There was a time when the child was the center of the circle. The elders sang her name into the morning, braided her hair with stories, fed her with hands that had known hunger. She was carried across rivers of doubt, through storms of becoming, and placed gently at the edge of her own path.
Now she walks with her head full of noise, measuring love by the frequency of messages, forgetting the songs that once held her upright. She says they are silent. That they do not call. But the wind remembers. The wind remembers the prayers whispered into her pillow, the sacrifices made without witness, the tears that fell into the soil to make her strong.
She has grown tall, but not deep. Her roots skim the surface, searching for mirrors instead of water. She has learned the names of stars, but not the names of those who lit them for her. The elders do not chase. They wait. They speak in the language of patience, of time that moves like rivers underground. And still, she does not hear.
ghost wind through cedars—
names carved in the bark still sing,
but no one listens
(“Shae at Six (months)”, 2017, original oil)
Eyes of a Child
(For Tyrome)
How long will your eyes stay bright
As you learn your way in this world?
What will you do as you meet resistance
And your heart breaks under the weight of expectation?
How old are you now, about to turn five,
Twenty five, fifty or one hundred?
Somewhere those bright eyes still see,
Still absorb it all, and shine with Life’s pure light.
(8/19/25)
recruited grandson
to wash the porches, washed me....
pop brought one paper towel
To be a good grandma, who me?
What do I see?
Through rose-hued glasses
or molasses?
For when the kids are very small
to them, I’m tall,
I’m lots of fun;
but comes, I’m done.
Like a giraffe, I must stretch my neck,
for little peck,
gain perspective,
retrospective.
I’m wandering
and pondering,
what did I give
great-progeny to help them live,
be wise, feel loved;
of God beloved?
Fall in each arm;
hope my prayers hold them, keep from harm,
Make skies of blue,
little askew.
When youth is through,
will they be good grandparents, too?
The good times, and the fitness
In our albums borne witness
Falls short on the test
That determines one’s rest.
Yet the stakes can be raised
By giving G-d praise,
Respecting a spouse
Within one’s own house,
Being noted Above
For doling out love,
And enriching ascent
On the charities spent.
Descendants will place
On the mantle Grand’s face
Then frolic near the shelf
Making memories of self.
Arms like tiny windmills spin through morning air.
Aiming, she builds pathways?deep within her mind.
Another swing flows onward like waves upon the shore.
Awakening intention burns?as neural roads unwind.
Reaching past reflexes like butterflies from cocoons.
Rhythmic movements carve?the skills she'll always find.
Object permanence sparkles bright like diamonds in her sight.
Orchestrating muscles smooth,?her future self designed.
Hand-eye coordination weaves like spider's silken thread.
Happiness erupts when fists?and dangling targets bind.
Intentional movements bloom like flowers in the spring.
Infrastructure grows within?her brilliant, growing mind.
To my children, grandchildren and Patricia my wife.
You all are the blessing God placed in my life.
Don't think nothing less if I don't call you each day.
Know that I think about you and to God I do pray.
From my heart there are three words, I need you to hear.
Please know that I LOVE YOU! everyday of the year.
Don't worry about people, what they think or might say.
We'll explain our behavior to God on judgement day.
Just ask your Creator for grace from above.
To forgive your enemies and help you to love.
Nobody's an angel, that includes me and you.
I've messed up many times and truth is you have too.
All people in this world behaves wrong in some way.
The bible says still we must forgive everyday.
Thinking of you as I pen this has given me a smile.
Having you all in my life makes living worthwhile.
To my children, grandchildren and wife let me say.
I'm here for you everyday until God takes me away!
Soft serenade in a sanctuary of velvet dream
Lovely hues in luminesce blooms dance a meloncholy breeze
Dreamy and surreal
A sanctuary of dewdrops
Slide down a bent branch to redeem
Tranquil turquoise touch rich amber
Leading to a garden grove
Posies sway in an orchestrated ballad
As two bluebirds flutter and float
[]
Young one full of dreams
eyes wide with intrigue
peers from a window
with joy
As grammar sits quiet
threading a needle...
“October 2020”
In 2020 darkest days,
When all I loved had slipped away,
A child was born—a light, a flame,
And life would never be the same.
October winds were sharp and cold,
My soul felt tired, my bones felt old.
But then he came—so small, so new,
And suddenly, the sky turned blue.
He didn’t know the pain I bore,
The battles lost, the slamming doors.
He only knew my steady hand,
My voice, my love, my promised land.
He called me Gabi—pure and true,
And joy returned in shades I knew.
Each giggle, kiss, and bedtime song
Made broken days feel soft and strong.
He held my finger—tiny fist—
And life no longer felt like risk.
We played, we danced, we flew so high,
like pterodactyls crossing the sky.
I lost a world, but gained a soul,
A bond that made the shattered whole.
And though the storm still pounds my door,
He makes me fight, and dream, and more.
October 2020 came—
And with his birth, he changed my name.
From broken, tired, and full of strife,
To Gabi, full of love and life
written by mj/2025
The smell of possibility,
the taste of tomorrow,
the feel of your small hand in mine,
these are what I treasure as your Paddhu.
Part of me will go on in this world,
but part of me will always be that guardian
watching in the garden of your becoming,
offering my voice like gentle guidance,
knowing that the promise will never end.
Sweet child of my child,
my love for you grows like wildflowers,
untamed, persistent, returning season after season.
This is my promise, planted in the soil of your becoming!
I am here, I believe in you, always.
The wispy withered woman at her wake
Was a bent blanched bloom, yet without mistake
Her lyric words march to our drumming hearts,
To each body, mind and soul love impart.
Her memory shines in the jeweled eyes
Of grandkids making music and mud pies.
Belly swells, life within
Lotus petals drift
On the temple pond,
arranging new constellations
Golden light within,
Speaking to life around,
Dancing in her womb
Night jasmine unfurls
Sweet prophecies in darkness
While she dreams, I wait
Peacocks gather now
In our garden, spreading ferns
Of celestial eyes
Each breath she takes holds
The weight of ancient,
Purifying earth
Time slows to honey
As sacred hours approach us
Birth-bells will soon ring
Watching her sleep,
I see generations of light
Flowing through her veins
In her pain I hear
The universe rearranging
Its eternal song
Dawn breaks like water
My grandchild's first cry reveals
Heaven's newest voice
My son, I love very much, so strict with me,
No name or photo of my little gem, there be,
My granddaughter, two years, January first,
My pride, my love, heart to burst,
But what I heard made me say hee, hee, hee.
Christmas day we spent with the whole family,
Our bundle of joy dressed so very creatively,
An Elf in red, dressed by her mother,
Dressed in red also was another,
Her little cousin, only a year, looked a honey.
The dogs allowed in enjoying fallen food on the floor,
No begging allowed or out the door,
Her mummy said, Dudley, don’t dare *hit
All happy, laughed at her wit,
And our two-year-old sponge, also laughed galore.
Hearing all and talking well, ready to turn the page,
Giggled and entered the conversation at this stage,
Mummy says Dudley *hits,
We all collapsed into fits
Of laughter, a hilarious outburst at two years of age.
O Child of Mine
Where have you gone?
With whom have you hidden with?
Come back to your mother
O Sibling of Mine
Who are you with?
Why have you gone astray?
Come back to your sister
O Grandchild of Mine
Why did you go?
Why are you not home?
Come back to your grandmother
O Lover of Mine
Where have you gone?
My sheets are cold without you
Come back to your eternal lover
mouth’s full of square roots
also spring rolls and fried rice
and dividing chops sticks
Specific Types of Grandchild Poems
Definition | What is Grandchild in Poetry?