A CHRISTMAS POEM

Photograph by Michelle Longo-Bloom

Photograpy by Michelle Longo-Bloom

CHRISTMAS MORNIMG

-For a Six Year Old Boy-

By My Son,
Matthew Edward Bloom


Waking this blessed morning as excited as can be,
believe your own eyes, what they witness; what they see?
There are so many presents under that tall Pine,
some large, some small, wrapped eloquently; so fine.

The feeling in your stomach; one of true anticipation,
so eager, energetic and filled with exhilaration.
Your excitement and enthusiasm is driving you wild.
You must wake all the others sleeping calm and so mild.

You tell them you feel like you’ve been waiting for days,
“Okay, just a minute give us, to come out of our haze.”
Leisurely, they’re all washing and putting robes on.
“How can they do this, to what planets have they gone?”
“I’m a six year old boy and it’s Christmas morning!”
“Hurry, please hurry”, I scream and I shout.
“Just what are they doing, all lingering about?
“I’m a six year old boy and it’s Christmas morning!”
“Just what are they doing, I’m in utter doubt!”

Finally everyone there and all under the tree,
looking quite excited, but not half as much as me!
The thrill and the laughter, the fun of it all,
It’s so magical and delightful; I’m having my Christmas ball!

With each present we unwrap, each box, each gift,
our hearts they open, they rise and they lift.
For everything I love and I truly adore,
It’s a wonderful Christmas; I couldn’t ask for more.
All that Santa brought, each game and each toy,
superb and faultless for a six year old boy.

But, while emerged in such delight, I must say and admit,
my eyes couldn’t have been any more lit,
than when it came time for “HER” to unwrap and see
what I had gotten myself; just from me.

When she opened her gift, she couldn’t believe her eyes,
she was filled with amazement and such great surprise.
Her face was so bright, her smile so wide,
to make her this happy, I felt such joy and such pride.

I thought I was excited about all the presents for me,
but really, it was something more sitting under that tree.
What had me so eager and so raring to go;
it was the gift for my mother that I had to bestow.

This is what gave me the most pleasure indeed,
Because “SHE” is the angel God sent down to me.
She’s always there no matter what; for whatever I need,
and she gives and she loves so whole-heartedly.

In spite of every present; every toy there for me,
the big ones, the small ones and all I could see,
giving her this gift on this Christmas morning,
without her knowing, not even a warning,
it made me so happy and so filled with joy;
the finest gift of all for her six year old boy!

Photograph by Michelle Longo-Bloom

THANKSGIVING

By Michelle Longo-Bloom

A rainy morning
And all settled in
The bird in the oven
Spices in the bin
The Macy’s Parade on the TV
High in the sky, big balloons and floats
The Rockets dancing and prancing with glee
Every person and tourist in their yellow raincoats
The turkey’s still cooking
We’ve just set the table
We all thank the Lord
For being well and able
We each say some words for what we are thankful
And to all we tell what this day so means
With our homes so warm and our plates so plentiful
As we speak of the value this holiday so deems

A THANKSGIVING POEM

By Michelle Longo-Bloom

A time honored day
Way back; long ago
The Indian and the Pilgrim
In the meadow
No longer are they foe
The Pilgrim lay down his rifle
The Chief put down his bow
Their hatred now trifle.
Our books and our teachers tell of it all
Of this notable time
One day in the Fall
Obliged and grateful for what took place on that day
We bow our heads
And give thanks as we pray.

ANSWERS COME FIND ME

Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione

ANSWERS COME FIND ME

By Michelle Longo-Bloom

Wondering about the wind
With out focus or destination
Aimlessly en-route
Pondering hesitation
Floating through the air
Deciding, should they reach me
Answers seem so bare
What’s meant to be will be.

A VETERAN'S DAY POEM: "THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER"

Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione

THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER
By Michelle Longo-Bloom

He was fighting for his country while seeking the hope of peace some day.

He truly believed it was not too long away.
With implausible bravery he forged on in his world of terror and fear.
When he saw the inevitable danger ahead,
he knew his troops would be loyal and near.
But now he sits scared and alone
and as the enemy approaches
he wonders if he’ll ever see the likes of home.
His troops were not near this time,
while he contemplated
turning back or surrendering and crossing the enemy line.
He never did find what he was seeking,
but as he lay still and breathless beneath the earth
his mother sits home weeping.
Perhaps the next soldier will find that peace,
and while his mother rejoices
and thanks The Lord to have her son alive and home,
they will both remember the one before him
on the battle field, all alone.

 

BRANCHES

Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione

BRANCHES

By Michelle Longo-Bloom

Its branches spread out
like that of the clothes broadened on her bed.
“Her,” trepid femella; femmina;
embarking on the lively waters of her adolescent years.
Each article of clothing signifying something so diverse,
each piece denoting experiences, so sundry:
some old and frail; a torn and tattered blouse,
some new and fresh; her latest silk slacks.
Like that of her clothes…
each branch conveys occurrences, varied,
with lines gnarled deep; embedded with in,
lines which speak,
of the lips, cheeks and foreheads they’ve been.
Each one with streaks
of smirks and frowns they’ve been around,
laughing faces; mouths they once did surround.
With age each branch becomes feeble; fragile,
now comes a new face, the face of a child,
and all of the lines,
they leave; disappear,
and laughter, giddiness, more smiles appear;
innocence for new lines to bind.
As her clothes were worn and then replaced…
so were the branches.
Now, unsullied kindling with new features to be encased;
new facades and grimaces to be encircled.
The branches, they lived lives of their own,
lives of all things, wise and fully grown.
As did she live a life of her own,
“Her,” trepid femella; femmina;
now wise and grown.
Like that of the branches…
with streaks around grins,
with lines around chins,
wisdom and gaiety,
and all that beamed,
in spite of all storms and strife, it seemed.

Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione

LOVE'S PRICE

Love's Price
By Michelle Longo-Bloom

To win or lose
it’s what we choose
it’s nothing more at the end of the day
it’s nothing more than how we play
do we lose the game
give up the reign
is it all the same
are we to blame
a liberty once our very own
either we let it go or we’re all alone
why should it be
please help me see
why myself, I must sacrifice
why my beliefs don’t suffice
why does love have a price

Love & Lost:

BELOW ALL FACADES
By Michelle Longo-Bloom

Deep beneath the most inner truths,
far below all facades,
lurking behind what may appear real,
all smiles and gestures
to seemingly deal.
In spite of what we truly feel,
lay a quandary of wonder,
and questions to peel.
Hiding in the inner soul,
masking the ravaged essence tame,
the shattered psyche and spirit whole,
a masquerade of undying pain.
Reservations, self doubt
and unwarranted guilt,
so strongly, strategically;
so beautifully built.
Torn at the seems and shredded at the heart,
forever marveling why today we’re apart.

Love & Lost: "The Face of an Angel"

By Michelle Longo-Bloom

(For Penn)

Sometimes wearied
Sometimes frayed
A boyish look
Taken; dismayed
Still so amazed
At a person’s wretched craze
Needing so badly to be freed
Of the dire sights and dreadful deeds
His lady’s past and their selfish needs
Innocence appeared at my doorstep
And vastly chipped my guarded soul
Within days my being; swept away
My thoughts, my convictions, my body; whole
The face of an angel came to me
My jaded spirit, broken apart
He gave it back to me
Untainted, untouched
He gave it back to me
My soul; my heart

FOR MY SON: LIFE MOVES ON

Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione

LIFE MOVES ON

For Matthew

By Michelle Longo-Bloom
2007

Years ago when my son was two,
I watched him ride the carousel.
I watched him ride the helicopter,

the airplane, and then the train.

I watched him eat an ice-cream cone
and wiped his chin when it dripped down
covered in sprinkles of blue and red;
how I wish I took a picture instead.

Oh, how fast the time went by
and what I’d give for another try.
There are things I didn’t say and do,
what I’d give for that day with you:
a day just like that very one.
Now growing fast and on the run…
but life moves on; what’s done is done.

Some time ago he turned four at last
I watched him picnic on the grass.
I watched him lay a blanket down
and in circles he ran around and around.
It must have been three dozen times,
he circled that blanket then fell to the ground.
He ate from his basket of treats; so fine
his candies of every sort and kind.
And then I watched him laugh so dear;
his smile spread from ear to ear.
I made him eat something healthy
and suddenly, his smile bare;
his laughter gone; no more to hear.
Oh, how I wish I left him alone.
I wish I wasn’t caught up in the fear.
Oh, how I wish I let him laugh.
I wish I let him be so dear.
I wish I didn’t interfere.

Oh, how fast the time went by
and what I’d give for another try.
There are things I didn’t say and do,
what I’d give for that day with you:
a day just like that very one.
Now growing fast and on the run…
but life moves on; what’s done is done.

It seems like yesterday when my son was six
on a breezy day with dark clouds amidst.
Way beneath the dark cloud beds,
he was running through the sprinkler heads.
Laughing hysterically, and “oh so cute!”…
a fact I simply can’t refute.
Dashing back and forth he’d go,
over and over, fifty times in a row.
Each time I’d follow with a towel to wrap him
so afraid that he’d catch a cough or cold.
Now how I wish I threw that towel in
and ran along side him getting wet.
I was just too afraid he’d catch a cold.
How wrong I was, you can bet
because now at thirteen, he’s just a little too old.

Oh, how fast the time went by
and what I’d give for another try.
There are things I didn’t say and do,
what I’d give for that day with you:
a day just like that very one.
A pre-teen now and on the run…
but life moves on and what’s done is done.

I love you Matthew, you are my life!!!
~Mom~

 

This is where Matthew picnicked on the grass that day.

Photographs by Michelle Longo-Bloom

     

Photograph by

AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione

LOVE & LOST

Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione

WALK WITH ME

By Michelle Longo-Bloom

Take me with you
Can I come along?
Let me be by your side
Together we will walk on
Take my hand
As one we will listen
To the sound of Fall breaking
Crackling;
As our feet press down on arid leaves
Walk with me
To see the weeping willows
Drench the meadow with their tears
Stay with me
As we settle down to rest
And watch each sun rise and set
Wake with me
To the smell of each morning’s dew
To skies of blue and gray, and yellow too;
Walk with me.

   Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione

LOVE & LOST POEMS:

         Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione

I STILL LOVE YOU,
BUT
NOT IN THAT WAY

By Michelle Longo-Bloom

When you’ve loved someone for over twenty years

They’ve stood by your side and eased all your fears

So devoted they’ve been through all of your strife

For the entire time shared of your together adult life

In such ultimate love you created a child

A pre-teen now, but still precious and mild

You brought him into this world with inconceivable joy

And you remember him thanking you for his beautiful boy

The proudest father right before your eyes

The happiest husband; his smile lit up the skies

The times you shared so special and true

So blissful to be with his son and you

Then twenty years later come these words from nowhere

And you feel as though you can’t live and can’t bear

When he told you, “Sit down, I have something to say,”

The words from his mouth on that life altering day

That unspeakable, dreadful, horrendous phrase:

“I still love you, I do, but not in that way.”

HEAR THE BIRDS

 Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione

Hear the Birds

By Michelle Longo-Bloom

Just once upon the early morn
I want to hear the birds at dawn
Hear them chirp on my front lawn
And I want to really concentrate
On what they’re saying; let penetrate
On whom they like and whom they hate
Which house’s trees they do prefer?
And whose lands and roofs they better rate
If Five Medford Lane is of high preference
Or mine, number Three, does more for their taste.
Which branches do they seek and search?
And how high do they enjoy their perch?
Are they happy in number Four’s Dogwood?
Or is number Two’s Maple equally good?
The big Cherry Blossom across the street
Is that where they fancy each day to meet?
Just once I want to wake and hear
The words of all the birds, so near
But what a feat when each waking day
My mind is overwrought with fear.
Just once, I want to wake and hear
The talk of all the chirping birds
But how impossible when my head is filled
With constant ruminating words.

Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione 

              
                                                                       

    Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione
                                                          

A LETTER TO DAD

                

  Photograph by AudreyLynne Waldbaum Castiglione 

Dedicated to all our soldiers who thought it was almost over and are now risking their lives even more! You are all in our thoughts & prayers each and every day. God bless you.


A LETTER TO DAD

By Michelle Longo-Bloom

I’m writing to you today Dad,
because I know you’ll understand.
There are endless sounds of gun fire,
bombs blasting and wind blown sand.
I don’t mean to make you sad Dad,
but I’m feeling very scared,
the courage and the bravery, little I have had;
much less than I was seeking;
when I was leaving for this war
perhaps it was my “bravado” speaking.
I felt so gallant, I felt so proud,
“I will serve my country”, I did shout out loud.
Whatever you do Dad, don’t lose your faith,
don’t lose your pride or your trust in me.
No matter how much blood shed and terror that I see,
I vow, in the name of freedom, this war, we shall beat.
If I come home, alive or not,
I will tell you this, straight from the heart.
You can tell the world; shout it out loud,
“My son served his country and I feel so proud!”

PLEASE WATCH:

http://oldbluewebdesigns.com/mybeautifulamerica.htm