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Grandmother Ballad Poems | Ballad Poems About Grandmother

These Grandmother Ballad poems are examples of Ballad poems about Grandmother. These are the best examples of Grandmother Ballad poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

Details | Ballade |

Grandparents

Grandparents

Grandparents they be two lights
Who may lead to wisdoms door.
For hopefully they've lived their lives
And made that journey to the core
And found the jewel buried there
Beneath the shades of sorrow.
And now these two be living life
No past and no tomorrows.

They be a pool within a desert
Where the grass grows lush and green.
A cool place where the kids drop in
To breath in air that's more serene.
They will be gentle, sweet, but stern
{If the need for this comes up}
But mostly kids look on these folk
To over fill the loving cup.

And when these ancient ones depart
And through the golden gates do stroll
The power that rules these mighty realms
{Once the aids have weighed the soul}
Will send them down as spirit folk
To help folks lives to flow
before they enter Earth again
To gain another chance to grow.


Details | Ballad |

Grandma and the Selkie

My grandmother came from Ireland from far across the sea. She had romantic tales to tell to Sister and to me. She angered my darling mother by filling up our heads with stories of the little folk who lived beneath our beds. She whispered us a secret that our mama didn’t know. She said that it would be better if we would keep it so. When she crossed the sea from Ireland, she had a little lad. He was already two years old before she met Granddad. She told Grandfather her story, a selkie stole her heart. He came as a handsome mortal and fooled her from the start. He loved her and then he left her, was claimed back by the sea. The only thing she had of him was a wee lad to be. She knew right from the start, her son was borrowed fom the sea. In time his tie to land would end however long that be. She watched him growing tall, with dread, as handsome as his sire. He wandered near or wandered far, girls gathered to admire. Before our eyes our grandma changed and she became the girl who long ago had loved a man who set her heart awhirl. He had deep eyes of darkest brown, and unreal velvet skin. He charmed her as no Irish lad would know how to begin. “Where is he then, our dear uncle?” My sister and I cried. “I guess the folks who knew him well, would tell you that he died. They saw him walking by the sea, watching the tide come in. Though we searched for many a day he was not seen again.” Now when I see the silky seals on warm rocks in the sea I fancy one is a selkie, who looks a bit like me.
( I have read that male selkies are very handsome in their human form and have great seduction powers over mortal women. Poor grandma then was a young Irish lass, full of dreams and he was so handsome. In their true form they look very much like seals.)


Details | Ballade |

My Mo in law

 

My Mo In law

My Mo in law, she’s ninety five
And wow, she’s looking bright
I see her in that old folk’s home
She looks a real delight
Though she can’t get around much now
She still delights in life
With a smile to all who pass on by
She seems so free from strife

She came out here at twenty nine
To our good sunny land
She worked so hard when she came here
And she made no demands
Milking cows there on the farm
Bringing up three kids
And she got on without a moan
In everything she did.

She helped her husband build two homes
She worked and worked all day
She done each thing she had to do
In a sweet and gentle way
On thinking about my Mo in law
I’d have to tell you this
Old Rosie she’s a mighty bird
You know, she really is.

19 July 2013 @ 1300hrs.
 


Details | Ballad |

peach gospel in the cellar


  in an old cellar mason jars
 full of canned sunsets line
  the shelves.

   ripened years ago. 

 they have names like
 sylvia's famous peach
  halves.

 each has a piece of paper
 with a bible verse written on it.   


   one day a slim figured girl will
 ask her grandmother to try some.

she will reach for the jar of john 15:1

" i am the true vine and my
 father is the vinedresser."

 snap and the lid will come off.

 with a warm smile the sweetness
 of a parable will be turned
 into a crisp cobbler. 



Details | Ballad |

ITS MY TURN TO USE THE WRITTEN WORD

Being born in the postwar fifties,
after darkness and catastrophe
ascended on all Europe,
I didn't experience cruelty and horror... 
but hope came from the defenders of freedom
from North America and England;
and their military supremacy crushed
Hitler's vanity and his inhumane empire!
I was given birth by a courageous mother,
who saw bombs drop on buildings,
and escaped to the countryside with a few belongings...
dragging grandmother to safety!

Fear was everywhere...people had to hide,
and liberty was a forbidden cry;
even in the Vatican City, and rumors...
if not facts, confirmed that some
were afraid to speak against this evil,
but continued to tremble,
and in doing so they let many die!
Wasn't God angry at their hypocrisy;
and if they had taken a stand against the evildoers...
wouldn't it spared many?

It's my turn to protest the evil
that destroyed the life of big and small
for their faith, religion and race;
those voices are still ignored,
but  they are finally heard;  
their thirst for peace and justice
will be quickly quenched!
It's my turn to heal their wounds
with sweet and consoling words of kindness,
and alleviate their fears that what happened yesterday...
must not be repeated in our history;
and wil I be able to do this without facing controversy?
It's my turn to use the written word,
to outshine everyone whose interest is greed! 

Nobody more than I
was saddened by this tragedy,
so powerful and overwhelming,
to promptly modify the traits of my personality;
to be more considerate and caring,
and partake in Humankind's destiny!
An Aquarius has many
distinguishing qualities
and talents, and I intend to use them wisely...
listening to their struggles 
with much sympathy!
 
It's my turn to use the written word,
to declare war on the state of unfair things,
proceed with caution on flapping winds...
to land where I am welcomed,
and see every hand touching mine;
only when the their joy returns, I can certainly smile!


Details | Ballad |

MOTHER'S DAY

I bought my house for its mirrored walls 
in the master bath from which you could fancy 
yourself as a forties' film star, your flawless 
body soaking in billowing suds, or stepping into 
a glassed-in shower, large enough for a tryst 
with Tarzan, be he resident of a nearby tree.  

I imagined Don Perignon cooling in a basin, 
and me: Maureen Sullivan, with or without an 
Ape Man, poised for my swinging life, coupe 
in hand. Instead, stumbling in half-light toward 
morning ablutions on the quotidian blank page 
of my life, mirrors conjured up not Hamlet's 
perturbed, parental spirit, but a woman with my 

mother's face.  In her summer frock, frenzied 
with flowers, prim white hat, and a crocheted bag 
in the crook of her arm, she is standing on 
the sidewalk outside my grandmother's white-
columned house in Georgia, where she sought 
safe haven before a failed life, Jack Daniels 
whiskey, and the cancer monster claimed her.

"So easy to spoil" it was said, so how is it life did 
not work for her? -- "My beautiful, beautiful 
daughter, wailed my grandmother like a banshee, 
she, of the stiff, upper-lipped Prussian forbears, 
as we drove forty solemn miles to lay her favorite 
in Rebel heaven alongside a great-grandfather who 
lost an arm at the battle of Cold Springs, his 
grim-faced wife, bedrock beside him.

Peace was the prize my mother never won, 
no treaty ever offered, pardon long in coming.  
I see her poised like a dancer, sad history 
surrounding her, a smile as unreadable as Mona 
Lisa's under eyes like mine that have seen too 
much of the sorrow of this world.  "It all 
comes down to this," Anne Sexton wrote, "We 
ARE our mothers--that's the main thing."


Details | Ballad |

Remember

The sun cracks to wake the day,the smell of bacon in the air 
as I awake to start the day.
I remember
My grandmother in the kitchen, always with a smile,
I remember
Summer vacation was always fun,things to do,chores to be done,
grandma always made it fun
I remember
A scent, a smell, a song, a touch to bring all back
I remember
Those days are gone but in my mind grandma is still in the
kitchen with a smile.
I remember