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Poems By: Charlie Giardino

March 22nd, 2015 · No Comments



This peace,
so deep it comes unbidden descending,
ascending enveloping softly silently,
leaving not a trace
not a hint of its presence
words only hinder its advent ~
it falls lightly ~
like feathers on newly cut grass

Charlie Giardino


To mom and my wife Maryann,
who taught me the value of giving without thought of return.
To my daughter,
who is certainly the sweetest person in my world.
To my granddaughters
who give me a reason to wake and greet each new day.
To my aunts,
cousins and nieces you all have a special place in my heart.
Thanks for sharing my joy and sorrow,
you make this hard world an easier place to live in.
For my incredible female friends,
please know that I cherish and appreciate all you have done for me.
For the big things, and there were many,
but also for all the seemingly small things
that brighten my day and soften my heart.
I speak for myself when I say that I often took you for granted,
fool that I was now my eyes have opened
and I can do no less than thank god,
for all you do and all you are.
You are god’s hands and feet
in an otherwise cold and harsh world.
Please accept my deepest gratitude and sincere love.
You are what living is all about,
you color my world with sweetness and light.

Charlie Giardino


How did you come to find me?
I thought I was seeking you
at the end of my defences.
Your love came tumbling through
at the limits of my knowledge.
Your mercy, it took hold
when my tank came down to empty
love entered uncontrolled.
When my plans had come to nothing,
all my scheming brought to naught
with a mind consumed by sorrow
and a heart so overwrought.
When the light was only shadow,
the day as dark as night,
and the peace I only dreamed of
had vanished from my sight.
My shame was ever present,
guilt plagued my aching mind.
What comfort could I hope for?
What mercy would I find?
With nothing left within me
in a lost and lonely place,
I finally was ready
for the shower of your grace

Charlie Giardino


He fumbles for his sunglasses,
descending the steps of St Agnes church.
The mid-morning sun hurting his eyes,
almost as much as the songs at mass hurt his aching head.
Whatever happened to the old hymns?
These new ones drone on in a sea of repetition and insipidity,
Nothing much of value these days,
Anyway the wife was gone three years now,
and whoever was left in the broken-down neighbourhood
didn’t go out much anymore.
And the few who did
just sat on their barstools,
and stared steadily and fixedly into the past.
The kids didn’t come around much
and only called when they needed something.
Not that he minded living alone,
he was okay with it but a phone call every now and then
wouldn’t kill them now would it?
He walked to the bodega on the corner,
bought a six-pack and ambled home
taking the shortcut through the park.

Charlie Giardino


We lived in black & white back then
on the small screen with rabbit ears and tin foil.
Life was tinier then, it fit in a brown paper bag.
We hung out on the corner arguing baseball deep into the night.
Three teams we had and three center fielders,
Mantle, Mays & Snyder.
The Duke would climb fences at Ebbets Field,
to snare a long fly while the Mick taped his legs in the Bronx,
and Willie, hell he was Willie tapping the glove
as the ball was caught basket-style into the deep pocket of his mitt,
almost as deep as center field at the Polo Grounds,
475 feet if I remember correctly.
The Giants played there just a stone’s throw from the Stadium,
and the Yankees and egg creams were a nickel.
A dime for a big one mixed up in the candy store,
where we all hung out and grandmothers watched their young,
their elbows propped on pillows placed on the window sill.
Hell, I had 37 relatives that lived within three blocks of each other.
now we’re scattered all over the ones who aren’t gone altogether.
We’d gather at grandma’s for Sunday dinner,
the uncles, the aunts, the cousins and the kids sitting at the kid’s table.
You could even fall in love in the old neighbourhood.
Then you’d pack up and move away to the Bronx or points beyond.
On Sunday afternoons,
we’d watch the big guys who were 3-4 years older than us
play stickball on Pleasant Avenue for $100.00 a man.
In the late fifties must of been those guys on the corner,
with dress pants and guinea tee-shirts who put up the money .. .
They always had lots of it tied up neatly in rubber bands.
at night, they’d bring the juke box out on the street and we’d hear
‘One Summer Night’ by the Danleers
or ‘I Wonder Why’ by Dion & the Belmonts.
We’d open the johnny pumps to stay cool until the cops came and turned it off.
We promptly turned them back on soon as they were out of sight.
Whole families were out on the street sitting on stoops or folding chairs,
girls were jumping rope while boys played stoopball.
After which they’d get together,
and the guys would steal a kiss in the park if they were lucky.
There’s nobody left down there now,
except for a few stragglers who hung on as days went sadly by.
Yes, it was a smaller world back then but it loomed larger,
much larger in our minds . . . in our hearts . . . and in our dreams

Charlie Giardino ……5/8/13


He was tired of the questions,
no answers ever came anyway.
Every why, gave birth to another one.
Could it be the questions themselves were a barrier to truth?
Perhaps necessary at the start but ultimately to be discarded.
Perhaps the very search for truth was a hindrance,
an obstruction to be broken down or seen through.
Could it be that accepting insecurity,
could set the stage for the surrender that was needed,
to break the chain the ties that bind us.
To the wheel maybe trust is the key,
like a child who knows nothing
but feels safe in his father’s care.
Who relaxes into the knowledge that he is loved,
and doesn’t even know he knows that something like that,
must be something like that.

Charlie Giardino 8/13/12

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