Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Free Verse Grandmother Poems | Free Verse Poems About Grandmother

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Free verse | |

Summers Eve

~Summer’s Eve ~


I am a woman!
I am proud-

I am everything you want. 
Plus more
The adoring wife,
A beautiful mother, 
A grandmother a granddaughter 
A daughter, a sister,
A lover, the aunt.
Your enemy, your friend.
I am the working lady.
A widow left behind.

  I AM!
The Spawn of Adam's rib-

  I AM!
A mentor throughout this world. 
A lady with class, sometimes a material girl.
A flower, and the sound of rain.


I am the color of the rainbow. 
I am deeper than the sea. 
I am the pink ribbon you wear.
I am delicate like snow.

  I AM!
The sun and the moon in your eyes.
A twister during dark skies.

  I AM!
The Daughter of Eve-

And, here is the only feeling I want to endorse. 
 Summer's Eve.

*****
In honor and appreciation to all the women of the world.
Happy Mother’s day!

By;PD


Details | Free verse | |

Passing of a Matriarch

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**


Details | Free verse | |

GRANDPA

*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*

Hi, grandpa it's me again!
Your dentures sit in an open glass
Do you 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 doesn't want you to cry.

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

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

Hello, Grandpa!
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Do you like the way she looked in that pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
I like the walking stick she handcrafted, the day your needed support
It kept you in balance every time we took long hikes in the woods.

Hello grandpa, it's me again! 
Here I sit holding your hand
I have no more tears
Soon you will see grandma
Please tell her hi, and I know you will be there the day I die
Bye, grandpa
Give grandma a kiss, and tell her I miss her

By; PD


Details | Free verse | |

The Woman

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 -
retribution,
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,
unapologetic,
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,
Woman!

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
                          in time;

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,
timeless ancestry;
when you become,
when you come
full circle;

you will see yourself in all things, 
and your journey, will see you back

home.



*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)


Details | Free verse | |

Recalling Her

It is thirty six years ago, and I am with her in the garden,
where July is a picnic of egg sandwiches, cress-stippled,
the fuzzy down of peaches, acid-yellow tang of lemonade.
Her fingers have the delicacy of dancers
as she deftly mixes paint on a palette blue as the sky -
blobs of acrylics bright as sweet shop candy.

Summer is a sizzling colour wheel, spinning in its heat hues -
cadmium orange, pyrrole red, gold ochre -
those fever flames that blaze across her page.

My small world is warmed by the sun in her smile.

Russian vine stitches a delicate doily over the shed roof.
The heat-glazed garden shimmers and buzzes.
There is a twilight world under sweet clusterings of lilacs:
a cool shock of shade, pendulous-legged black flies
hovering in the murky mauve.
China white stars of jasmine light my way.
Please keep me close. Let me stay.

*

It is twenty six years ago, a morning of mourning,
and the notes of the dead bells toll
as, mist-muffled, they roll
through November's sleet streets.

I close my eyes and the sun in her smile parts the clouds.

Sober-suited people crush and cluster in pews;
row upon row of perylene black, winter-pale faces titanium white.
Stained glass windows filter and warm the ash-grey light
until her coffin is a vibrant palette of rainbows.

There are stories - lots of stories - anecdotes,
a crimson-backed journal she wrote,
a painting she painted, coffin-propped,
a poetry reading - one of her own -
Tapestry is a wondrous thing, in it the lovely colours sing. . .

Creamed rice-colour roses heap sweet
on her stone - a slate plate serving up a dead name -
and carnations splash cadmium scarlet
like blood throbbing from the gash of grief's raw wound.

*

It is now, and I am alone, taking a short cut home
through evening's rich palette.
Elegiac elms shed viridian tears,
and the sky is a burnt sienna explosion.
October's umber seeps into November's sepia tones.

My mind is coloured with her and then.
I hold a small cameo box that held
the colourful spill of her pills: kaleidoscope planets
orbiting my loneliness, spinning off into nothingness. . .

Dark figures fill the park: silhouettes, shadows
following me home; spirits stepped from her portraits,
faces pushed down into coat collars, crinkled with frowns.

Paint-pinned people in their primaries and pastels,
on canvas, under glass; stopped heartbeats of the past.
Trapped moments on paper and boards.

I close my eyes and see the sun in her smile,
recall how, since her passing, life has become a free fall,
a parapet leap without parachute.

And the smudged charcoal lines of memory
are beginning to blur, fading like her watercolours. . .





in memory of my grandmother


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


Details | Free verse | |

EULOGY FOR THE ELDON GALLERY, WATERLOO


Once, it sold cultivated 
pigment, before it became 
a catacomb of cardboard drapes.
Makeshift out-of-business signs
made me wonder if the gallery owner 
intended his display,
subtitle: irony frames rage. 

Gone, the watercolour 
weeping chartreuse, a harsh backdrop 
of morose blues; Gone,  the oil 
on wood, knife strokes applied 
so thickly, it almost moved; Gone, 
charcoal sketches of thunderstorms 
greying the shores of Port Elgin.

Dark, now, halls that sheltered 
dreamscapes, art undisciplined, squeezed 
into corners, elbowing for attention. 
I ache 
                                for one dove 

that clung to an azure sky, 
the coo of my name, 
but I'd been unable to take him home 
to my cube cage. He deserved 
a rectory or a view that would provide 
sanctuary. His wings had beat against 
pulse points; one feather
tickled a memory 

of a robin that aimed 
for a cloudless sky but
collided with a picture window —  
its point of contact left a scarlet smear.
Grandmother carefully wrapped 
the corpse in yesterday’s news.

I trudged to the garbage can, 
unseen, found D-E-A-D
in its shroud, snuck to the garden 
and buried it under tall phlox, 
florid snap dragons; a child sobbing, 
wrenched by a world 
where beauty is fragile, 

                                disposable.

Today, people walk along the street, 
hold devices that fail to signal
that something living slowly
starves to death, atrophies; I watch
a happy girl point to a puddle, 
but her mother fails to see 
the large coin it holds.

There had been a portrait, 
like a sun shower, its perfect fault lines 
of light and rain, a woman shoed in waves, 
almost overtaken, her footsteps 
stolen by unnatural foam…
I am so sorry, artist unmet, 
do you even know 

                                you've flown 

into a shut window. 







Details | Free verse | |

My Micke boys

                To be called ..
            ~   Grandma is a Honor ~

        I have been blessed with 4  Grandchildren

       ~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb "  He is God's Angel ~
   ~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~

     For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
       he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
      ~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
 
              Time passed another gift to see
               we are " Mickes" and Loved 
            Our Dad held the title in Baseball 
                   ~  that's how we roll ~
           those children are Grandmas hero's 

       The Irish they love big and Family is everything 
        The brothers will protect the beautiful sister 
              ~ as many lads will be calling ~

        Every time my Grandson hits a home run
     There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand 

       It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs 
           ~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
     either baseball or Art  ~ you shall find your gift given

                These children have been blessed~
                 ~  a beauty to hard to describe 
        If you think not ~~  Take a look at the Mom  
                     That girl can stop Traffic   
                    after raising three and still~ 

          "Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "

     May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell


Details | Free verse | |

A Whistle in the Breeze

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




08172011400p433


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. 


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       http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAchI2nu9yY

_______________________________________________________________
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.)



______________________________________________________________


Details | Free verse | |

NELL


They called her Nell
Her parents    the brash    rugged 
transplanted Irishman
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



Details | Free verse | |

Moon bridge

The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.

I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.

In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
            the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
         wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.

How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face 
of eternities long time clock...

I ache with wanting, with need and passion
          it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
                              when I faced realities shock.

Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
             and make the broken whole?


I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me. 
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
                that so many leavings have left?

Cherish and love to honor and protect
             but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
     and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
      with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?

I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
      this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
   with the brush held in your hand

I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.


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.


Details | Free verse | |

Childhood trifles

those days the sun flew like corn flour 
freshly ground at the millrace 
even in winter it was yellow  
when I pressed it down with my thumb 
like an unfastened button on my chest 

I hardly cut my way with a stick 
through the tall weed field 
until my knee high socks 
were filled with thistle tassels 
jumping over the fence like a thief 
into our apple orchard
so no one knew where I was 

when the Big Dipper rose over the barn 
I slipped on the manger’s opening
inside freshly cut grass 
stealing my grandma’s small chair for milking  
singing for the young foal with caramel skin 

those days all hearts were red and warm 
in the shape of a gingerbread heart 
each star was a story 
whispered by fairies in the daffodils’ glade


Details | Free verse | |

GRANNY

On hearing your death
What creep in my head was
Akon's Pot of Gold
Its melody within heart
You have served your purpose
So Rest in Peace
Born to Love
But it enslaved and betrayed
And onwards you pressed
Your foils nurtured your old age
As strong as you were
Your battle on the thin line
You won hands down
I admire You
Last week I saw and greeted 
You were fit
What an awesome recovery
Indeed your Maker wiped your tears
But now it is finished
Well done
As a kid I run onto your bosom on visits
Then rained on me praises
But I lost contact
Next I saw you on life’s field of war
Then despised, not long
I grew wise to know
For with time all will grow
Was in turn and showered care
Hope you recognized
Thanks for your Blessings
My half seed of lineage
May God lay you to a Peaceful rest
Where Love will search to find you
Your foils cry
Swollen red are our fragile eyes
Thousand thorns within our hearts
Pain abounds here
May your Spirit comfort us
Smile down once again
Smile down once again
Memories well built would be well kept
Strong willed, Religious, Grateful 
Lord we are thankful
Yours forever
A Single Parent's sweat lay to Rest in Peace.

©Kofi Asokwa-Nkansah


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? 
 
 



Details | Free verse | |

Emptiness


Emptiness 

Empty yard full of memories
Memories of laughter and songs
Songs of love under the fern trees
Trees that shade grandma’s empty chair


08.06.2015
@ Ronald Zammit - All Rights Reserved

Inspired by Nette's contest Four Lines Only


Details | Free verse | |

Princesses

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


Details | Free verse | |

A Heart Stop Away

tiny lass who graced this world joyfully brightening her grandmother’s life less than 12 short years smile so angelic, it could crown a Christmas tree never seeking sympathy Joycie’s zest for life drew admiration leaving her gracious memory in her family’s hearts much we can learn from Joycie who never succumbed to self-pity each day, a celebration of life albeit far too brief her smile still shines in heaven glowing beacon in the night sky her grandmother finds comfort seeing Joycie’s face -- a glowing star
Dedicated to Joyce Johnson and based on her poem “Joycie”


Details | Free verse | |

I remember you

	
I Remember last Wednesday,
I can see your smile, your eyes.
If I only knew it was the last day
I would have only stared into those eyes.

Where are you?
If I only knew

You used to visit me one day
Every week after school,
Always on Wednesday,
That was a Golden rule.

Now I know you rest,
And I always keep in mind:
to me you were the best.


Details | Free verse | |

Gifted Hands

A pinch of salt, a dab of pepper, a spinkle of Mrs.Dash
Lets mix it all together
Gifted hands starting at the age five
Helping grandma in the kitchen all the time
Choosing to say in the house to learn all the ingredients
Instead of going outside to play hide and seek
Grandma always told me my hands are special,
You wait, watch and see what I tell you
Gifted hands is for certain people only
The miracles that you will be able to do 
Don't forget what grandma told you
6 bars of 10oz cracker barrel cheese, eggs, carnation milk,
seasonings, salt & pepper
When you put it all together, this makes macaroni & cheese
One of the gifted hand's favorite dishes
It will melt in your mouth like a piece of candy
Grandma always told me my hands were gifted
Now I cater for a variety of people
Gifted hands is one of my best qualities.

Nerrissa Jenkins
Contest-With these hands
12/17/13
Visual #2


Details | Free verse | |

Love Never Fades

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


Details | Free verse | |

Grandma

With the gentle
touch of  hand
She brought feelings
of peacefulness
Her smile lit up the
world 
Love radiated from
her heart
You found peace and
contentment
in her warm loving
arms
Compassion in her
smile
A gentleness of an
angel
in the midst of her
own suffering
In all her trials
her spirit was not
broken
It was God's
strength that
carried her through
The precious moments
spent with her
Brings loving
memories of my dear
grandma.


Details | Free verse | |

Grandmother's Hand

I saw a picture just once a long time ago
I don't know the artist's name or from where he came
But the image I'll never forget, that much I know
I hope its beauty to you I can explain
A small child's hand reached up so round and small
Bashfully grasping from seemingly no where at all
Towards what appeared to be his grandmother's hand
Weather worn and wrinkled hanging down 
Tattered clothing and swollen knuckles, calloused palms
Yet still reaching
Reaching to guide and help yet another young life
Who still needed her strength
Their fingertips touching, left me wondering
Would she live long enough for him to grab hold?

©Donna Jones
2-25-2013



Details | Free verse | |

Cloud Nine from an Asian Child

Hot jasmine tea
My grandmother liked to drink
Everyday at 10
While tending to ancient herbs and oriental spices
Before Day’s of our Lives
She never understood it but she liked it anyway
And after her afternoon nap
She always had an aroma like that unforgettable liquid
In the green bottle by her bed
While the rice cooks
Steaming white fluff
That chokes your throat when you swallow too fast
Floating along the rice there’s green things
I learned not to ask
You must clean your bowl
She said
Otherwise you’ll end up too skinny and get sick
When the sun hits your head

Eggrolls, plump and short
Loved to waddle around in fish sauce before it jumps into mouths
Just like the chickens with the head cut off that Bac Phoung
Plucked the feathers  off accompanying that sticky sweet smell of death
Like sweet cake and dumplings
Stolen from the wrapper
Left on the table that grandpa forgot to put away
Cousins come and go
Hugs and kisses, fights and shows
From 36 of us
We hold games and play with the hammock
Disciplined with chopsticks
We knew better then play Street Fighter all day
Though it’s happened once or twice

New Years is the best however
A dollar from each aunt or uncle
Lasts only but a day
Until the icecream man comes and we spend
Each and every dime
On Bullets, Tweety Shaped Popsicles and Lucas
Ninja turtles and Daffy Duck with bubblegum eyes


Details | Free verse | |

Grandma

There's not much to say.
I knew her, know some things,
but certainly not all.

I know how little she put up with fools,
how her cooking surpassed so many others',
how simultaneously sweet and hard she could be.
I know about her smoking,
about her jewelry, her faith,
all these I'll hold close to me.

Every single spark, every star,
shines with such a glow, such a marvelous radiance,
that we can't gaze too closely at it,
lest we cause ourselves pain.
And yet, despite ourselves, again and again,
we do;
because it's not within us to resist
the sheer beauty of it all,
of stories and of life.

A bouquet of tulips for you.
We all miss you already, Grandma.
I miss you.
I know Heaven's got you, taking no guff as always,
making sure we're all doing alright.
I love you.
Andrew James (McGillicutty) Sprouse


Details | Free verse | |

My grandma

My grandma

I see her
Seating on her bed
Pillows propped with cotton
Circling her like witches
Around a cauldron pot
Her skin glowing
From her light within.


Details | Free verse | |

A Grandmother's legacy

Warming lights surround you
Quilting the sharp silence
Outside dawn begins
Earth starts stretching 
Straightening out the knots
Caught from hours of slumber
Night moves on to blacken another sky
And Calmness stills the room
All is as it should be

As you drift in an endless sleep
I know not if you'll wake
Or lay your eyes on me once 
more
Softening my heavy heart
As death appears, he waits by 
your side
Head dipped in respect
White and gold robes I study of him
I beg him for more time
An hour, a day, a second 
His comforting eyes say no
It is your time and my heart stills
Now I must let you go

Aged hands under silken skin
Once tended plants and raised children
Loose their warmth
A last breath escapes your 
lungs
I look at death pleadingly 
But nothing can be done
I have to let you go now
You must do this alone

Death picks up your soul up as 
an orb
Glittering like a large diamond
To ferry you to your kin
I see them through the void 
I see them waiting

never again will we sit on the 
porch
As dew wakes up the grass
Trees shacking off the night before
Us, just being us
I'd soak up your wisdom
That resided in your soul
Every snippet a precious gem to me
Id bury them within
Where no other could reach them
Where no other could steal them

I show no tears
As they only fuel pain
From a young age
You taught me to be brave
Knowing my life would shatter 
me
Often I'd feel pain
So your compassion carried me
Over potholes and rocky paths
Your soothing voice steadied 
me
Till I made it safely past

Now Laying out your body
Ready for your last journey
I wonder if I told you enough
The love I have for you
I was blessed everyday 
You were in my life
Things seemed easier 
With you at my side 
Life was not so daunting
The hill was not so steep
Now you gone I'm shattered
Watching an endless sleep

Time with you was precious
For this truth I smile 
The mirror reflects parts of you 
Placed in this heart of mine
Happy you left peacefully 
And I was at your side
Inner gladness reigns 
As not just your jam recipe
Was handed down to me


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,
10/22/13

     


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
but,
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.