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Free Verse Grandfather Poems | Free Verse Poems About Grandfather

These Free Verse Grandfather poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Grandfather. These are the best examples of Free Verse Grandfather poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |



Hi, grandpa, it's me again!
Your dentures sit in an open glass above the nightstand
Remember the tears grandma sang before she passed?
The way she looked into your eyes, 
Moments before she said her goodbyes
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma, 
She waits for you.

Hi grandpa, it’s me again!
The rocking chair is old and dusty
Remember the way grandma sat me on her lap?
Read many stories before I took a nap
How she enjoyed stroking my hair with her hands
I miss the way she rocked me to sleep every night 

Hello, grandpa!
I stored your hearing aid away
Remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer? 
I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina soar
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma loved
I hope you don’t mind, I’m keeping grandma's favorite scarf

Hello, Grandpa!
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Remember the way she looked in the yellow pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
Like the walking cane, she handcrafted before she left

Hello, grandpa, it's me again! 
Here I sit holding your hand
I have no more tears
Soon you will see her again
She will no longer be alone
Say hi to her, give her a kiss
Tell her I miss her so much
Bye, grandpa

By; PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Free verse | |

Sepia Recollections

Sitting here, on these old porch steps, that I have always known
This weathered stoop, with gray floorboards
The creaks and groans, flaws and chips, so familiar to my hand 
I have come to some conclusion,
and I'm surprised to understand, 
how well I know each board, each slat,
the shape, the size, the warps, the cracks 
each rusty nail, ....

but not the facts of you.  

Oh yes, ........I've seen a glimpse or two, 
in photographs, I have a few...

I see a robust man, in yellowed hues,  of vintage stock...
There's a house, a barn, where land is strewn with stones to move. 
You stand behind a horse and plow, in coveralls,... a mustache too . 

I do recall, so vaguely gray,  as gray as the paint beneath my hand...
a jolly man, your wrinkled face, 
with a smile, a laugh, a loving way
A dream I have, or is it real?  
Is that me when I was two?  Sitting here, beside you then?
Or is it just my wish to know... more than just a trace of you?

I never knew the man you were, your hopes your dreams...  
the thousand schemes that brought you to these rocky slopes 
so far from where your hopes began
Where those steep cliffs rose and the seas were blue.  

Today, beyond these furrowed rows,...
where grasses grow in amber waves
the eyes will wander, and shadows grow
I ponder how it came to be....
that I am me,.... 
   who came from you;        

                a man I never knew. 

Carrie Richards

(To watch the youtube video recitation:)

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Free verse | |

'Love me with your Time'

I might make a noise right now There will be a time when I go silent Will you miss my racket? In those days of silence? I will no longer yearn for your presence Like I do at this very moment Will you wonder? Will you wish? For that good morning? I might be a nuisance right now I might ask you the same thing over and over One day Some day My voice will go silent All I ask today is be patient with me Please love me; with your ears Please love me; with your time Before all you will have Is my grave and the memories…
"Thoughts of the aged - loneliness don't discriminate " ©134517022015

Copyright © Wilma Neels

Details | Free verse | |

Grandfather Speaks with Eagles

Irony cries out in Boulet’s rendering. Elderly Native American’s stern expression seems captured beneath eagle’s wings. Symbol of power and freedom, mighty bald eagle was chosen by European ancestors - United State’s national symbol. Yet independence for all was denied. Tribes seeking only to preserve their culture, their way of life, were undeservingly imprisoned on reservations. Stifled was freedom’s speech. Let the eagle’s voice be heard; toleration of injustice carries harsh consequences. Spread your wings, powerful bird, restore harmony to land seduced, neglected, compromised. Transmit tribal elders’ timely message. Human annihilation’s path is cruelly carved when animals and plants face extinction. Mounds of trash blister our land; parched prairies struggle to support life. Sorrowful cries of dying species echo through stripped land, causing songs of despair to resonate. Grandfather, speak with eagles; others appear deaf to your wisdom.
*Written October 15, 2014 and dedicated to late artist Susan Seddon Boulet, whose 2003 painting “Grandfather Speaks with Eagles” is but one of many pieces that evoke emotional response.

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Free verse | |


A little girl full of life
With so much love for her papa
It was love at first sight when papa laid eyes on her at her birth
Being her nanny papa never laid her down but cradled her in his arms until it was time to leave
He was mama until she was two
When he would say “No, “Papa”
She would say, “No,” Mama”
He taught her to ride her first tricycle
He taught her to throw her first ball
He helped her with her homework when she started school
Once in a while she calls and asks “Papa would you come to school today and have lunch with me.”
And of course Papa cannot say no to his little girl
Her first baseball game was a t-ball team of all boys and one girl of course she out shined them all and took home the winning game ball 
The next few years she’s made the all –star softball team
At eight years old now coaches are watching her to get her on their team
By Eve Roper

Copyright © Eve Roper

Details | Free verse | |


He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died, 
he has not been the same.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain, 
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Oh well...
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best, 
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows 
what happens next.
All results of

Copyright © Laura Hamilton

Details | Free verse | |

The Pilgrimage

They fought the tide to own this land
A fight I did not understand
They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt
But yet,…by God,……they owned the pride

In retrospect, I'm still ashamed
It was, my flippant pilgrimage
I had come a stranger to this place
About to step upon the moon,
A cratered space of rocks and sage
Of rolling hills, with no escape

She saw it differently, of course 
Although her body weary, worn
Her eyes were strong, ...she saw a home

Her age was then, what mine is now
It had been her home, and it had been her vow
To come again, just one more time.  

I was thirteen, and dragged along
I overlooked the great attraction
I could not see the satisfaction
I missed the light upon her face

She saw the youth she left behind
Her gray eyes drinking up the sun, 
I saw the dust, I saw the bones, 
Where she saw beauty,  I saw none .....
Nothing more than a sea of weeds, the crumbling brick, 
A place to shuffle my restless feet

But stories came, and they sunk in….
And now I view with wiser eyes…
She told me all these things back then…but now, I smile,… remembering.

     They had to fight to own this piece of land
     They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt
     And yet,…oh yes,…….they owned the pride


Recited on youtube

For Deb's Contest:....2nd Option..(With age comes wisdom, understanding and
                                                  appreciation. I am never too old to keep learning
                                                  and value those who came before and made me
                                                  who I am.)


Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Free verse | |

Pure Of Heart

Wise Grandfather Shaman, 
I am pure of Heart,
I bathe beneath the Moon, 
and dry beneath the Sun,
I listen to the Wind,
I run with the Deer,
I hunt with the Wolves,
I fish with the Eagles and Hawks,
I ride with the Wild Paints,
And roam with the Buffalo,
I grow with Grandmother Tree,
Ever learning from her Wisdom, 
I am skilled in Warrior Ways,
A strong Hunter, 
A compassionate Listener,
A patient Tracker,
I have gathered with the other women,
Contributing to our tribes growth and strength,
I leave no tracks of moccasins in the soft clay,
My heart is pure,
And I wish to continue my journy,
Wise Grandfather Shaman,
Allow me to enter your lodge,
I will smoke from the sacred pipe,
My heart is pure.

Copyright © Jay Loveless

Details | Free verse | |

We Made Ice cream

  I remember! 
  Cranking that old wore-out handle on that ice cream maker, until I thought my 
arms were going to fall off.  Having a big smile on my face, as I turned and 
turned, pushed and pulled on that old crank begging my big brother, the whole 
time to “Spell me!” so I could set on an old rag on top of the ice, using my weight 
(as it was) to hold that ice cream maker in place. 
   I remember my grandfather coming out of the house, out on the back porch. To 
make sure my big brother and I was “Doing it right.” as if, there was a wrong way! 
He made sure that we
had plenty of ice, plenty of rock salt. I can still see him sticking his little finger in 
the weep-hole to make sure it didn’t get stopped-up. That was most important to 
him, as he
always got the first bowl. I don’t know why? He clamed, he would get the first 
bowl, to make sure that salt didn’t get into the mix. Funny to me, he never made a 
salty face as he was eating that first bowl.  
   I remember, watching my grandmother making that “mix” she picked the 
freshest eggs, measured just the right amount of vanillin extract, I loved the way 
her kitchen smelled. I watched her chop the bananas peal the peanuts, stir it up 
with the cream and sugar. She hummed “Old Rugged Cross” as she made that 
sweet ice cream mix, it was as if she was having fun; like the turning of the crank 
for us boys, work for sure but still fun!
  I would eat light, as that banana-peanut ice cream cured while we had supper, 
waiting for grandfather to finish his third helping, we had to wait, he always got 
the first bowl, I don’t know why? 

Copyright © Mike Samford

Details | Free verse | |

the nun and the witches last walk

Even though
It was so long ago
It still holds the place in my heart
The one I reserved for special moments
with him 
The times before his health
got the best of our relationship
Back when my grandpa 
was able to be my 

It was my first parade
and one of his last
The Halloween of

There was
and lions
and bear
oh my.
but there was also the usual
witches, and monsters
but most importantly
there was my grandpa.

He volunteered to help
with the small monsters
of classroom 301 that year
which would also be his last 
so he was able to walk with his
even if he kept stopping 
to pick up candy 
along the way.

walking with him
along the crowded streets
past the sirens of the firetrucks
and over the steep hills
will forever beat any memory
trick or treating
passing out candy
or the endless Halloween parties

for that was just a moment to enjoy
now that his old age has hit him
there's no more walking
no more dressing up for Halloween
just to see a smile on the face of 
his grandchildren
his little monsters

That moment will forever hold my heart
ten years ago was
the last time 
this witch
had her
of a grandfather
walk beside her   


Copyright © Alexis Hogg

Details | Free verse | |

I wish - poem for my granddaughter

I wish I could look at a flower through your eyes
and discover why you are so fascinated by it.

I wonder why your eyes glisten
when you look at the stars,
and why you smile at the moon.

I wish I could find out what triggers you
to jump and skip, or giggle with glee
and I strain my ears to hear the silent melody
which causes you to break out in song.

I wish I could embrace someone so firmly
as you do when you jump up to greet me.

I wish I were like you when I was a child.

Copyright © David De la Croes

Details | Free verse | |

I just found out - poem for my granddaughter

I just found out that you visited here 
while I was away at work - 
and that you left a few minutes before my arrival!
Ah! Your sweet presence 
would have been such a balm
for my tired and aching body - 
having traveled by bus, and train, another bus, 
and then dragged for a thousand metres
through blustering winds.

And now I must find consolation
in the traces of your absent presence - 
the imprints of your feet on the bathroom tiles, 
and the faint lingering echoes of your laughter,
and the fading silhouette where you sat watching cartoons. 
Although you live in my heart, I still miss you, sweet child!

Copyright © David De la Croes

Details | Free verse | |

First smile - poem for my granddaughter

Your first smile wiped away the dust and mold from the canvas of my soul and your first laughter splashed its bright colours over dark and somber tones and then you framed it with a rainbow created by the refracted light of your transparent being.

Copyright © David De la Croes

Details | Free verse | |


Pretty princesses
Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Very beautiful
Just like you!

Copyright © Smail Poems

Details | Free verse | |


You are the newest thread in the tapestry of my life - once neatly-patterned, but now criss-crossed and sig-zagged with the vibrant strands of your sister. You, too, will be interwoven into the fabric of my life and be interlaced through its brightness and hues and be intricately entwined and securely knotted with one golden thread - Love.

Copyright © David De la Croes

Details | Free verse | |

Ordinary Chair

He sits down in an ordinary chair
Painted a powder blue
The rounded back feels familiar
Much like his grandpa
Grandpa had sat on this same chair
Bounced him on his knee
Read him stories
It does not seem so very long ago
Time has a way of sneaking up on you
Now he's grandpa
Sitting in his favorite chair
This is really quite extrordinary

The Ordinary Contest
Sponsored by: Black Eyed Susan

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux

Details | Free verse | |

My Heritage

My heritage is a mixture
Of backgrounds.  Let's start on 
My Dad's side of the family.

My Dad's mom is Irish and English.

My Dad's dad is Irish and German.

My Mom's mom is Scottish and Irish.

My Mom's dad is blood Hungarian.

So in other words,
I'm a mutt!  or as others say,
"Heinz 57!"

Copyright © Sarah Cassleman

Details | Free verse | |

You are here -

You are here! And my heart rejoices - For when you're near Sweeter are all nature's voices. Morning's glow seems brighter While evening's shade has a softer hue. Even life's burdens appear to be lighter All because, sweet child, of you...

Copyright © David De la Croes

Details | Free verse | |

Father's Day Tribute to My Grandfather

Father’s Day Tribute to My Grandfather
Written on June 2, 2012
Updated on June 11, 2014

Resembling Groucho Marx as you aged,
I often found you dozing in 
your favorite chair.

Perhaps, dreaming of your parents,
or when you arrived in America on Ellis Island 
with your Mother and brothers?

Your tired skin was
a result of a working man’s life.

Your green tattoo on your arm
was a souvenir of your veteran status.

Always caring, you were the leader
of the team I was born into.

You protected the family psyche and integrity,
and wisely guided us with your voice of reason.

Even though you are no longer here in the physical world,
You are forever in my heart and soul.

Copyright © Gail DeBole

Details | Free verse | |

The Old Salt

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
by what men lived and judged the worth of each, 
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. 

An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, 
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. 

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, 
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. 

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, 
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. 

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember, 
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye, 
as he draws upon his pipe, 
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.

Copyright © Mac McGovern

Details | Free verse | |

Final Adieu

Final Adieu

Let another sun set,
Let another flower wilt,
Let another autumn cast its gloom,
Let another tear role,
As ye part, and bid
The final adieu.

Suyash Saxena
St. Stephen’s college

Copyright © Suyash Saxena

Details | Free verse | |

Oh Grandfather

I cry, I hold it in, I cry. 
I hate the way I saw you tonight,
Wrapped up in wires,
Sleeping beneath the shut off lights,
But this is no sleep your in,
Its just a moment before your passing. 
Oh Grandfather,
I will forever hold the memory,
Of slick juice upon my face,
Sweet clementines dripping down my cheeks,
And long stripped socks at Christmas. 
I will look back and dream,
Of slim jims and chocolate milk,
Sitting at the bar,
The lights dimmed,
And Barbie stamps covering my pale skin.
When I was less than five years old. 
Oh Grandfather,
I will never forget, 
Sitting on your black leather couch,
And watching Mulan for the first time,
Or the love and surprise I felt,
When you bought it for me,
Because I loved it so much. 
Oh Grandfather, 
I will always remember, 
Walking the small trail down from your house,
To go look at your Harleys,
And feed the little ducks,
Crumbs of bread,
Or a whole damn loaf if I really begged.
Oh Grandfather,
I will never forget the time,
When you handed me one hundred bucks,
Just for Graduating, not even at the top of my class. 
When I tried to return it,
You insisted that you wanted me to keep it,
And I cried, I hugged you hard and felt your love,
Deep in the nether regions of my heart.
Oh Grandfather,
I will strive to remember, 
The smell of beer and whiskey and cigars on your breath,
What a sweet smell that now seems,
And oh how I wish, you would have stayed for that bottle of wine,
Just stayed a little longer for all of your visits. 
Oh Grandfather, 
I will never forget how I felt when Grandma told me,
You served in the marines,
And I could not believe,
That those Santa Clause eyes,
Could be that strong and brutal,
When you were always so nice,
And I found for you a new respect. 
Oh Grandfather,
I miss you so much,
As you lay in your bed,
Strung up with wires, and tubes and struggling,
To find your last breath. 
Oh Grandfather, 
I am crying, I cant hold it in.

Copyright © Jay Loveless

Details | Free verse | |

Grandpa's Collage

Grandpa’s collage holds beloved memories.
Black-and-white photographs of long ago
strewn with tape and paste amid the glossy 
snapshots, shaping a man's love of family.
At first glance, one would think he created 
his patchwork of pictures in haste. But come, 
look closer; no image is placed by chance. 
Each scene shares a story his hands retraced - 
a joke, a kiss, a tear. See the toothless grins
of growing grandchildren with playful eyes, 
the knowing looks of elders and the effortless
laughter of generations, dear faces missed.
All familiar faces except for only one - 
the intruder with graceful features. Head held high, 
she wears her smile unfazed. I search her dark eyes 
for words unsaid, dazed. She is the grandmother
I never knew. Her portraits are puzzle pieces
that will never fit, but ones I cannot unglue 
or ignore; my grandpa’s attempt of tying us 
to a stranger. I love him more for trying…

For Craig Cornish's A Collage Held Dear Contest,


Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders

Details | Free verse | |

My name is Catastrophe

Hell hath no replete replica like an Ohiohell
memom memoboys dispelled with lovelessloss lorn laments
measured in misgiven gravid neutral grautities of cool compromised cruel
capsid cascades of dreary demented drowsy dump deep demented deny desires
with wilfull wallowing in unsupposed not to be here
herein two boys born to a numbnuts army husbodad and a 
WTF what is happening in/outside this family 50's acircle
what comes next in the uneducated female nonintuition of a
deaddad accidential with a pity piss payoff and a whatdoIdo anal attitude
totally in reverse of an arkansas hope of upheaveal. GDMFSOB, who could I/we haVE
BeeN in the assinine scheme of things with someone in an intersomewhateducated semistate of minimal MFconsciousness. We play the hand we are dealt in the vast unscheme of unness. 
WTF, and where/why does God take part and lessen a small boy's dream of donated dadhood by taking it away and leave him left to faulterflounder in a boyhood abyss. Dead, devoid, denied to the manmale circumstance of what the future folds to be delivered to doting descendents, like my three sons. with whom I struggled to 
shower, impart, enable, enbibe, instill, foster, enliven, and all that I did not experience yet faux provide with an inner soulsense to a measured milestone of mannered man manufactured love and tendered texture of all mine to give with that that is mustered macro from a micro counteanace of humocapped coperal deliverance. All's fair they say unless u have been there and then it's every man for himself---and then, I dare u to get in my way---------no holds barred, look out for I am a survivor, all the way.   
Hi, my name is Dave, and according to my grandparents, I wasn't supposed to live to be raised. Go figure.

Copyright © Dave Collins

Details | Free verse | |

To Where it All Began

Mother Nature has all but consumed 
Their little graveyard by the sea, where
Sands bleached white, slide 
Across the cemetery floor
Drifting like pale capsized hulls
Floating between tablets marking
The long forgotten dead

It was here, fifty two years ago that
I held my Grandfathers weathered hand, 
More so for the want of a brace
Than the sympathetic touch of a Grandchild
My little hand lost to the wrist, gripped
By a generation lost to the elements

I watched him kneeling by their angled stones
Tracing their names; first his father’s father, then
The mothers, with a finger crooked by age 
The sandstone letters crumbling in the wake of his trace
Grit sifting through his heavy fingers; history, being erased
Returning it back – to where it all began

I followed behind his shuffling shoes
Kicking up dust that settles on the bones of ghosts
My Grandfather’s voice lost to an ocean breeze 
Is he speaking to the dead?
Whilst our shadows lengthen, then dwindle into dusk

I imagined, back then as I do now
Of a graveyard full of pirates and thieves 
With their ship resting - just out there
~	At sea
But for the stout chimney and hearth, beyond the grounds
Baring testimony to pioneers that
Once toiled this barren coast and now
Standing defiant, resolute against the 
Advancing flotilla of sand

He is buried just beyond the little graveyard
My Grandfather, next to my Grandmother
On his farm; or
His father’s farm before that
My farm now…
On a hill
Overlooking the sea, where it all began

8 Dec. 2014

Copyright © Mark Trichet

Details | Free verse | |

For An Abused Child

If I Could Have Gotten Your Embryo
Before You Were Born
I Would Have Sheltered You Safely
and Protected Your Form ...

I'd Have Put You In My Womb
& Flowed You Knowledge Like In A Tubric
& Patted My Expanding Belly
As I Played You Music

And As You Got Ready
To Arrive From The Birth Canal
You Would've Known My Breasts
Would Be Ringing Like Welcome Bells! ...

Eager To Suckle You
Breast Feed My Own Flesh & Nourish
So You Could Grow Strong
... In Love's Encourage

I Would've Held You In Wonder
& So Close Tenderly
Amazed At This Little Bundle,
Breathing, Piece of Me ...

And When You Turned One
Or As You Sucked Your Thumb
Or Eating Baby Food Jars of Plums
... I'd Have Given You Trumpets & Drums

... And Building Alphabet Blocks
& Superman Capes
& Stuffed Teddy Bears
& Oatmeal Cookies & Grapes

I'd Have Read You Stories
From Capt. Adventure Books
You'd Have Known You Were Loved
By My Proud Mama Looks

I'd Have Spent Time With You
Showing You How To Tie Your Shoe
Rocked You If You Caught The Flu
or Any Sniffles You Went Through ...

I Would Have Played With You
& Prayed With You
From Crawling To Walking
Paved The Way For You

Yeah, I Would Have Fussed At You
& When Needed Even Spanked You Too
& I'd Meant: This Hurts Me More Than You
'Cause You're The Little Symbiot, Mama Grew

So, You Would Have Known
You Were Loved & Treasured
You Would Have Known
Your Worth Couldn't Be Measured

Nor Compared To Anyone Else
At Any Point In Time
'Cause You Are The Best
Because You Were "Mine"

* * * * * * *

But I Never Knew You
But Believe Me If I Had ...
I'd A Made Sure You Had 
A Loving Mom & Dad

And You Would've Never Been Abused
Or Treated Bad ...
But From Now On Find Your Joy
To Replace What's Sad

            Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/12/2013 
             by:  MoonBee Canady

Copyright © MoonBee Canady

Details | Free verse | |

Portrait of My Grandfather

Written by Gail DeBole on January 26, 2013

Whiskers and wisdom all in one. 
Generously and gently protecting us.
Every grandchild thought they were your favorite.
You in your long johns at night.
Joking during the day like Groucho Marx.
Sleeping in your favorite chair.
Smoking smelly cigars that callously killed you.
And yet I treasure one of the boxes left from those smelly cigars.

The farm was not the same without you.
We were not the same without you.
I was too young to know.

Copyright © Gail DeBole

Details | Free verse | |

On a hill at the beach

Spread your wings, dear child, and fly
to where the green sea meets blue sky;
run on the crests of gentle waves
and grab the sunlight as it raves
about the brightness of the day;
float with the sea gulls as they sway
upon the friendly winds, and dive
with playful dolphins as they jive
in the cool waters of the bay.

Copyright © David De la Croes

Details | Free verse | |

Memories Made to Ponder

It was a tin-roof wooden house standing 
Across the red brick cobblestone street 
Adjacent to a wide open field full
Of shady live oak and sweet smelling tangerine trees where 
My father’s boyhood home was nestled  
Quietly in his home town. 

Often times we’d travel to visit 
The grandparents still living there 
In that Americana corner of our lives.
We didn’t know much of anything at all except 
The sky was blue, love was true and we 
Youngsters were the apples of the old folk’s eyes.

We’d sit for hours in white wicker rocking chairs
I helped paint one time with newspaper on the floor 
And a horsehair brush grandma gave me 
To teach me that painting needn’t be a lesson 
In staying between the lines.  “Sometimes,” she’d say,
“It’s better to let the paint flow 
And speak for itself in time.” 

And granddad liked to watch the sky – especially at night 
When stars were burning bright and would point towards Polaris and say:
“Heaven’s over that a-way.”  And during daylight hours 
When storm clouds appeared and we could hear 
Thunder and lightning all around, he’d laugh and dance 
As if the circus were coming to town.  

We watched mocking birds and blue jays flying in and out 
Of all the tree top branches and leaves singing 
Their love making lullabies to us and one another and then
As quickly as they arrived, 
Disappeared into the wind.  
It seems we’re not much different 
Rather family, foe or friend.  
Accordingly, the old house still stands today 
But the dear old folks have slipped away.  
Perhaps to the place once pointed to
High above that night sky view 
Where comets roam and grandpa liked to call “Up yonder,”  
Leaving me with thoughts of gold 
And memories made to ponder.         

Copyright © Terrell Martin

Details | Free verse | |


If I were a boy, even just in a dream. 
I'll give my girl flowers everyday. 
I'd let her know how much she's loved 
and assure no tears fall from her eyes. 

If I were a boy one day I wake up, 
I'll kiss her eyes 'til she drops. 
I'll lay her down in a bed of roses. 
I'll carry her 'til we reach the heaven's door. 

If I were a boy even for an hour. 
I'll tell her exactly who I am. 
I will not cave in the shadow of my past. 
I'll give her the happiness that lasts. 

If I were a boy, 
I'd keep the love on fire. 
I'll respect my mom, sisters, and wife. 
I'll be my kid's greatest model dad. 

If I were a boy, 
I would be a real man. 
Who knows exactly what makes a man, 
who can't be moved by other woman.  

Copyright © Aiyah de Torres