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
A-L Andresen :) - A true story -
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Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2012
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
Copyright © Mark Goodson | Year Posted 2012
Born American, sixth generation of great-grands all German,
not much liking sausage or sauerkraut, English speaking all the way,
except the Germany of my ancestry was fought over and broken
so I’m a bit of France, Germany, Poland, Hungary all the Holy
Roman empire, dissolved down, fought over, egotized, horrified
and remade Into some new state where English is as common as German.
We share a love of flowers in the face of cold and rain, I drink less beer
and wine, meet up somewhere, anywhere around the world on a beach.
From my parents and grandparents, I know to serve up too much food
seven sweets, seven sours and drink and whirl the night away to a band.
Hardworking sorts, unafraid of a little dirt, loving dirt, the turnover
and young sprout brought to fruit, wearing overalls and then washing up.
To sit before a pressed linen table cloth, served up on the finest china,
the cha in my father’s name, the uff da, and other exclamations.
The morning rosaries, the blessed churches where we give thanks for all good
and the setting aside of pride while we work together to make our food.
Sure there are aprons for cooking. Shorts for summertime. A dive into any pool.
What do I know of being German, not much, it's just somewhere in my roots.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
Gravity pulls my tears into pools.
Im sinking in sorrow -emotional fuels.
Just turn back the time, I just want a moment.
To say goodbye once, to cherish and own it.
I loved my granddad - a man more than great.
Paired with my Granny as the perfect mate.
A montage of memories that rush my soul.
My eyes fill with tears, I'm losing control.
Just keep it together, it's what he would want.
They all say the same, but I stand in front.
Happiness swells, yet sadness prevails.
Like Christ on the cross, with hands full of nails.
Life has a reason, and death isn't treason.
-It's moving on up.. A lifetime's a season.
I look to the sky and say my goodbye.
The time won't turn back, I gave it a try.
I close my eyes and imagine this-
Paradise in a place full of bliss.
World peace in a piece of the world.
Without loss and bombs never hurled.
Snow that falls that doesn't freeze.
Sun that shines that doesn't cease.
A land where "The forever" is real.
A scene where the sick always heal.
Life with infinite love, like gusts in the wind.
Two little doves, with eternities to spend.
God has a plan, fool-proof to the core.
Now Granddad's with him, a reward of much more.
Copyright © Yours Truly | Year Posted 2013
Dad never knew his father. That soldier died in a war.
All Dad heard was brief stories of the man that went before.
Grandma had some pictures and some medals on a wall.
But Dad never knew his father which was what mattered most of all
I’ve done some family history, and seen the ship’s manifest.
I’ve heard again the story of the good ship Lafayette--
How Grandma and her children searched the waves for periscopes,
Knowing that one torpedo could blow away all of their hopes.
This could have been in any war. Soldiers die and families flee.
But this was the family story that was handed down to me.
It started in old England, then to an immigration line:
A 3-year-old at Ellis Island, in July 1939.
They fled their burning country, to be called “war refugees”.
With help from an old uncle and a kind community,
Grandma made a new start here in the land of liberty.
They learned that Grandpa was killed in ‘44 in Italy.
I found online the letter, that my Grandma didn’t see,
About how the Sergeant-Major’s infantry company
Was caught out in the open by Wehrmacht artillery.
The letter said he didn’t suffer. Was he really killed instantly?
I never knew my Grandpa, though I was named after him.
Though I served a different flag, I was a soldier like him.
I’ve seen my father’s scrapbook, and Grandpa’s medals on the wall.
But I never knew my Grandpa which was what mattered most of all.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014
THE SOUL FISH . . . .
Down onto the sunny - but - windless beach one day . . .
My grandfather and I on the water’s edge we stayed . . .
The gentle ebb of the waters flow - in and out - it goes . . .
Lapping with delightfully sensation between my toes . . .
Just at the water’s edge - very faintly you could just see . . .
A very flat sole fish - just waiting - and looking at me . . .
My Grandfather - told me - to this fish we must respect . . .
For inside this sole fish - a dead departed soul was kept . . .
I looked at the fish - the very flat sole fish looked at me . . .
And in its eyes - the soul of the departed - looking at me . . .
Now my Grandfather has departed - and I am bereft . . .
For the heartfelt message just for me - he never left . . .
Now with each day - it is down to the water’s edge I go . . .
Waiting - for my beloved Grandfather’s soul to show . . .
Indiana Shaw . . . -_-
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2016
A Grandfather Clause
Maybe about President should take a pause
Bernie thinks there is a Grandfather Clause
That will enable you to run for President
Who from do we have to receive consent?
For President will some people make a bid?
Odd person out and you they all forbid
And with you they may want to get even
Or are they afraid race they could be leaving.
So what if up I could create quite a stir
Every time when I will stand up for her
Things that were part of what I planned
Give another speech that had been canned.
Oh my goodness and of course great Scott
One more chicken was added to boiling pot
And into Bernie's notes went on an excursion
All we could find was a watered down version.
What a way to go when we live, live, live
And at same time have to give, give, give
Of course when Bernie did discover some doubt
His socialism had created another hand out.
Only reason people have their hands out is
because there are handouts. Take away
handouts and from them rob and replace
them with a job, job, job.
Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2016
Thank you for being you,
And for all the things I see you do;
Those precious hands I get to hold,
That keep Papas from growing old;
For every whisper that we share,
And secrets kept with Ted The Bear;
Tickling, giggling, hold on tight,
When braving bed without the light;
Take a ride on Papa's knee,
To new adventures that might be;
Special dreams I hope we'll find,
From inhibitions left behind;
All the things I wish I knew,
Bring less for me than loving you.
God Keep You close...
Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2016
White flowers on the hillside, spell out welcome to me
I learnt the names of most of them, walking with my "tadcu"*
He told me all about them, how Garlic is good for wounds
The names of the songbirds as they flew close to the high ground
Knew where to find a hare for the stewpot when it's cold
Or the sly old fox sneaking in the long grass, being bold
The hill has a stream running briskly to the base
From where it meets its sisters making it a river with much haste
Fish flopping about jumping over rocks evading the net
Pictures burnt into my mind which I will never forget.
*. Tadcu --- Grandfather
Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2014
No doubt the way this poem should start
He was an iron man with a golden heart
I spent many days under a shade tree
Listening to how life used to be
Many days I spend fighting back the tears
For I shouldn't have wasted all those years
I swear if I could do it all over again
I would have listened more closely to him
I have no right as far I can see
To tell of the man who took care of me
Born in the days when men rode a horse
Like a river his life followed a course
A course that remained honest and true
Showed that real men are the things that they do
Raised his family and provided for his wife
A solid example of what matters in life
For his grandchildren he did more than his part
That’s why he's an Icon in all of our hearts
God blessed him far as I can see
For he could play beautiful music with a leaf off a tree
He held his family together his house was our home
No matter what path or how far we roamed
He was a farmer, Judge, barber and a poet
If we needed an answer no doubt he would know it
These days I use his memory I use it to see
The type of man I was meant to be
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2008
Deep in a silva of the Emerald Isle there hides a peculiar coppice,
Shaped in a spiral labyrinth which is seen only on the summer solstice.
As the sun rises to its highest of tides and the day overwhelms the night,
Those with fairy sight can find this forest where magic is entangled in setting light.
Inside the twists and turns of the path which winds throughout the wooded thick,
There sits a bench at the center of this maze which was mapped with archaic arithmetic.
Locals call this legendary seat the Bench of Brohan's Boskage,
Named for a fairy who built and grew the bosk as a family homage.
The bench was built with metal and wood made of brass and burdock root,
Blended in an elderberry and copper snood of alloys and the flora's fruit.
The root of Thor and the berry of elders ensure that those who sit can stand,
The staccato of lightning that perpetually pours upon the enchanted bench's land.
For above the labyrinthian garden an unending mystical tempest warns,
Those without the fairy sight who seem to fear the wrath of thunderstorms.
Once a fearless boy who hadn't knew that his blood was brewed in the Brohan clan,
Took a trip on the twenty-first of June and found the forest after he grew into a man.
He took a walk in the night as the sun was still high when he had heard a whisper,
Willing him to follow a blow of a feathery zephyr in the air which had never been crisper.
Although lost he knew the way for the forest's nymphs ferried him on,
Towards the middle of the woods where to the bench he would be drawn.
Lightning bolts webbed above the weaving walls of shrubs,
Whose leaves were rubbed by the static clouds' electric scrub.
An astronomer, the man could sense the occult horoscopy used to map the mazes,
Whose constellated crevices were crafted by extraterrestrial objects and their phases.
Meandering through the astrological charted garden, east of Aires and Aquarius,
He found the bench which sat in the galactic center, twenty-six degrees of Sagittarius.
The seat, which was half stone and half plant, shined beneath ionized sky,
A copper conductor untouched by the lightning which the elderberry nullified.
He sat upon the bench and gazed upon a damiana and why he had not known,
He closed his eyes and knew this breathing bench of stone was his own throne.
Memories of ancient celtic kings and queens who reigned in pagan days,
Flashed in slideshow reels inside his racing mind as if he were watching a play.
He learned that the fey could once be seen and that his exponentially great grandfather,
Was a king who laid with a fairy maid before the Church had all the pagans slaughtered.
A war of righteous wickedness had driven the fairies who fled for the hills,
Who can be heard in screams when one of their human kin is to be killed.
After the man watched this history in a celluloid dream filmed in his thoughts,
He sat up from the bench and all he just learned had been immediately forgot.
He looked down at the bench then up at the sky and for some reason he felt scared,
In haste he exited the woods and wondered why when he entered he had ever dared.
When he returned to the bed and breakfast in which he was staying,
He reached in his pocket for a cigarette,
And found a small note which in written letters addressed to him was saying,
"Now, my grandson, you must never forget."
Copyright © Brendan Simons | Year Posted 2017
I was born in '49 and turned 50 in the year 1999. It was the same year my oldest sister passed away.
It was one year after my dear mother departed this world. It was the year our grandson turned five and started school.
It was the year leading rapidly toward that dreaded Y2K. It was the year of controlled fear, preparation, and trepidation.
Would computers in offices malfunction and cause mass confusion? Would none upgraded computers cause air planes to fall from the sky?
Being neither computer literate nor the techie type, I simply did not know. I did not know what to do as my 50 year old mind was tossed to and fro.
At 50, though employed, I was not engaged in my chosen career. Yes, I turned 50 in 1999, and was anticipating retirement by age 60.
All of my life, I had longed for 'tomorrow' and launched forward. Turning 50 came with a sign post saying, "slow this fast train down".
It's not that I wanted to 'exit' the train; but I needed to 'board' a slower one. Yes, it appeared turning 50 created a desire within me to start looking back.
No, I didn't want to go back in time; but I wanted to see some things I'd missed. Things like beautiful roses I'd never noticed, and those golden
trees in October. I could not run like I was 25; but I was grateful to be free from aches and pains. I still had plenty of hair, but I started to see gray.
04072017 cj PS Contest, On Turning 50, Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2017