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Details | Grandfather Poem | |

GRANDPA

*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*

Hi grandpa it's me again!
Your dentures sit 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 goodbyes
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma, she doesn't 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?
Read many stories before I took a nap
How she enjoyed brushing my hair with her hands
Love the way she rocked me to sleep every night until I grew. 

Hello grandpa!
I stored your hearing aid away
Do you remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer? 
I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina dance
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma lived in
I hope you don’t mind, I’m keeping grandmothers favorite scarf.

Hello Grandpa!
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Do you like the way she looked in that pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
I like the walking stick she handcrafted, the day your needed support
It kept you in balance every time we took long hikes in the woods.

Hello grandpa, it's me again! 
Here I sit holding your hand
I have no more tears
Soon you will see grandma
Please tell her hi, and I know you will be there the day I die
Bye, grandpa
Give grandma a kiss, and tell her I miss her

By; PD

Details | 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...
There's a house, a barn, where land is strewn with stones to move. 
You stand behind a horse and plow, 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 a 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 those steep cliffs rose and the seas were blue.  

Here, I look beyond these furrowed rows,...
where grasses grow in amber waves
and I ponder how it came to be....
that I am me,.... 
   who came from you;        

                a man I never knew. 

_____________________________________________________________

(To watch the youtube video recitation:)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hF4GCLqf9_o

Details | 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 -

Details | Grandfather Poem | |

Mirror Ball

I'm sure this field is where it stood.
Amazing shapes of stuccoed wood.
A glass-brick, neon stream-lined place.
As if it flew from outer space,

A swing band auditorium,
An Art Deco emporium,
When romance, innocent in pace,
From dancing to a teasing chase.

The town grew west in modern haste
And down it came, without a trace.
The war and culture's change in taste,
Predestined doom, the past erased.

The future sighs, with solemn face
No plaque to read "Historic Place".
The wrecking ball and shattered floor,
The dust in twirling dance no more.


Iambic Tetrameter / Cateletic
Rhyme - AA - BB

Gene Bourne
08-01-14








.

Details | 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

Details | Grandfather Poem | |

The Pilgrimage

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


                                                 ~~



Recited on youtube       http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAchI2nu9yY

_______________________________________________________________
For Deb's Contest:....2nd Option..(With age comes wisdom, understanding and
                                                  appreciation. I am never too old to keep learning
                                                  and value those who came before and made me
                                                  who I am.)



______________________________________________________________

Details | Grandfather Poem | |

To My Wife Grandpa Murray's voice

I wandered and travelled
Nor knew where I'd gone .
Life became a problem;
T'was one long cruel song.

My problems seem to multiply;
They came from every side.
I vowed to find the answer;
by this I would abide.

I looked into nature
And tore apart my mind.
Then put them on the table
To see what I could find.

I found that I'de been greedy
and avaricious, too.
Whenever projects of mine failed
I put the blame on you.

I found that I was lonely;
I thought you didn't care.
But what I really didn't know
Was you were always there.

You tried to fill the void
That always was in my Life.
you tried to ease the sorrow
You've been a real good Wife.
 
                           Yvette & Grandpa Murray  
          From James Murray to , Janet Murray ..his beautiful wife.
" In great respect of Grandfather Murray's poem he wrote for my  Grandmother Murray "

Details | 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

Details | Grandfather Poem | |

The Blessings of Grandfathers Beautiful Lies

Impressionable young hearts do tell the grandest lies
When learned from grandfathers with sparkling eyes
Grandfathers living renewed through the breath of a grandchild

Oh grandfathers’ whoppers told in all kindness and glory
The bigger the whopper makes the child’s lies the cute little story
Thus the grandchild’s faith breeching walls of reasonable reality 
Simply because beloved grandfather had told the story
My grandfather said it was so- tiny voice of pledged belief
And I believe him -for grandfather would never lie to me

So sleep little one- dream the telling’s of funny grandfathers beloved
For their little lies to you are meant to not make you a worried
But make you believe in the impossibilities of grandeur and extravagance 
There is a Santa Clause
The fish really was so big it couldn’t fit in the boat
I wrestled a grizzly when I was just about your age

For in the telling of such blessed little lies
A remembrance of grandfather will never die
The wisdom and laughter thus remembered in each time’s telling
Will warm you over and over- as little lies do you begin the telling 

Details | Grandfather Poem | |

My Grandfathers Bilum

Bilum is a type of woven bag in Papua New Guinea (PNG)
...............................

How grandfather’s bilum, which
Across my father’s bare chest,
In a loving embrace slung.
Like the Leleki baskets’ blest
How while so pregnant swung.

How dwelleth he my father in its rich
Splendour till handing-over of its rest,
Then over my clothed chest again sways.
O this old bilum! like all other blest
No longer is laden with in my days.

For its treasures I search in earnest,
That I may grandfather’s mind know.
O this bilum is no longer pregnant!
Along the way, maybe some time ago,
How many treasures fade; this instant

Till my sleep, I’ll summon eagerness
To my modern soul strengthened to seek.
Grandfather’s treasures may be hidden;
Yet through a new eye must I ever peek
For glimpses my days have forbidden.

By: Jeffrey Febi        25 Oct 2010

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