*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
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
Copyright © Shanity Rain
I do not know?
B eautiful boy
R ough at play
Y oung and curious
C uddly and loving
E normous energy
A ngel from heaven
L oving and loyal
I rresistibly huggable
A dorably cute
N eat and outgoing
A pple of our eye
Copyright © Susan Gwynne-Galfe
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
dancing, acting, performing
Artist, musician, poetess, magician
entrancing, captivating, giving
Copyright © Shanity Rain
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”
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire
IT'S YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER,
YOU NEVER MET ME.
OVER THE YEARS I PICTURE YOUR FACE IN MY MIND.
I IMAGINE YOU HOLDING ME IN YOUR ROCKING CHAIR, SINGING
A LULIBY SONG TO ME.
WITH YOUR SILVER HAIR AND WRINKLE SOFT TISSUE SKIN.
GRANDMA , REMEMBER YOUR SON, MY FATHER.
HE USED TO HOLD ME IN HIS ARMS.
TELL ME HOW MUCH HE LOVES ME.
HE ROCKED ME TO SLEEP EVERY NIGHT
AND READ READ A BEDTIME STORY THAT
MADE MY EYES SLEEPY IN WONDERLAND.
I WISH YOU COULD OF SAW HOW MUCH HE LOVED ME,
A WONDERFUL FATHER I HAD.
WHENEVER I GOT SICK.
HE PLACED A COLD BROWN BRITTLE HAND TOWEL ON MY FOREHEAD,
KISSED MY RED SWOLLEN CHEEKS AND
MAGICALLY, THE FEVER DISAPPEARS AWAY.
HE USED TO TALKED ABOUT YOU GRANDA.
HOW BEAUTIFUL YOU WERE.
A LOVING AND CARING MOTHER YOU WAS TO HIM.
HE REALLY LOVED YOU AND GRANDPA LIKE TWO DANCING DOVES.
I LOVED YOU AND GRANDPA MY WHOLE LIFE,
LIKE YOU WERE WITH ME THROUGH MY CHILDHOOD.
I MISS MY FATHER SO MUCH.
NEVER HAD LONG ENOUGH TIME TO SHARE MY LIFE WITH HIM.
I NEVER GOT A CHANCE TO TELL HIM,
WHAT A WONDERFUL FATHER, DADDY HE WAS TO ME.
BUT I'M SURE.
SOMEHOW HE KNOWS I LOVED HIM DEEPLY.
HE DON'T WANT ME TO CRY ARE FEEL SAD.
I HOLD HIM IN MY HEART EVERYDAY.
AND I KNOW HE WATCHING OVER ME.
I GOT ALL THESE MEMORIES GRANDMA.
AND MY HEART FULL OF LOVE AND JOY.
I CAN CRY ONLY HAPPY TEARS.
KNOWING THAT YOU ALL IN HEAVEN TOGETHER,
SMILING DOWN ON ME.
THANK YOU, GRANDMA FOR BEING MY GRANDMA
AND HAVING A WONDERFUL SON, MY FATHER.
I LOVE YOU ALL.
SINCERLY, YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER AND DAUGHTER, ROBIN
Copyright © Robin Brown
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.
Contest-With these hands
Copyright © Nerrissa Jenkins
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
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
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
Up in that old attic are an antic Raggedy Ann Doll and a rocking chair well used by my grandmother.
Grand she was and as great as she to be; she instilled value and principality.
Up in that attic is an old Raggedy Ann Doll and an antic rocking chair my great grandmother rock from.
Short in statue but tall in her stance, my great grandmother guidance departed wisdom.
In that attic is all kind of memories of how my great grandmother and I loved each other as family.
Friends bonded and she as a life-long mentor, in that old attic resides expressive art.
In a far corner that was east to the sun stood a portrait of my great grandmother.
Knowledgeable was the face with eyes of hazel brown painted at the age of seventy-five (75).
The reminiscence of youth is a mural seen as I sat down in the rocking chair thinking… (“Mama, let’s read The Bible together.”)
In this old attic is love unknown because of the time I had with my great grandmother before she was beacon home.
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker
When you leave me, nothing will ever be the same again,
You have taught me so much and your love was never ending,
I will never forget the way you smiled and the way you made the ones around you feel safe,
This poem may not rhyme, but the words I feel for you are not in any dictionary,
therefore rhymes are impossible,
you have been my rock, my reliable, strong rock, but now my rock is floating away and soon I will never see my rock again.
I wont lie and say everything was grand,
we have never really met eye to eye,
and we have hurt each other with our words, but words would never hurt our heart if we did not feel love,
that is all I feel for you,
This is my love letter to you, my way of saying thank you,
thank you for the laughs and the cries and the ups and the downs,
this is my everlasting gratitude.
I love you.
Copyright © Jade Ma
I know it is not ‘nothing’ but white men in Ireland and the few niggers (on the up and up) that come from Scotland to party in those Pubs. My ancestors on my great great great grandmother side were from the immigrant Irish clan; therefore, Haley, Creek Indian, married a white man. She had Cherokee and Blackhawk blood to. Her family flourished in lineage and the skin comes in all colors. Note this! We are called the colored Sexton’s because Haley’s great granddaughter married a Guinea. The story became we are the colors of the United States of America. O’ jealousy manifested and now, I am the structure of the colored Sextons! Our story will be told. Therefore, our belief and faith is transcendent via the Holy Scripture,
In God We Trust!
PENNED ON AUGUST 31, 2014!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker
In a corner of the town, stands a building of antiques.
Not an ordinary building but one that percepts the imagination;
sense datum begins and a scene takes place.
I am transpose to my great grandmother days.
I see the rocking chair that she owed
and the Raggedy Ann Doll given to me by her.
She is telling the store’s owner about his antiques
that this rocking chair was her favorite piece.
Oh, and she would like this doll for her grandbaby.
She said she wanted several rooms of furniture.
All must be vintage like her.
However, do not think of her as old.
She was short and plump with olive skin.
Her hair radiance gleamed.
Her smile meant everything.
She almost forgot my small gift that is when she shouted Lagniappe.
Sponsor: Black Eyed Susan
Contest Name: Antiques
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker
rocks in the rocking chair
with her granddaughter by her side,
she’s grown into an ambitious young woman,
she asks nana how it was
when she was young &
wondering if so many people back then
were so disillusioned
with the way that things were going
in their country---
grandma asks her to turn off the tv.,
grandma turns to her to say,
“when i was younger i had hope that
things were gonna change,
i stood in the streets with my friends &
we fought against the police &
we all went to jail,
because we didn’t believe in the wars that
our country was waging,
we didn’t believe in the way that our
country was treating its own citizens &
we didn’t feel that things would change
unless we ourselves did something…”
and then there was a pause &
her granddaughter smiled anxiously,
because she always looked up to her
nana for guidance, advice & wisdom---
but her grandmother didn’t say a thing
after that---she just looked out the window
& kept rocking in her chair.
Copyright © andrew delapruch
Many Christmas stories are told every year,
and many songs are sung with pure cheer;
do I have a good story, at least one, I can tell,
or a simple song I can hum and spread good will?
When Lisa's grandmother passed away unexpectedly...
by her dying bed she kept an ivory music box,
and to her lovely granddaughter she gave it
to saying," Take care of it, and smile when you think of me!"
The day after granny died, she went down the dark cellar
to hide the ivory music box in an old dresser's drawer,
and once in a while she would open it and play it and listen to it sadly;
the pretty angel swirled...and Silent Night played as Lisa touched it tenderly.
It was almost Christmas Day and the pine tree wasn't decorated yet,
she rushed outside carrying a red basket with ornaments in it;
how could she had forgotten to adorn it with bulbs and garlands?
" Oh gosh, I feel like the Grinch!" she displeasingly uttered to herself.
There was no snow predicted for that evening and the illuminated town
was lacking Nature's magical snowflakes to make it festive and vibrant;
five minutes to midnight the choir from the nearest church gathered outside,
and waited for a miracle...silence...tranquility...every heart felt so alone.
But Lisa with an indomitable spirit ordered them to sing,
and they began singing looking up the clearest, starriest sky;
everyone seemed sad and some of them wanted to cry,
but before sadness set in...snowflakes began falling.
Lisa knew that it was the miracle she had been waiting for,
but something was missing from the snowy scenery...
she remembered her ivory music box she had put away,
and running, with awe in her bright eyes, she opened the cellar's door...
Clutched in her caring, careful hands, she carried the ivory music box,
laid it gently underneath the twinkling, scented Christmas Tree;
Lisa kissed it tenderly...until the golden angel started to swirl at midnight,
as that divine music filled the nippy air...making all cheeks so peachy.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Copyright © Andrew Crisci
Eyes wide and
blue with sparkles
I see you,
You see me and run,
straight into my arms.
You shout my name,
as I scoop you up.
If I could, I would
give you the world.
A sloppy kiss
on my cheek
and a hug.
"Love you, Grandma!"
"Love you, too, baby!"
Off you run
your world with
I am putty
in your hands.
For Edward Ebbs Anacreontic Verse 1 contest
Copyright © Kim Merryman
In the Southwest of Scotland
Marin county Argyle-shire
Extends a narrow mass of land
Known only as Kintyre
A certain mull on which is known
What sea the eye adore
As glitter to a rolling mist
As waves align the shore
Not far from there in Campbeltown
Five miles or maybe more
Sat Duncan Blaine McGeachy
His hat upon the door
Young daughter Isabella
Bound for distant farms
Alas to Rocky Mountain House
Clutches in her arms
Where Peter Paul of Eckville
Did spy the raving lass
More fair than any local
And quite a lovely yass
Peter Paul and Isabella
Rose the Adams pack
Jack Loreen and Mary
James Peter at the back
I remember James Peter
Marge would say J. P.
And when she called him Jimmy Joe
He’d hide behind a tree
Old Jimmy Joe he got to know
How grievous love could be
He stood inside a few short days
More tall than any tree
His mother Isabella
His darling Marjorie
Would both depart on one foul whisk
The maker for to see
Of Jim and Marge had come a brood
As fine a brood could be
Of Randy Eddy and Janelle
And my sweet Laura Lee
Copyright © Mike Martin
On Halloween just around midnight
an eerie sound filled the night.
As a clock nearby chimed out the hour,
she prayed for daylight to a higher power.
That morning, on a mission that couldn't wait,
she gulped her coffee and cleaned her plate,
grabbed a lantern and climbed the stair
to the attic, if she dare.
Cobwebs and dust did abound.
For years no one had been around
but this is from where came that sound;
The source of it must be found.
She knew what she was looking for;
She packed it away years before.
As she unwrapped many a treasure,
one, in particular, gave her pleasure.
She found it sitting behind a box
and sure enough, she heard ticktock.
Alive again was grandmother's clock
but now a mystery to unlock.
When she was little, she'd wind the spring
which kept the old clock running
but who had wound the spring this time
that caused the clock to midnight chime?
Could grandmother have visited that night
to wind the clock and set it right?
It's the only answer that came into her head.
After all, Halloween is the day of the dead.
October 17, 2015
Copyright © Janece Terry
It's funny how my grandkids hear
just certain things I say.
They fail to hear "Clean up your room"
but hear "Go out and play."
Those ears that don't hear "Eat your peas"
hear "Made your favorite pie."
Some things I say get lassoed in
while others gallop by.
published in Lyric Magazine
Copyright © Janice Canerdy
The way the light hits the ground
leads to the sudden appearance
of shadows upon your frame,
and your wisps of white hair
are made whiter by the sunlight.
I stare at your silhouette,
realizing that the more years go by,
the more of a shadow
you are becoming to me.
We are distanced by generations,
browbeaten by past mistakes
and family secrets.
You've learned to keep your words safe
in the womb of your mouth,
occasionally making use
of the rolling "r"s
of your native tongue.
we are also connected by
the language of poetry and ink stains
that courses deep through our veins,
by the Navajo stories I still see
etched in the corner of your eyes,
by the withered hands that have
forgotten how to use a pen.
And yet, it is not enough
to have you sitting so silently.
And yes, I crave more.
So I walk towards you now, and
reach for your hand.
Silhouettes don't speak,
and I don't intend them to,
but they are always there
Copyright © Felicia Elizab
I wake to the sounds of laughter and lively music (jazz, I think) flowing free from the empty tenement down the hall. The smooth harmonies and upbeat tempos expand to fill every corner within me. It’s an early Saturday morning in spring and warm enough to leave my sweater hanging in the closet. Daddy reads the newspaper headlines, a ring of cigar smoke encircling his bald spot. My younger siblings are spread out in front of a black and white TV screen watching Felix the Cat, and I stand at the kitchen sink rinsing the breakfast dishes, still listening. I am almost twelve. As the oldest, I’m expected to help Mama in the kitchen. My blue eyes usually ride the sunbeams while I wash. I also greet the cloud sculptures, carved from my imagination, as they blow by. Today, the kitchen curtains are drawn, and only soft, morning light filters through. I tap my feet and continue to wash, losing track of time while staring at the panels of tiny yellow flowers.
When Grandma floats into the kitchen, vibrant and carefree like a butterfly, I feel her there. She asks me where my head’s been, knowing the answer but choosing to snap me back into the reality of dirty dishes. Before I can speak, she picks up a sponge and starts washing. She’s never far away when I need her. I am, what she calls, the keeper of her gift - the only one to receive her sixth sense. My mama calls me foolish for believing. She says there’s no place on this earth for a girl with a head full of impractical dreams and hopeless plans. She wants me to grow up proper and civilized, but Grandma knows me. She understands that my mind and feet are always on the move – twirling, skipping, and dancing to my heart’s latest song. Grandma encourages me with her love and acceptance. We feel the same spirits on the wind, we listen to the guiding whispers of our ancestors, and we know the colors and music of our souls.
As I finish washing the last dish, Grandma starts to dry. I look down to see her toes tapping to the same rhythm as mine. I ask her if she hears the music, too, already knowing. She doesn’t answer; she just smiles lovingly with her wise eyes. She never complicates life’s truths with unnecessary explanations. She speaks to my soul without a word from her lips. If I live to be ninety-nine, I’ll never stop believing.
I brush my granddaughter’s hair
and look into her blue eyes
like mine - full of deep secrets,
she’s ready to share.
*Prose ending with a dodoitsu
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 11/21/15
for Scott's Haibun Free-Style Contest
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders