*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*
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
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
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
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
The smell of cinnamon apple pie
lingers in my mind
my mouth still waters from
her delicious homemade fudge
I can hear faint giggles
from the time we slid down the laundry chute
those goodbye hugs I could never get enough of
my heart cant help but cry
so many happy memories
entrenched inside my mind
your spirit will live in me forever
until the end of my time
**Dedicated to Grandma Gwendolyn Smith who passed on Friday at the age of 103**
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2015
See the woman.
See the face behind its age.
See the beauty of her form.
See the way her way becomes her.
See past her once taught skin, as it was
when it enflamed many a man.
See the way she holds her head;
the tilt of her neck, the ease
of her being.
See the strength that binds her jaw,
unrelenting in its flex.
See her hurt displayed, as shadows
fall like night upon the earth,
eager for rest and resolution -
for the one she could not save.
See her darkness. See it very well.
See it shatter like glass, glinting,
when she giggles like a girl.
See her shine.
As the shades of dark days rise,
See the years that grace her eyes,
like rays of her own sun
exponentially shining forth.
See forgiveness in her patient hands
as they weave memories with a touch.
See the breadth of her breasts,
for they have quenched her children’s hunger,
soothed their frantic cries,
and became the safe haven for her beloved.
See her empty, scarred abdomen –
round and perfect in its imperfections,
once holding the essence of all things;
carrying creation within –
see the divine home of God.
See the innocent baby,
the impetuous youth,
the voluptuous woman,
the devoted wife,
the selfless mother.
See the wisdom of the grandmother –
the epitome of every moment lived
for someone else, and the realization
of the circle.
Hear the acceptance in her sigh.
See the gifts she has given –
see the woman!
See the goddess!
The beginning and the end!
See the infinite that bares the name,
See her for all that she is and isn’t.
Smell her scent and know you are home.
Taste the strength of her words on your tongue.
Hear her experiences like your own.
To touch her soul is to touch perpetuity!
See her face in your mirror.
See the tears that fall proudly
upon the woman you’ve become,
and hope yet to become
when you have lived through all that has been
set before you –
tasted each woman’s tears as if they were your own.
When you enter that perfect union,
when you become,
when you come
you will see yourself in all things,
and your journey, will see you back
*Reposted for Chris's Get Your Rebel On, Contest! This was written with my Beautiful
Grandmother in mind. She saved my life in more ways than one. love you, Gran. This one's
for you. (and every woman, and woman lover, here)
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009
You can see him now, dirty as a horse
that slipped in the mud, planting petunias
with that infamous shamrock thumb
(Irish from his Pop Appendage from his Mum)
stopping every now - and again -
to breathe deep that fragrance
rich with pheromone nostalgia
just like Grammy Georgina used too do
the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
I can still see her now, in her glory days,
with lovely lemon locks soaking up the summer sun,
rooted in that old-fashioned train of mind:
You don't stop your work until it's done!
(but a walking contradiction, just like her grandson,
... rose to her nose like ruby rebellion)
the tree doesn't grow solely from the ground
Water's an important player too,
especially from grandma's showering can
(laughing tears the shade of crystalline blue)
Course you can't forget those lifetime lessons either,
from dear ole Georgie, speaking with a sunny kind of seriousness,
about the importance of patience,
the fruitfulness of labor,
plucking up the surviving winters' courageous cucumbers,
the ground isn't just a place for our feet
Cause with her and I, we incinerate the stereotype:
young blood reflecting on infinity,
old knees dancing like she's got chipper chipmunks
for toes giggles in the background like a photobomb
to the expected chapel silence
(it's not all peaches and cream though,
sometimes we get violent)
Orange slush, flying miles behind us,
at times getting grazed in the face
by nature's food fight
our feet between the squish squish of the crab apple
We were two peas, if you please, in a curious pod,
like a whimsical joke from a laughing God:
Me, the champion of her scallions,
the guardian of her garden,
leaving all sensibility befuddled
with an, "I beg your pardon?"
I wonder if she knew then the gravity of the situation,
watching mama scream bloody murder,
as I came into this world ...
... was she scratching her head, lips curled, in questioning amazement,
just like Newton must have been, when developing his theory?
What d'you suppose they both were thinking?
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree ...
Written March 27, 2016
For the Cliche Contest Hosted by Silent One
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016
Every day she comes to visit her,
lifts the spoon to her thin lips.
Quietly she sleeps, silently she weeps.
Life arrested in its waning grip.
Every day she comes with hope
that something in her changes.
Silently she weeps, quietly she sleeps
The memories time rearranges.
Every day she comes and wonders,
will she wake today and speak?
Quietly she sleeps, silently she weeps
An imprisoned mind in body weak.
Every day she comes and touches
the woman like no other.
Silently she weeps, quietly she sleeps.
Maternal daughter, loving mother.
Copyright © James Nichols | Year Posted 2013
Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two,
and this story . . .
Here, let me take your hand
and I'll fluff up that pillow for you
How odd that the wind is nowhere today-
Whistle a happy tune for me, love
Don't you always say that whistling
calls the breeze, invites it in?
It's never failed before,
just as seeing you never fails
to put a smile on my face
...I can almost forget the pain
Whistle for me, and I shall sing for you
This is how I've always imagined us,
in a garden, the wind tickling the leaves
as we both immerse ourselves
in music and laughter,
with the birds joining us in our song...
Just hold my hands, keep them warm
as we bask in the sun's golden rays...
seems like forever since I've felt it
Don't be afraid to close your eyes, love
I'm just here
...let me watch over you for once
You haven't slept for days,
let me do this
and sing you a lullaby
Hush, wind, hush
let my voice soothe his heart this time
I can feel your pulse-
it beats so much faster
as mine slows down, slipping...
much like the sun slips from my eyes,
my final sunset.
Forgive me, love,
for leaving you this way
I know you wanted to be awake when I go
But you've been so tired,
and I don't want to see your eyes' lights die
as my own flicker and fade
It's better this way, believe me
The two of us imagining a garden,
hand in hand
As the wind breezes past,
so shall I...
forever in your breath, my love
dwelling in your heart, fanning those flames
and when you feel that wind has left you,
remember what you always do...
Whistle and I am there
My maternal grandparents were my inspiration for this,
so this holds a special meaning for me.
This actual scene didn't actually transpire, although certain events inspired
what happened in this poem.
My grandmother was a soprano, my grandfather did always say that, to
whistle to call the wind... Even if she was 11 yrs younger, she died 12 years earlier
than he did. Theirs was a beautiful love story.
Copyright © binibining P.oiNkk | Year Posted 2011
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
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 "
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2015
They called her Nell
Her parents the brash rugged
and the shy gentle Cherokee lady
They called her Nell
for it was a good solid name
a proper name an English name
They called her Nell
The people in her southern Illinois hometown
Not Injun or half-breed
but respectfully Nell Miss Nell
Said she was a right fine figure of a woman
with her ebony hair and dark bottomless eyes
Cheekbones towering over ruby red lips
He called her Nell
The rough unpretentious laborer
who won her heart and her hand
Called her the love of his life
Teased her for her quick temper
and her no-nonsense Southern Baptist way of living
They called her Nell
Neighbors with hands holding empty cups
waiting for a little sugar or butter
Waiting for a little kitchen conversation
Calm soothing words without barb or bite
which passed the lips of a woman unlike another
They called her Nell
The doctors in town respected her
for she was nursing when they
were still in knee britches
and she never ever let them forget it
They called her Nell
Coal miners Hospital patients
with burned lungs and broken bones
waited to see her face each morning
beneath her starched white cap
Heard her no-nonsense stride moving
through the wards
Took comfort in her presence
They called her Nell
This diminutive lady who chased a little girl
through the house with a fly swatter
when she found me swinging on her four poster bed
But couldn’t bear to hit me when she caught me
so she hugged me instead
They called her Nell
when she stood in her yard on a clear
summer night and patiently taught me
how to catch fireflies and put them in a jar
with holes in the lid while hungry mosquitoes buzzed
They called her Nell
when she poured me ice cold root beer
from a glass jug and served my favorite
homemade vanilla ice cream while she
told the most wonderful stories of my ancestors
They called her Nell
when she dropped everything to fold me
in her arms and rock my pain away
As her soft lips kissed my tears
her voice whispered in my ear assured me
that I would survive Told me to always remember
what we cannot go through we just go over or around
They called her Nell
because that was her name
and she wasn’t to them what she was to me
She was Nanny
She was my grandmother who loved with all her heart
Copyright © Monterey Sirak | Year Posted 2014
I wandered and travelled
Nor knew where I'd gone .
Life became a problem;
T'was one long cruel song.
My problems seem to multiply;
They came from every side.
I vowed to find the answer;
by this I would abide.
I looked into nature
And tore apart my mind.
Then put them on the table
To see what I could find.
I found that I'de been greedy
and avaricious, too.
Whenever projects of mine failed
I put the blame on you.
I found that I was lonely;
I thought you didn't care.
But what I really didn't know
Was you were always there.
You tried to fill the void
That always was in my Life.
you tried to ease the sorrow
You've been a real good Wife.
Yvette & Grandpa Murray
From James Murray to , Janet Murray ..his beautiful wife.
" In great respect of Grandfather Murray's poem he wrote for my Grandmother Murray "
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
I called her Gana All my life Not long enough Wish More than anything Had one more chance To say I love you Marie My grandmother
Copyright © richard ferry | Year Posted 2013
I see her pretty little face
With a sweet smile as bright as gold.
I think about the days ahead.
It saddens me, I'm growing old.
I love that precious little girl
With all that dwells inside of me.
One day I know we'll have to part.
I beg of Time, so fleetingly,
To warp somehow and backward go,
So I could share more of her life.
She says "Grammy, never leave me".
That I must die fills her with strife.
She says"I want to go with you".
I tell her of the joys instead,
How one day she'll meet a man,
He'll love her so, and they will wed.
But Grammy's love is all she knows,
So I will leave her parts of me,
In photographs and work I do,
In love notes from my poetry.
Happiness of Life Contest
Sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016
You died Grandma and my heart was broken,
At your funeral I stood there trembling;
And in the name of love words were spoken,
I needed to speak words without weeping.
Me, standing up front holding my papers,
There was a soft breeze caressing my hair;
I looked at your coffin and the flowers,
Oh, how I wished this was just a nightmare.
I started to speak in such a sad voice,
And then, I felt your great strength within me;
I spoke of your life so all could rejoice,
So, filled with your love that I spoke, so free.
Then, I felt the papers go fluttering;
And in the name of love, I was speaking.
October 24, 2015
For the contest, In The Name Of Love
Sponsor, Shadow Hamilton
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
Empty yard full of memories
Memories of laughter and songs
Songs of love under the fern trees
Trees that shade grandma’s empty chair
@ Ronald Zammit - All Rights Reserved
Inspired by Nette's contest Four Lines Only
Copyright © Ronald Zammit | Year Posted 2015
“A Missive To My Granddaughters”
My dearest girls,
How can I begin to tell you
how much your smile warms my heart,
or the enrichment that penetrates my soul
when I feel your arms embrace me?
With you, I am a girl again reliving my own youth
When you share each new life experience with me.
Once again, my own fervor for life springs forth,
As I listen to the enthusiasm that emanates from your cheerful chatter.
Your joy rejuvenates me.
Your smile pierces my heart and finds its way
To a special place reserved only for you.
Your zest for life gives me hope again for a better world,
And I thrive on your courage that abounds with each day that passes.
That I have saved countless wishes for you alone -
A heart that is forgiving and true,
A mind that is forever open and exploring,
And the courage to face and overcome any obstacle.
I wish you a taste for beauty in whatever presents itself,
A flair of your own like no one else has ever experienced,
An infinite appreciation for all of Nature’s bounty,
And a magnanimous spirit for others less fortunate.
Please know that when I am gone,
I will be with you always in spirit.
Whether it is the sweetness of a Spring rain,
In the coo of a morning dove,
Or the scent of a summer rose,
You will be reminded,
And you will know
That I am there
Until we are together..…again.
Copyright © Jan Pearce | Year Posted 2016
So many trials seem to be filled up with so much fear
So many ask, “Oh Dear Lord, what am I doing here”?
So many questions that I have come to know
If we just plant a seed, with water it will grow
I have a natural green thumb that now is wasting away
Along with a mind that does love to go out and play
Times I still ask, “How did this all came to be”
What was it that my wife was able to see in me?
She says that my heart was the most beautiful around
It still blows me away, for I clearly remember the sound
Her voice was so soft, her tone was so sweet
I was nothing less than pure evil upon two feet
Had been years since anything had took me by surprise
Ice cold is what the rest of the world had seen in my eyes
I looked at her smiled and laughed in my cold convict way
She smiled and said, “Why you want to be mean anyway”
I told her, “I reckon we are all born to just what we are”
She said, “So why are you a dope cook instead of a star”
That question stopped me right there dead in my tracks
I thought, “This girl is a looker but God she is whacked”
Last night her and I sat out underneath the moon
Two very blessed souls swinging in our sliver spoon
Just a little swing we built together out in our back yard
Place to just sit back and rest after a day long and hard
I once again ask her, how in the world could you ever know?
“My Grandmother was preacher, I could see her in you soul”
Which led me to speak out my truth for I learned to not lie
"My grandmother was also in yours, answering the entire “Why”
Grandmothers we respected and held above all others
Brought each of us together in the land born of lovers
Two Grandmother Spirits full of pure heavenly delight
Led their grandchildren into the valley born of the light
Now here we sit holding each other, each other high above
Because we share in the blessing of our Grandmothers love
Toni and I had lost our Grandmothers before we had ever met
though I knew of hers because she was a very powerful lady
and a down home speak in tongues Pentecostal Preacher that
had great respect up in these parts. After all these years we
confided in each other that we could see our grandmothers in
each others eyes. Thank you and God Bless, MJ
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009
I can't believe you been gone 8 years today...I miss you so much...I wrote you a poem to let you know how much I miss you Taua ??????
I wrote you this poem for you to keep as you lie peacefully asleep to share the stories you once told
I will always remember those days when I sat up at the table studying the maze of nick knacks of ordaments and bits and pieces of priceless treasure sprawled around your room and throughout your house. And all the different types of animals you had over the years from cats, dogs, birds, chickens and goats.
I will always remember your trips out and about
The once a month trips to the sale yards to grab a bargin
I remember the time you brought a rooster only to realize when you got him he was no standard rooster...lol he was a bantam rooster who you named Billy. The laughter and tears of trying to jam everything into your small car.
And when whitebaiting season hit you were up at dawn and ready to go. The spread was always amazing pikelets, cakes and lollies.
I will always remember the family trips once a year to Caroline Bay, listening to the Topp Twins, you singing and dancing along to them. The mini golf game's and prizes you won.
I'll always remember your creative flare, your unquie style and all your different hats.
But most of all I wrote this poem to say thank you for all your wisdom and knowledge you once shared. It the time I didn't appreciate I did not appreciate it. But now I'm older and wiser I want to become a strong Wahine with a bit of you in me.
I remember all the fun times we shared
and as my friend and Taua
I miss you more than words can say
You will always live on within your children, grandchildren and great grandchildren...
Till we meet again
Copyright © Jamesa Love | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
Teenage Girls clad in the latest fashions,
Do it whenever they meet,
Grown men aren't afraid to show some passion,
When their team's comeback is complete,
They can say hello, they can say goodbye,
And anything inbetween,
If you open your arms and crack a smile,
There is nothing that a hug cannot mean.
Copyright © Al Parry | Year Posted 2013
My grandfather and I had a special relationship.
When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore. But, my family moved away from
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my
grandfather. Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles. I was the one grandchild who
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.
Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when
he was young. In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or
get married and raise a family. As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove,
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.
But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles. As crummy as the Baltimore bums are
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.
I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing. Had he
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.
When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once
again strap on his spikes and don the leather. Without a doubt, they must play baseball in
heaven. And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.
(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010
We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,
Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...
These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken
Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"
Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013
There's a little history to this particular poem. I know I wrote it when I was 11 or 12 years old. I wrote it for my Grandma Dorabel, who is today 90 years old. I also wrote it for my uncle John who had been taking care of her at the time; I didn't want to leave him out so I put on the letter: For Grandma Dee and Uncle John! I wrote this short little poem along with a drawing of a cat and some flowers. However, I actually never sent the picture to her! My parents and I must have forgotten to send! To me that was unacceptable! I thought to myself today when I found the picture, I must send it now! The picture is now on its way to her, so I am happy she will at last receive it.
You can send me a bouquet of flowers,
You can order me a box of chocolates,
You can buy me a fancy outfit,
But flowers don't last,
Chocolates eventually disappear,
Outfits get out of style,
Yet Love never fades,
And it's the most precious gift of all
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
You do not stand alone in your Battle
Your battle is our Battle
We may not be there in body
But we are there with you in Spirit
We are there in every beat of your Heart
In every whisper of the wind
In every thought and every touch
Every breath and every sound
We are there with you
You are wrapped in an Endless chain of Love
In every link we each send you a part of us
We send you some of our Strength
Some of our will to Fight
Some of our Courage
The most important of them all
We send you all of our Love
If you feel you need more
Just give that Endless chain a little tug
And we'll be there
Tug til you need us no more
Then we'll know you've gone Home
5/09/2014 Dedicated to my Aunt Nini, Wilma Thomas Gamble for Mother's Day. Sadly she lost her Battle w/ Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer on 5/30/2014.
Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2014
When we are with you, we always have fun,
You make us feel we're your special ones!
If we really need a hug or two,
we know that we can always depend on you.
Giving hugs is what grandparents do best,
And you do it better than all the rest!
Everything that my grandma does
is something special made with love.
She take time to add the extra touch
that says, "I love you very much."
She fixes hurts with a kiss and smile
and tell good stories grandma-style.
It's warm and cozy on her lap
for secret telling or a nap.
At 1 in the afternoon,It is always grandpa's call.
he asks"this app.... how to install??"
My Grandpa is a wonderful man,
Always believed in me, he knew that I can.
Wisdom of life, openly shared,
Comforted me, when I was scared.
Here is a secret, and it is true-
Grandma & Grandpa, my hearts belongs to you!
Copyright © sakshi sitoot | Year Posted 2014
I was just trying to remember the past
trying to remember the good people
and the bad people,
that i came across on my way,
i want you to know
that you are among the good people
that left a good trace in my life,
once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.
Copyright © VICTOR BUN | Year Posted 2012
A mother's love is so strong it has to come from above, for it takes a special
Heart to do what she can do.
A mother's love is so deep when she cries out the whole world should weep.
A mother can go through so much pain and still remain sain.
A mother can bear children come home from the hospital, cook, wash, take
Care of her child, kiss her husband and still wear a smile.
A mother has compassion and feeling that are so strong she can even tell
When something is wrong.
A mother is a single mother who is struggling to carry both roles, we give
You a "shout" out because that's a heavy load.
A mother is a grandmother who is still moving strong, she continues to love,
Nurture, and care for the young.
A mother is so many special things that god created wrapped up into one.
So " remember" to show her love all the time, and tell her what a fine job she
Happy mother's day to all the mother's out there and may god continue to
Bless you all!
Copyright © Cathy Holmes | Year Posted 2009
The poem is dedicated to my Mom..My bestest buddy ever..
wrote by Mrs.Madhavi.Suyog.Pagare
Mom - You are my harmonious World!!!!
MOM you are a beautiful angel who always had an great heart of making my problems simpler..just cant compare you with anyone in this world..You have been moonlighting in my life since many years..you are my shadow,you are my strength,you are great friend of my mine..thanks for being the bestest mom ever in my life..you struggled so hard for curving my career,u painted ma life with colourful rainbows,thanks for ur patience when I get panicked,you knw how to handle me..My life will be incomplete without you..I can't spend a single day without having thought abt you..you always shower with an unconditional love..you are the mesmerised persona..who lime lighted my life..my world..Wish you a very happy birthday and happy mother's day too..Love you mummy..
Mrs.Madhavi Suyog Pagare
Copyright © Madhavi Sarjare pagare | Year Posted 2013
God created hands for building things. Sometimes before you build something, you must first destroy something else.
Wildfires are never supposed to be put out. Their sole purpose is to burn the entire forest to the ground, transform living things to fertilizer, making room and preparing the soil for new growth.
It is almost paradoxical,
that there must be death before birth
My hands have stared the grim reaper’s reflection inside the pool of my best friends blood. An old student I used to tutor told me that I am the best brother she could have asked for
She said she will always love me
This was after I burned every bridge that traversed the gaps between us
Stared at her from across her desk
Told her that she will never be my sister. That our bloodlines will never match.
Our gene pools are just strangers that made the same wrong turn.
I spent so much time trying to find my way back that I never realized I was home in being lost I found something comfortable, without expectations. I only corrected myself after she spoke,
because I heard something familiar in her voice.
She sounded like family.
I have the scarred and wrinkled hands of a senior citizen
I’m only 22 years old
I once got my palm read
This gypsy woman told me that my lifeline should have been cut short when I hit 17.
That was a year ago.
What do gypsies know anyway
I have defied the odds my entire life.
Been broke down and built back up too many times to count
My fingernails chewed raw to the cuticle out of anxiety
I enjoy the taste of my own pain
Sometimes I use my own hands to destroy myself just to see who my real friends are who will build me back up when I can’t do it alone
My hands have a desire to learn how to cook, but I’m not that great.
So when I am alone,
I tend to be hungry, not just for food though.
I starve for someone to talk to
It never satiates, because it’s not you.
I know what it tastes like to completely give myself to someone.
My biggest fear is being abandoned.
When I look into your eyes, I am not afraid.
I need to cook you up a feast of myself, then feed it to you every day for the rest of our lives
Please tell me what I really taste like,
Years after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother moved into my aunt’s house.
Since I was 5, every time I speak to her she asks me:
“Spenser, did you thank God for waking you up today?”
I think to myself, I never did tell my eyes to open themselves. It just happened.
So I don’t know how to respond to her correctly.
I tell her that I love her, that I am writing a lot.
She tells me that she puts her hands together for me every night
Prays that I will get the job I want
I guess some prayers do get answered.
Sometimes two hands in the right position, matched with a conversation with God,
Can change things.
I even accidentally call that place home sometimes.
My dream is that my hands evolve into wolves, become part of a pack and work together with other hands to make a difference
Some days they will be the alpha male.
Full of confidence, at the head of the pack
Other days I need someone to show me the right way to go
Because if I’ve learned anything
It’s that I am not always right
I can not always be in control of everything
The only thing I have ever really wanted is to know
That my hands were truly
A part of something.
Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012
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 | Year Posted 2010
Super grandma girl, in her long green cape,
took a quick ride on a golden grape;
she slipped, greased lightning like, over the floor,
gunned her girl motor and flew out the door.
A scream she had heard out on the front lawn . . .
a grandchild in trouble???? No time for a yawn.
Like all super heroes she was there in a flash,
with a dash and a clash and a ladylike smash.
Her darling was bloodied,
pink ruffled dress muddied,
(the one she had just worn to church).
She had taken a lurch and fell from her perch
way up high in the old apple tree,
a place she was not meant to be.
Only grannie superheroes can give healing kisses
to cute little, sweet little, bad little misses,
but that is exactly what grandma's will do--
grab you up quick with loud hullabaloos,
and before you know it, you're better! It's true!
Just because super grandma really loves you.
But--one thing all grandkids need to remember:
grandma will love you the year through--to December!
You don't have to be bad and fall from a tree
to get super kisses from super old me.
Faye Lanham Gibson
August 3, 2014
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
written 10th Aug 2013
I am God's child, first and forever
I am known by many different titles, a daughter
I am a wife
I am a mother
I am a grandmother
I am a poet
I am by several ways, known as a sister
I am an acquaintance
I am a loyal friend
I am a stranger
I am a cousin
I am an Auntie
I am a niece
But who is this person, they all call "Denise?"
She is a child to God
She is a niece
She is a cousin
She is a stranger
She is a loyal friend
She is an acquaintance
She is known to many, a sister
She is a poet
She is a grandmother
She is a mother
She is a wife
She is known as a daughter to many
She is everything, she'd ever dreamed her life to be....
She is happier than she ever imagined possible
SHE IS "DENISE"
Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013
Outside the sterile nursery I stood,
So many snuggly swaddled newborns asleep in little plastic cribs;
my eyes hungered for only one . . .
A nurse was bathing you,
removing the remnants of the nest that formed you.
Her face filled with wonder and adoration.
"Is this one yours?"
Soundless question behind glass . . .
I had watched your head crown between your mother's legs;
rapt . . . awaiting the first glimpse of your face.
A mass of wet black curls and then your eyes;
you were born and I was smitten!
Unexpected, the rush of brand new love I did not know existed.
You opened the door to a different world,
love wild and fierce,
protective and totally absorbed.
Four more times that door has opened,
love's arrow piercing my heart . . .
when you hurt, the pain twists within me.
You are the soul sunshine I crave,
September 18, 2014
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014