Spring Grandmother Poems | Spring Poems About Grandmother
These Spring Grandmother poems are examples of Spring poems about Grandmother. These are the best examples of Spring Grandmother poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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a missing rose
lay on her stone
another Spring blooms
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2013
The Black butterfly waves away her adorations
All she seeks is seclusion, subsuming slave to mortification
The Dear Air is all she can breath, captive of imaginary dreams
The Beacon resonates, but the hope isolates
The Wasteland's silky fingers caressing the virgin's face
So she is now, the covet of the damned
Programmed to every victim's pain
Carrying the weight of every sorrow
Drowning in wrongs she does not know
But paradise is at loss; she must go
Nature sighs after the bite
All my hopes fading
Don't look at me with those sorrowful eyes
How do you know exactly what I'm feeling?
I'm just the ghost flower passing by
And you can hear nature's sigh
Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2013
Crash down softly, where the red crush deepens
Charming, snatch your cherries from the stem
Rude health walking in the greenburst showers
Weather wonders whether she's with him.
Then fly downhill for the lost sensation
Climbing with a shudder back up fell,
Rainjacked half smiles and a skywide feeling
Rush to hunker down the shattered elm.
She could suffocate the hyacinthes
Breeding and pervading every pore
Skim-stop stones among the lead-tipped peril
Breathing once again in semaphore.
They play catch perhaps, a shimmy in slow motion
Every brush a shock to seek again
All fall ragwards in the bluebell clusters
Laughing, shrinking, knowing... something.
Jill woos butterflies while you play Hamlet
Cradling a half-brick in your hands
Grass-stained livery that can't stay forever
Sedge bonfire from nowhere and that hound.
Who'll tell grandma that the wolf has eaten?
Who'll break the bank for just a dare?
Leave mudboots ashamed to save twelve seconds
Gunning for the best seat in the lair.
Copyright © PV Harrington | Year Posted 2015
Moving backward in time,
there is new sunshine,
the forbidden delight
of disobedient barefooted prancing
through cool grasses,
freshly green and waiting
to caress tiny warm toes
and naughty little hearts.
A wicked world marches on
but not between our clotheslines
hung with spanking clean white sheets
flapping in the chilly spring breeze
where joyous abandon
cannot be kept inside
as cold, slender blades tickle our feet
and an ecstatic younger sister screeches,
“Look at us, Grandma!
Grandma’s switch was a lesson that stung.
Copyright: Anne Morin, 2007
Copyright © Anne Morin | Year Posted 2016