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Long Grandparents Poems | Long Grandparents Poetry

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Long Poems
Long poem by Sabina Nicole | Details |

Great Grandma Kicked some Butt

When my mother was at the age of thirteen,
A dirty old man asked her to come clean,
He invited her over so she could make a few bucks
When she arrived he was in a black tucks
He was the neighbor across the street,
His wife was at work and he viewed my mom as weak
This man locked the door when my mother arrived,
Went to go kiss her, to feed his sick drive,
My mom ran out the back door and went across the street,
Little did this man know he was in for a “delightful treat!”
My great grandma lived six towns away
My mother called her in a state of panic and disarray
A forty minute drive, granny made it in fifteen
Granny drove her old ford like a race car machine
When she arrived, she kicked that man’s door down
She did not care if anyone was around
That man jumped up by that loud sound
She hit him so hard he fell right on the ground
She slapped him around with her left shoe
Cursed him out in Italian, while threatening him too
Later that night my mother’s dad came home
He is a little man with a loud groan
He heard the story and went across the way
Took his shot gun and made this man pay
Told him if he ever touched his daughter again,
He would shoot off his little “private friend,”
He made this man cry in his own living room,
But I promise you this man never again tried to consume,
Every little girl on that street,
He knew not to look at or he would get severally beat,
My family has many stories of my Great Granny saving the day,
Never mess with an Italians family, they handle things in their own special way.

By:Sabina Nicole
Contest:
Written:9/29/11






      Every family has stories that get past down from one generation to the next. I was blessed to have had my mother’s grandparents until about 6 years ago. They did not speak any English and my great granny was a crazy awesome woman. She grew up on a farm in Italy and had to do a lot on her own. She raised all the children and grandchildren but was old school about a lot of stuff.  I remember my great grandparents fighting with each other even in the nursing home. They were married for 58 years; they shared a room in the nursing home that had two separate beds. My great grandma use to hit my great grandpa with her cane from across the bedroom. It was funny to watch.  They may have fought but they loved each other so much, my great grandma died 6 years ago and less than a year later my great grandpa died too. Now they are in heaven together, I don’t think there’s fighting in heaven, God don't allow that;)


Long poem by PEDROS FERNANDES | Details |

Cerneja Kingdom And A Chirurgical Gift

My GRANDFATHER loved to work. His schedule from 3 am till 6 pm we were farmers
-we is a lot of people who's here?- He asks. 
-We Are.
With the scream of a Legendary fighter we all say "We Are" proudly looking at each other. The cows have a special meaning to WE, 
They were Nurture to be Healthy and Beautiful and were a Legendary Hobby after 6 meaning that they Shine, than won all trophy's for strength beauty and behaving. Cerneja was  an Imperatriz, temperamental, always ready to fight for her kingdom. Here comes the one of many risk-free situations in a natural site in the Vasdos the the Luso-Amazonia between 4 cows and dozens of Bovidae mammals, sheep and goats included, and with Cerneja out of control trying (have done before) to sacrifice an innocent well nurtured and less beautiful for Cer-kingdom standards and a solution. From HIS 2 meters of an well balanced body structure  holding a horn push and propelling with so much energy, Cer smash like a meteor to the floor over the farmers and Farmer and Animal kingdom stupefaction and our daze (the best,the Queen "Cerneja" almost a myth "and what about the empire-we thought". The kingdom always goes on.
Replaced Cer was sold for good money divided between the two owners (some animals like most of the land had more than one owner). The chirurgical eye of my HEART was so right and we were so wrong that Cer killed the unfortunate brand new owner and was given to the local slaughter house for THE FARMER unhappiness our dejection and all the WOMEN in the house joy In killing one of us instead one of others and Cerneja was evil- 

What stays is GULLIVER well tied to a chair by dwarves (in any pattern out of NBA tallest) while naptime warding off a fly and waking up smiling and feigning stretching the tight ropes 
-It's time to work 
Farmers pay back with the same coin to each other-WORK- And money comes from selling shared properties animals and milk. 
Sharing HERO type of stories always with coffee, good food and wine I was always involved in the exchange and legendary people are generally anonymous - in this particular that's not true for the heroism and courage stories but still will continue anonymous.  Thank You For the Kindness and Patience and I hope You continue to Produce Alike because What We Got, Get For Free We Give Back For Free, Right!
Right or Wrong?


Long poem by MoonBee Canady | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/a_childs_training___part_2_of_2_493133' st_title='A Child's Training Part 2 of 2'>

A Child's Training Part 2 of 2

(Prov. 22: 6 /  Heb. 5: 14  /  Deut. 6: 6-9  /  2 Tim. 3: 13-15, 16  /  Matt. 19: 13, 14)


- cont. - from Part 1



And The Same Can Be Said
Of A Young Child’s Impressionable Mind
It Needs To Be Nurtured At Home
Or It Will Eat Every Junk & Stuff They Find

And You Can’t Let A Child
Follow Its Every Whim …
No Matter How Brilliant or Smart
Dumb Things Will Make Them Dim

But Parents Try To Remember
Just When You Were Young …
Didn’t You Just Want To Act Stupid
And Have Some Friends & Fun?

Every Child Needs To Know
What & Who They Can Trust …
This Is More Important Than That Job
& Making Big Bucks

Every Child Needs Guidance
Even If Parents Are Just Guessing
But There Is A Book of Instructions
To Keep Parents & Child From Stressing
(2 Tim. 3: 15, 16)

It Is A Compass & A Map
& Its Like Reading A Diary of  Confessions
Where Both Parents & Children
Can Learn About Real Life Lessons
(Matt. 4: 4  /  Matt. 19: 13, 14)

And We Need To Start Training Them Young
From The Crib & From The Womb
Give ‘Em Plenty Space & Privacy
But Know What’s Going On In That Room!

‘Cause Newsflash! … Now Hear This
When Children Get Wrong Ideas or Tears
It’s Up To Loving Parents & Families
To Steer Them Free & Clear

Yes, Newsflash! … Now Know This
Children Don’t Know Nuthin’!
It’s Up To Responsible Adults
To ‘Try’ & Teach Them Somethin’ …

Their Bright Little Eyes & Minds
Are Looking To Us For Advice
And We Have To Watch Their Little Heads
So They Don’t Get Infected With Lice!

Yes, Their Bright Eyes & Minds
Are Looking To Us For Advice
& There Is Not Enough or Too Much Time
That We Could Sacrifice

And Without The Rod of Discipline
Whether Spanking or Time Out On The Floor
Loving Communication Is What Keeps Them
From Being Spoiled & Rotted To The Core

Look – Grandmamma Used  To Tell Me
“If Everybody Is Sticking Their Head In The Fire
And They Tell You It Won’t Hurt …
You Tell ‘Em ‘You’re A Liar!’”

Listen, We All Can See That This World
Is Going To You Know Where In A Hand-Basket
But You Don’t Have To Let Them Group You & Yours
Into That Casket …

And When A Child Wants To Eat Candy
‘Cause It Tastes Good – All Day Long!
When You Tell Them “No!”
Listen … You Ain’t Wrong!


                        Written & ©:  7/16/2013

                        By:  The MoonBee


Long poem by Shanity Rain | Details |

Family Grief Family Happiness

  
   Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
        
    My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
        My Mother caring about all five in different ways
      Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays 
     My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
          
      Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John. 
       music  a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !

     Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
          The music  takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "    
      My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
                 My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
        feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food               
         
       the yelling , slamming of doors ,  tempers Flare , passion 
         Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
        
        After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
         Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?

       Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee  
                 No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
          the  Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .  
        Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
             Excited in Chicago !  seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
        Cubs ,  museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
        
       Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
             Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `  
        Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones , 
          scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
        
           ~ That is the Family I Love ,
                     that is the Family I choose to miss ~    
                       
              


Long poem by Robert Ronnow | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_poets_family_at_her_funeral_675872' st_title='The Poet's Family at Her Funeral'>

The Poet's Family at Her Funeral

The circle closes over the dead woman's space.
Family and community heal, the scar tissue
between a young girl's breasts. She had
shared conversations with my father about
the holes in their hearts. My heart, the
muscle, not the spirit, flutters when a
young girl bikes by or the heron flies.

By September flies are down, we can come
out of our canoes and risk the woods. Summer's tissue
is torn each night. Space above gives perspective
to the life one had. Jesus speaks your name?
And is Barbara now traveling astronomy's corridors
at the speed of light, aware of herself, to the blessed heart?
Raymond too is moving on, wary of his dispatcher.

Much of the family gathered. My grandfather, Bart,
it was remembered sold his house to none other than Duke
Ellington and Lena Horne lived up the block. Andrew
played with her daughters, sons. Until every Italian
had moved east into Long Island, thinking themselves
better than blacks. I find each and all --
Hindus, Muslims ? hard-earned bone and prone to scratch.

We are most happy the dead one's not us.
The chosen one, the unfortunate one, the
one whose name Jesus spoke, is gone
and is no longer one of us. She is the other,
as distant and separate from the family
as a black man or Hindu's sister. Missed less
than last night's sleep or meat and grateful

for such peace. I will be too if it won't
come too soon or too often. My observation is
54 or 84 you always seem to want more
what was accomplished or never finished isn't
enough. Greedy, overweight and blameworthy
is how I've felt about every wasted day.
Summer's tissue torn by the first frost night.

Judging by her feet, Judith will be a big
woman, great granddaughter of Bartholomew,
who sold his redlined house to Duke. See how she
stands near her mother, Jeanette, who
resembles so fiercely my grandmother, Concetta.
The circle closes over the dead woman's space.
Summer's tissue is torn, the family is lace.






Long poem by christine a kysely | Details |

Bentwood Rocker

I have a Bentwood Rocker
It's the most cherished thing I own
It is made from the willow branches
of an ancient tree at my grandparent's home.

It embraces me on my back porch
both in the morning and at night
when a pair of cardinals come to visit me
at both the first and last day's light.

I rock in a gentle rhythm
sip my coffee and watch the clouds
and think to myself life's worth living
As I just sit and rock without a sound.

Sometimes I hum a favorite tune
and sometimes I just rock silently alone
somehow this chair seems to center me
It motion washes away life's rough edged stones.

As I sway and think of days gone gone by
of my brothers and sisters and me
climbing up among the branches
of my grandparents big old willow tree.

We used to swing on all the branches
Like the Jungle Book's Tarzans and Janes
Laughing and swingly wildly, never quiet nor mundane
Yelling out profusely, howling out all the Jungle Book slang.

We used to weave together the branches
into leafy wreaths without any thorns
improvised crowns of the greenest splendor
Just as Julius Caesar would have worn.

Sometimes we added in flowers
Daisies and dandelions were always in season
Sometimes we just sat in that old tree
Just happy to be there, for no given reason.

And so decades and decades of years have gone by
My Grandparents have long since passed on
But I think of them often as I rock in my chair
Cherished memories to always remember.

And now the winter has settled in
My cherished rocker sits covered in snow
Waiting for the days of the songbirds return
Waiting for warm days instead of the cold.

It sits silently waiting for Springs blossoms to arrive
for a day when I can rock without being froze
for an evening when relaxing in my comfortable rocker
will signal the end of one of my beloved warmer days.

Copyright Christine A Kysely December 14, 2010

(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved, 


Long poem by Neil McLeod | Details |

A Ship In A Bottle

A Ship In A Bottle
My great Grand Father sailed to New Zealand on a ship called the Wild Deer in 1872. I have always loved ships in bottles, and one day decided I would drain a pretty bottle of its contents and put the inspiration back inside. It took three months to complete the project.

It sits there on the sideboard
Or on the mantle shelf,
And after such a long time
You don’t notice it yourself.
But should you have a visitor
Or younger child come by
It will spark interest anew
And gasps of “Me oh my!”
						
It’s then the curious wonder
How the ship was put inside,
And where the opening’s concealed
And was it hard to hide?
And if you put it in there
How many times you tried?
And if it went in through the neck
How could it be so wide?

It’s then you tell the story
Of going to the store
To find a bottle of good clear glass
With a shape worth planning for.
Dimple Haig is famous,
Carduh’s pretty fair,
The first one is triangular,
The other one is square.

The bottle must be decanted,
When empty cleaned and dried,
And a careful measure taken
Of the dimensions inside.
It’s then you render drawings
Of the ship you want to make,
And plan out going backwards
Every step you’ll have to take.

First you carve the hull
Of wood with grain that’s fine,
Then step the masts with hinges
So they fold down in a line.
You add the sails and rigging,
Check how they’ll erect
When’s time to pull the halyards
Through the bottle’s neck.

It takes months to finish
Doing a little every night,
I had my children watching
And remarking at the sight.
They saw me put in plasticine
To mold and shape the ocean
And carve wave crests with a spoon
To give the water motion.

When at last the time is right
And everything is ready
You carefully set the ship upon
The sea and hold it steady.
Then pulling on each halyard
The sails are slowly raised
And those who watch the process
Stand enchanted and amazed.


Long poem by MoonBee Canady | Details |

For An Abused Child

If I Could Have Gotten Your Embryo
Before You Were Born
I Would Have Sheltered You Safely
and Protected Your Form ...

I'd Have Put You In My Womb
& Flowed You Knowledge Like In A Tubric
& Patted My Expanding Belly
As I Played You Music

And As You Got Ready
To Arrive From The Birth Canal
You Would've Known My Breasts
Would Be Ringing Like Welcome Bells! ...

Eager To Suckle You
Breast Feed My Own Flesh & Nourish
So You Could Grow Strong
... In Love's Encourage

I Would've Held You In Wonder
& So Close Tenderly
Amazed At This Little Bundle,
Breathing, Piece of Me ...

And When You Turned One
Or As You Sucked Your Thumb
Or Eating Baby Food Jars of Plums
... I'd Have Given You Trumpets & Drums

... And Building Alphabet Blocks
& Superman Capes
& Stuffed Teddy Bears
& Oatmeal Cookies & Grapes

I'd Have Read You Stories
From Capt. Adventure Books
You'd Have Known You Were Loved
By My Proud Mama Looks

I'd Have Spent Time With You
Showing You How To Tie Your Shoe
Rocked You If You Caught The Flu
or Any Sniffles You Went Through ...

I Would Have Played With You
& Prayed With You
From Crawling To Walking
Paved The Way For You

Yeah, I Would Have Fussed At You
& When Needed Even Spanked You Too
& I'd Meant: This Hurts Me More Than You
'Cause You're The Little Symbiot, Mama Grew

So, You Would Have Known
You Were Loved & Treasured
You Would Have Known
Your Worth Couldn't Be Measured

Nor Compared To Anyone Else
At Any Point In Time
'Cause You Are The Best
Because You Were "Mine"

* * * * * * *

But I Never Knew You
But Believe Me If I Had ...
I'd A Made Sure You Had 
A Loving Mom & Dad

And You Would've Never Been Abused
Or Treated Bad ...
But From Now On Find Your Joy
To Replace What's Sad


            Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/12/2013 
             by:  MoonBee Canady


Long poem by Ian Jones | Details |

Grandpa

Grandpa dear, Grandpa mine
Please allow me a moment's time.
I have reached the age of twenty one
And would like to know what is to come.

Grandchild dear, light of my life
A moment, a year, a century twice
I desire to know what you will ask
And hope that I am up to the task.

Grandpa dear, you have lived so long
And have for years sang love's sweet song.
The lines on your face show a million smiles
Your strong legs have carried you a million miles.

Grand daughter dear you are so kind,
You have such an open and enquiring mind
But don't be fooled, the lines you see
Include pain and grief and despondency.

Surely not, you seem serene
Tolerant, loving, funny and keen.
Your love is warm, no expectation of return,
The pain and grief I cannot discern.

The serenity you perceive, my dear,
Is surrender to uncertainty and fear.
The strong legs which have travelled those miles
Have run in endless search for smiles.

But Grandpa the happiness which you and Grandma found
Would the worst Demon in Hell confound.
The love emanating from you two
Would light up L.A. to Timbuktu.

Ah, it is true, your Grandma was as bright as day 
Until God and Cancer took her away.
She never harmed a soul on Earth
But she was taken, what was it all worth?

Grandpa dear, Grandpa mine
What am I to take from this short time?
That life is a minefield, fraught with danger, 
Where you fear a friend and more a stranger?

No, my love, please have no fear
But invest in those whom you hold dear.
Don't tarry long with those who would harm.
When you meet good people you'll feel warm

Trust your instincts and if you're wrong
Then change the music and change the song.
But above all, above all else
My darling girl, be true to yourself.


Long poem by Broken Wings | Details |

this thingamabob poem

dang,
grandma    was a real hubba bubba-
killer-diller
khaki wacky   boycrazygirl

a spiffy    hot damn    hoofer

during the dark hours of WWII
and the devastation
followed with
unrestrainedjubibilation
beat me daddy eight to the bar

grandma    was a real hubba bubba-

franksinatracrooner
singing     grandma put on her stompers
she was a babydoll            soppysappysharp

a spiffy    hot damn    hoofer

worked in a factory
building partsforairplanes   for the boys
no siree bob      she was not     giving up her job
she had
dreams
a white picket fence
in the
      boondocks

grandma was-
             a spiffy
                   hot damn
                              hoofer

no gobbledygook    she told great stories
of what it was like
after the war     forthetroops    and all
pin-up girls    like Marilyn Munroe
Elvis
Roy Orbison
Jerry Lee Lewis
         drive-ins
         fancy wheels     ovaltine

casablanca  goingmyway  its a wonderful life
for whom the bell tolls  earnesthemmingway
it was a time of       attitude

no fuddy-duddy    she had the gams
met grandpa     doingtheswing
they had no lettuce   moolah   greenbacks
but they   

        were over the top 
                   stuck on     glued
bonkers in love      oh grandma had 
no fear of saying hi-de-ho
he said      hey sugar are you rationed

dang 
grandma     was a real hubba bubba-
killer-diller
kacky wacky      boycrazygirl

take a gander   withyourpeepers
at this thingamabob             poem
     



____________________________________
June 2, 2015



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