Best Grandfather Poems
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Grandfather
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Grandfather
Poem
A Sepia Recollection
Sitting here, on these old porch steps, that I have always known
A weathered stoop, with gray-painted floorboards
The creaks and groans, the flaws and chips, so familiar to my hand
I've come to some conclusion,
and I'm surprised to understand,
how well I know each board, each slat,
the shape, the size, the warps, the cracks
each rusty nail, ....
but not the facts of you.
Oh yes, I've seen a glimpse or two,
in photographs, I have a few...
I see a robust man, in yellowed hues, of vintage stock...
A house, a barn, and land is strewn with stones to move.
You stand behind a plow and horse, in coveralls,... a mustache too .
I do recall, so vaguely gray, as gray as slats beneath my hand...
a jolly man, your wrinkled face,
with smile, a laugh, a loving way
A dream I have, or is it real?
Is that me when I was two? Sitting here, beside you then?
Or is it just my wish to know... more than just a trace of you?
I never knew the man you were, your hopes your dreams...
the thousand schemes that brought you to these rocky slopes
so far from where your hopes began
Where steep cliffs rose and seas were blue.
I look beyond those furrowed rows,...
where grasses grow in amber waves
to ponder how it came to be....
that I am me,....
who came from you;
a man I never knew.
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Inspired by Craig Cornish's Contest: 'The Most Facinating Person I Never Knew'
(To watch the youtube video recitation:)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hF4GCLqf9_o
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Grandfather
Poem
GRANDPA
*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*
Hi grandpa it's me again,
Your retainer is old and sits 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 final goodbye.
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma, she does not 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?
She read me a story before I took a nap.
She enjoyed brushing my hair with her hands.
I love the way she rocked me to sleep every night until the age of four.
Hello grandpa,
I stored your hearing aid away.
Do you remember that special musical box in grandma drawer?
I opened it last night, just to watch the ballerina dance.
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma loved inside that box.
I hope you don’t mind I’m keeping grandmothers favorite scarf.
Hello Grandpa,
I love grandma’s picture frame.
Do you like the way she looked in that pretty sundress?
Grandpa I miss the things grandmother would do for you.
I like the walking stick she handcrafted, the day your back needed the support.
It keeps you in balance, for those long hikes in the woods that I enjoyed.
Hello grandpa, it's me again.
Here I sit holding your hand.
I have no more tears.
Soon you will see grandma again.
Please tell her hi, and I cannot wait until the day I die.
Bye bye grandpa
Give grandma a kiss for me.
sadly ---> by;PD
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Grandfather
Poem
The Pilgrimage--Recited poem
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
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAchI2nu9yY
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For the Contest: "Recite Your Poem" sponsored by Roy Jerden
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Grandfather
Poem
Look at Me
Stop, don’t rush past me
And leave me in this chair, again
How did I get here, sitting alone
A wretched and lonely man fading away
Forgotten
I was young like you once,
Tall and handsome, fearless
And played, danced, loved
Smelled the flowers, kissed the maiden
Watched the girls watch me
I lived.
Now gloom embraces my aching bones,
My smokey eyes, my crippled hands.
Sweet memories arise but no one hears
No one cares, am I unlovable
My body is tired.
If you would only listen I would share
My stories could make you smile,
Lift your spirit, give you laughter,
You too will be gently moved from the activity
Of life to the side lines
Where you will sit and watch.
Please gently touch my wrinkled hand,
Listen and I will teach the wisdom of the wise
Experience of the aged, knowledge of life
Messages of hope and courage for your youth
Can you please look at me
Pain is my daily companion, and reminds me
That I am still here, but I ask for little
In my declining years ,dignity, comfort, respect
Old age is no place for sissies.
bb
Contest: Impress Me
3rd place win
May/13
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Grandfather
Poem
On The Moon
Thea, grandfather Alferd's dog died, she was so old and sick
Now is Thea on the moon, says Adrian who is six
Michael Jackson died so unexpectedly and abruptly
He is on the moon and plays with Thea, says Adrian who is a big fan
Betzy, grandfather Arild's dog died, she was also old and sick
Now Betzy is also on the moon with Thea and Michael Jackson and play all day
Great Grandmother died so unexpectedly and abruptly
Adrian who is six had difficulty understanding
Adrian who is six cried many tears for Great Grandmother
but comforted himself with the fact that she is sitting on the moon and
makes waffles to Thea, Michael Jackson and Betzy.
04.11.2012
A-L Andresen :) - A true story -
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Grandfather
Poem
In the Land of Nod
A grandfather clock whispered good-night
With a final strike to the moon
As fairies danced in the bright orb’s light
Wishing the day wouldn’t come to soon
The wise old owl started telling tales
With a final stoke to the moon
Then clouds rushed forth in January’s sails
Hyena’s laughed and felt quite chuffed
The wise old owl started telling tales
Of a meal that once made him stuffed
The corn on the cob began to weep
Hyena's laughed and felt quite chuffed
A giraffe in a tree just fell asleep
With a marshmallow pillow on his bed
The corn on the cob began to weep
Dictionaries begin with the letter Z
A grandfather clock whispered goodnight
With a marshmallow pillow on his bed
As fairies danced in the bright orb's light
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
to fantasize
invented word play
Who decides what is real
3/1/2012
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Grandfather
Poem
My Origin
Where do I come from? Well we all come
from somewhere. I was born in a small
town, here in in good old U S of A. South
to the border, by the Rio Grand. Mission
Texas is the town's name.
My real parents came from Mexico. My
grandmother, it was said - she came from
Spain. My grandfather was indian. He fought
in the Revolution. Both were on my mother's
side.
On my father's side, never knew too much,
only that the grandmother died kind of
young. The grandfather died years later, but
I never got to know them.
My father left my mom, when I was only three.
He never came back. My mother gave away my
sisters, than later she gave me. She only kept
my brother, maybe she couldn't keep me.
I was raised with a nice lady and her husband.
I learned to call her mom. That title she had
earned and my respect most of all. My parents
that raised me were poor, but made sure I had
something to eat. My mother made my dresses
so that I could go to school.
I learned to read and write and enjoyed school
very much, but I had to quit at fifteen to help my
parents out. Years later I went back and finished
my High School.
I did not go to college , or mastered in any degree.
I am what you might call self taught. For about thirty
years I worked with electronics and did my job well.
I gained respect from my bosses and high top
engineers.
My parents taught me good values that have helped
me through out life. I am not ashamed of my
origin, of Mexican Heritage I came. I am what you
would call a TEX. MEX. and I live up to my name...
Just a little about myself. Hope
you enjoy it.
written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
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Grandfather
Poem
Dementia
He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died,
he has not been the same.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping,
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it,
until now...
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain,
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Oh well...
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best,
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows
what happens next.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia
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Grandfather
Poem
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.
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Grandfather
Poem
G Grandfather Joe White
JOE WHITE
Back in 1880 you will find, Joe White he was about.
The Brumby runner master mind. Of this I'll leave no doubt.
He took from Mugan station, 600 Brumbies yes my friend.
Had the best riders of the nation, on which he could depend.
From Mungindi to Sydney town, drove Brumbies didn't fail.
They'd stop em block em right around, horse broke em for the sale.
The horse who broke and left the mob, got grabbed by the tail and threw.
A sideline or a hobble's job, made of green hide it'd do.
Wet green hide sideline when applied, front to back the legs were held.
He couldn't canter if he tried, to stay he was compelled.
Joe saw the difference in every track,to read from them he knew.
He was as good as any black, he'd track ants across the dew.
Two Dancy boys they wandered lost, were gone a day or two.
At black tracker's, oh these kid's did scoff, Joe found them pay his due.
These small dark boys they had some fun,yes hid their tracks with care.
Joe saw the tracks of only one, or the other ones were there.
One boy would carry piggy back, then came the others turn.
A way to hide one fellows track, gave the tracker some concern?
Joe followed cantered in their wake, knew their tracks in any bunch.
To find them was a piece of cake, so he took em home for lunch.
Joe's brother Dick was branded bad, now an outlaw on the run.
A publican robbed him, made him mad, Dick smashed his grog, the bum.
The traps they came, but couldn't find, Dick's cave the hideout site,
Couldn't follow the White's, who didn't mind,scrub galloping day or night.
So Dick White he then set off, with brothers Joe and Charlie too.
They rode due west three states they'd cross,till Broome came into view.
Dick's wife and kids by ship did pass, then on to Broome by overland.
Joe left Dick there safe at last,rode east through desert sand.
Joe and Charlie back they came,through the land that worked the horse.
They'd throw scrubbers, Brumbies they were game,
horse breakers yes of course.They'd throw a Brumby on his side,
quickly lugged his head by force. Would saddle up and mount and ride,
and coax him home a horse. Joe entered the open Campdraft mate,
with a wee small handicap.Left his bridle and girth straps on the gate,
won the Mungindi cup old chap. Joe's Brumby runners one was Dan,
at Glenrowan hadn't died.Alex Wilkie chased as off they ran,
and Moffat he could ride.The legend lives of Joe this man,
true master of the horse.The drovers talked of him and Dan,
and Hippy yes of course.
Don Johnson
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