Amazing Nature Photos

Religious Grandmother Poems | Religious Poems About Grandmother

These Religious Grandmother poems are examples of Religious poems about Grandmother. These are the best examples of Religious 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 | I do not know? | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

The number the brand

When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child,  chai .

I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met 
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .

Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?

It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History 
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .


The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.

It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing ,  cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .

There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love,  and reunited with the ones they lost .

The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . 
You could not,  but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . 
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet,  of the Hostility .

I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish,  chosen Religion.

There as I held her frail , old hand  , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago .   In 1945  , once in our distant, yet Frightening  past . 

We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
                                " Etta Babooshka Kofman  "

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

We Went to Grandma's House


We went to Grandma’s house the other day! And brought some gifts along the way! We enjoyed our time and our wonderful visit We’re glad we had time with her! We wouldn’t miss it! We took her out and did some shopping in town… There were some good buys waiting to be found! We had a chance to have dinner with her too! This was an opportunity we wanted to do! We had a chance to talk about the days of past. Our memories of her, is something that will last! We enjoyed our time with grandma! Yes we did! She always has something worthwhile to give! We thank the Lord for a special grandma like this! Our times together have been happy and bliss! Please take good care of her Lord, is our prayer! Keep her in your tender mercy and care! We look forward to the next time we spend together! She’ll always be our grandma! Today and forever! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2012

Details | Abecedarian | |

CHRISTMAS Abecedarian

Amorous is the tingling touch they feel
Blooming kisses as flaming as red bells
Convey passion in their glowing eyes 
Directing fantasy-filled thoughts outside
Enamored by the heavy snowfall on the elms
Farther they vanish into the hushed hills of night
Gorgeous and calm is the scenery of pure white
Dashing sleights plunge downhill as screams rise  
Ensuing the feeling of glee in the northern sphere
Gorging on almond cookies is heavenly delight
Hot chestnuts steaming on logs are tempting 
Increasing their aroma in rooms and nostrils
Jugs with hot chocolate take away all shivers
Kettle whistles for grandma's black tea 
Leaner than anyone she'll be a centenarian
Mother prepares a lavish tray of appetizers   
Neapolitan superb cuisine in every delicious bite
Overjoyed by the compliments she has received
Pours Asti Spumante* in thin and tall glasses
Quetzal in cage watches and chirps for some 
Raging is the fluttering of wings being ignored
Sinking in somber mood he becomes somnolent
Time for a caffe macchiato with Panettone*
Ultimatum for those dozing off on the sofa                             
Vibrant is the response invigorating their thrill
While outside lampposts give off their gleam
Xenophobe of a massive storm seems insidious
Year is ending in a festive house that loves Christmas
Zealous faces look up and ask Jesus for His blessing



* Asti Spumante is an Italian white sparkling wine.
* Panettone is an Italian sweet bread
   with candied fruit and raisins.


Entered in Shadow Hamilton's contest,
" Christmas Abecedarian "
Written on 12/ 30/ 2015

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Gardens of Grandma

Her talented hands paint the piano
with perfect classical concerts, and
technology is the basket where her
music can always make rainbows
in the sky before my eyes, and one
day before my grandchildren's eyes.

Black and white photos of the past
suddenly become a bouquet of flowers
in my hands, and color rise like the sun.
Their faces move and breathe, since
I realize that their blood now bounds
through my heart on a day to day reality.

Stories bring alive faces never seen,
and the individual words are thousands
of puzzle pieces where in the end, time
binds them all together, and I understand
the history of my family even more.

Her religious faith, a carved wooden box,
where daily Scripture gives her strength.
Also, the belief in God blooms in a forest
of strong thoughts in her mind. She gladly
listens to the singing birds, the angels of
Heaven and tells their story to me.

Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

Grandma's Becoming A Republican

Grandma’s Becoming A Republican!

There was something that I was able to hear…
Grandma is going to be a Republican this year!

I remember her talking of the great depression.
Many years that created a lot of tension!

I remember her talking of days gone past.
Wondering how much longer
 our country would last.

I remember her talking of doing many things.
And has experienced 
what life daily brings!

Because of how things have
 been so dramatic.
She decided long ago to be democratic!

Beyond all of the politics and chatter…
She loves God!  And that’s what matters!

We love her dearly!  And it’s been decided…
Everything she needs…  
God has provided!

We congratulate you grandma with your choice!
We say “we love you!” 
With one heart and voice!

Our prayers are with the choice grandma’s givin!!
May God bless her! Each day she’s livin’!

By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013