on a millpond,
hum an inaudible lullaby, rich and deep
to keep the noises at bay.
Today the burgundies, oranges
and yellows are muted,
their potency not diminished
by the absence of the sun.
I see each and every color created,
every individual leaf and branch
that shades the world;
and all the muted undertones
in between murmur their quiet hue.
The clouded sky of pearlized gray allows
the colors to emit the hue of their choosing -
burnished and buffed beyond recognition;
brilliant in the restrainment of inaudible
complexity -
on this muted day.
Copyright © Annette Gagliardi | Year Posted 2017
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Annette Gagliardi Poem
Little green
through windowpane,
goes inching up and down.
He travels far,
to distant star,
of orange and golden brown.
The fruit he seeks
on his short trip
has died upon the vine
And yet he strolls
over wood and holes,
in search of sweetest wine.
Copyright © Annette Gagliardi | Year Posted 2017
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Annette Gagliardi Poem
He remembers his grandmother
sitting next to him on the couch during naptime;
his two-year-old body restless and jumpy.
She would yawn a tremendous open, lion’s mouth
yawn and shake her mane of hair that fell around
her shoulders . . . and he would wait for the roar that never
came. Instead, her measured breath would flow out into
the sigh of the breeze through the trees or the swell
of the ocean - the earth’s inhalations, it seemed.
Years later in Iraq and Iran, as missiles whistled
overhead, the roar of tankers and hard-scrabble
footsteps loud in the night, he puts
himself to sleep
with the memory
of her breathing.
Copyright © Annette Gagliardi | Year Posted 2017
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Annette Gagliardi Poem
I remember one night last winter when we thought it was snow falling, but we were wrong. It was ice.
We went out that night and stayed out too late -- unusual for folks our age. We got caught in the ice storm and had to navigate home on streets made of glass.
Driving home those few short miles from St Paul to Minneapolis was so very scary. How could such a short distance become so incredibly long? How could staying out late go so terribly wrong?
We planned the most constant route home as we skated to our parking place. Multiple accidents dotted the street and dread filled my heart as I climbed behind the steering wheel, envisioning us sliding down some hill into a car or tree.
“I will not take the freeway!” I exclaimed as I eased the car from its moor, intent on what seemed a very distant shore. Wheels spinning, tires sliding, silently screaming, I eased ahead gingerly as vehicles all around us seemed to be loosing their way.
Cars slip sideways into ditches, up on curbs and into each other. One car slithered past us as we inched slowly down an inclined avenue. Please God, Please God, my silent chant . . . at stoplights and curves, with white-knuckled grasp upon the steering wheel, I steered through like filling a narrow edge with a stick of glue.
My spouse, the navigator, said “Turn here and take this other route.” I prayed we’d make it home. We saw a bus slide toward us sideways down the street as we approached the intersection. It seemed like a dinosaur run amok, landing sideways at our corner with a gentle buck. My light turned green and we eased forward, leaving the saurischian behind.
Hoping there would be no cars and that we’d be all alone on the city streets.
“Please God, help us make it home. Don’t let anyone or thing meet or greet us.”
At final last, the garage insight, I prayed that I could get into that tight spot without crunching the parked truck inside or the garage as I skated in. Stopped and safe finally, I realized I had held my breath since we began. My teeth hurt from clenching them so hard. And I prayed Thanks to God! I’m glad to have you navigate the treacherous roads of my life.
Copyright © Annette Gagliardi | Year Posted 2017
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