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Grandmother Thank You Poems | Thank You Poems About Grandmother

These Grandmother Thank You poems are examples of Thank You poems about Grandmother. These are the best examples of Grandmother Thank You poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry |

Your My Dear Friend

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"


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) |

Grandma

I was your first born grandchild, the first grandchild to know you.
40 years of time passed before I was born.
You gave life to six children, built a home for your family to grow.
Your children embarked on their own life journeys.
They went in many directions, spread from one coast to another.
But always drawn back to that, Sugar Shack.
40 years passed. I was born.
I spent my time with you grandma, learning all the things little girls should.
I remember the music, oh the music!
You played your piano, and I was awed.
I have never forgotten sitting with you on your piano bench.
The calm, the music, the pages of music turning.
Your fingers floating over the piano keys like magic.
Nor have I forgotten the stories passed on, letting me learn my heritage.
You told me where I get my love of horses from. To follow my dream, to work at the racetrack,
Encouraging me to follow it through.
You knew what path I wanted to follow - thank you for believing.
I remember the years with a smile, with tears in my eyes.
 The laughter, summer vacations.
Those years will never be forgotten, but held close to my heart. 
Grandma, only 40 years has passed since I was born. 
I thank you for every one of those years!


Details | Narrative |

Healing Words

My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart.
My father, and my grandfather before has the same part.
I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say.
I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today.
With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face.
With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace.
Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay.
Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K.
Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing.
Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing.
With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all.
With it some being a problem that I remember I recall.
My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve.
My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve.
I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life.
I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife.
With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience.
With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence.
Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love.
Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above.
Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family.
Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.


Details | Light Poetry |

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU

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.


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)


Details | I do not know? |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | Rhyme |

Dedication

To my Grandma whose bond I share
For everything you have done with love and care

So much and yet you give more
Endless are the things I thank you for

Here is something simple, a mere piece
From the gifts you helped nurture and release


Details | Free verse |

My Grandmother

My grandmother. 
I love her so. 
She is my favourite, 
person in my family.

She loves to bake, paint, and sew.
She loves me, I feel, the most. 
We both are artist,
of nature and of love.

We love to bake,
though we can hardly ever see eachother.

She lives in Michigan, and I in Germany. 
But whenever I can, I love to see her. 
She is that sort, the sweet and round kind. 

She is the grandmother version of me.
She loves to read, loves to write. 
We are almost exactly alike.

So here's to my grandmother,
the best in the world.
Here's to my grandmother,
MY Grandma. 
Grandma Challenger.

Love,
Zach


Details | Free verse |

To my grandma

                                   To my Grandma
                      November 21st 1957- May 7th 2012

A mother proudly raising her 3 beautiful children.
A son that will soon go fight for our country
A daughter that will be blessed with four children
An other Daughter that will be gifted in the arts.
That will always be there for them
To make a joke
Or heal a wound.

A Wife to a solder of the old red white and blue
For 34 years of being married on July 19th.
Always being there for him when he needs her most
And happy care for him in sickness and health.

A grandmother to four young girls
An artist and a poet
A rock-star at heart
A soon to be teacher 
And a little princess
Has cared for and looked after 
Was there to talk to when no one else would listen
Would love to hear or see their talents 
Always had a blasted watching their favorite tv shows or movies.

That's what I think an awesome grandma is.
I go to her resting place and with a smile tears rolling down my face i say
"I love and miss you Grandma"


Details | Blank verse |

She Said








She Said
By Spidey Williams

She gave me a kiss followed by a long hug
With the words “Never will I betray your love”
I’m here with you to the very end 
As your grandmother and mother’s best-friend
I know you are scared to trust 
But I understand you’re not much different then us
The longer we live the more we learn
The more we embrace love the more we get burned
The more we refrain from love the more we cry
The more we ignore love the more we lie
Life is what we make it I was always taught
So what life have we made for each other and how much did it cost
Were we over charged or did we fail to bargain for what we bought
Did we buy at first glance?
Or knowingly did we take that chance 
Thinking we could sell it back at a higher price
Not realizing few people would actually want our life
Yet we live life like there’s no tomorrow
Then justify all of our sorrows
Then we act surprise when tomorrow comes and goes
When seasons changes and we finally reap what we have sewed
Realizing today is the aftermath of yesterday and tomorrow is the direct result of 
today
Yet when do we now have time to pray 
Or should I say 
When will we take time to say okay?
I am only me
But I can be more than me
If only I accept the now for now and worry later later
Than maybe life wouldn’t seem that bad now later

I went to interrupt her and to voice my concerns
When she placed one finger on my mouth then
She said,
You said the longer we live the more we learn
The more you refrain from loving the more pain burns
The more we embrace love the more we cry
The more we ignore love the more we lie
Life is what it appears to be
Even in the time of misery 
Life isn’t really mystery 
It is a puzzle with all the necessary pieces of life
You have everything you need you just have to fit them right
  She said!


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