Poetry Grandfather Poems

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Details | Prose Poetry |
            Wood Carving


He sits there, not quite motionless, for
even the comfortable must alter their
perception occasionally, frozen stare
upon a craggy visage, tiny fox-like predator
eyes peering into your soul.  “What are his
origins?” ask the bespectacled intellectuals.
“Who is he?” and “Why has he taken up
his unwelcome residence here?”  The buses
pass carrying workers, students, captains
of industry. They look at him but they do
not see him.  The children see him.
Wonder in their dreams how he came
to be.  Some want to be rid of him.
They have no reason, no justification
for alarm, nothing to warrant their
uneasiness.  One daring young lady
sat beside him, whispered a secret to
him, both shook with laughter.
Passersby were startled to see the
interaction and summoned the
the childs mother.  “What have you
taught her that makes her think that
she can do such things?”  They asked.
The young lady tried to speak but was
hushed by the serious looks she was
getting from the adults.  That evening at
bed time the young lady’s mother asked
her: “What did you say to him?”.  “I said:
‘You look like grandpa.”.  The mother sat
back, quieting a tear, and reminded the
young lady that her Grandpa was no
longer here.  “I know, Mommy”.  She said.
Well then, what did “he” say to you?”
The young lady sat up in bed and smiled
“He said that he was there every day,
and any time I wished to sit with him
and read to him it would be fine.”
“Mommy”, she said, “do you remember
grandpa”?  “You know …how his face was
all rough, and his hands hard and
spidery, and how he would like it when
I sat with him and read?”  The tear that
had been held “quiet” made a sound,
ran down the mother’s face as she
hugged her daughter and put her
to bed.  The next day mother and daughter
walked to the old tree, felt the roughness
of his face, touched his spidery thin
branches, sat with him – and read.
Soon others came to visit, sitting and
whispering, laughing and reading.
for they know who he is, what his
origins are, why “he” waits so patiently.


John G. Lawless
9/27/2014

For PD's WHATEVER - Poetry Contest

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014




Details | Light Poetry |
  ~ Grandfather's Clock ~
 
My old grandfather had a clock
It wasn’t a grandfather clock
A clock it was that went tick tock
It sent me mad grandfather’s clock
Till once I hit it with a wok
But it was steady as a rock
And then it laughed and said cuckoo
A little bird went out and in 
It said cuckoo bee bow and boo
Then I took aim and threw my shoe
It ran in fast and closed the door
Of old grandfather’s cuckoo clock
I had enough of all its cheek
I had it planned to glue its beak
So then I sat on wooden floor
And waited there, looked at the clock
Grandfather’s clock that went tick tock 
I sat there long and fell asleep
Then I woke up and had a peep
Grandfather’s clock was under shock
It was tongue tied, not one tick tock
It hung in silence on the wall
There were no echoes in the hall
How strange it felt now that the clock
Had lost its voice, no tick no tock
The little bird made not a sound
No sortie out, no bee no boo
I missed that tiny red cuckoo.
Like a spoilt brat I'd moaned and whined
The way I acted was unkind!
Then I sat down, felt bad inside
I was ashamed. I cried and cried!

As my tears fell I heard tick tock
The friendly sound of grandpa's clock
To cap it all the red bird flew
out of the door and said cuckoo!

---------------------------------------------
Contest: Childrens Story, Dr. Seuss Style
Sponsor: Casarah Nance aided by Abigail

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,

Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...

These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken

Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"

Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013




Details | Couplet |
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. 

-Yours Truly

Copyright © Yours Truly | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
What an honorable man.
Dependable.
Dedicated.
Up Right in his stand.
A beautiful man who is the gate keeper for us all.

He has provided the love.
Support.
Also wisdom to his young prince.
His young princess's applied individually.
His Role as King in our lives.
Rightfully deserved from all us who knew him.

He taught us to be accountable for one another.
Grandaddy did not play with you.
When it came to being angry with our sister or brother.
He held on to us all.
Grandaddy make it perfectly clear.
This is how he showed true love for us all.

He spent more time in our character building.
Teaching us about:
Honesty.
Not to steal.
To stay away from drugs.
True life survival skills is what he taught.

Granddaddy knew we would have set-backs.
Plenty trials.
Granddaddy would always say. “When you fall”.
“Get back up, brush yourself off”.
He never spent time downing us.
Granddaddy's time was dedicated.
To showing us how to get back up.
Again and again.

Visionary who saw the future long before it got here.
Granddaddy prepared us well.
He was perfect in our eyesight.
Spectacular role model.
Granddaddy guided us through.
With plenty of grace.
Plenty of wisdom.
He was our daddy who always had the time. 
He was our Hero who always provided us,
a home big enough to hold us all.

Larger than life was our granddaddy.
His beautiful smile.
His very kind heart was the cord of love that kept,
our family together.

Granddaddy we will always love you forever.
Granddaddy you were our everything.
Granddaddy thank you for being our King.

Dedicated: To my granddaddy.
Fred Douglass Demory Sr.

Copyright © Cheryl Chandler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse |
Rereading the poems of others
and my own. Community across
time and graves. What's left
exceeds in significance
one's last moment. Yet
his last moment must have been
exceedingly important
for the poet.

Nothing he did that day will seem meaningful.
While we prosecute the war
a pileated woodpecker and red squirrel
compete for sunflower seeds.
A winter slow
to assert itself.
I can still see my mother's father and his bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts
quiet weekday mornings.

Both grandfathers read sports
pages religiously. I don't know
if my grandmother who gave me the
anthology of, to date, dated
unreadable poems read poetry.
I remember my mother's mother spoke
rarely as an animal.

Writing but not knowing where I'm going
unlike Joan Didion justly
cannibalizing candidates
who didn't read the Constitution, Bill of Rights or
Federalist Papers. It's late, 
I have not vacuumed or shopped for food.
Instead I reread
Phil Levine's Salami.





Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
The wrinkled gent woke up suddenly in the middle of the night. Staring into the 
darkness he saw nothing. Gloom and fear ganged up against his mind. Had he 
heard something? What was it? Something falling with a bang? What? 
He had heard things fall in the night such as glass picture frames—old strings giving 
way. The picture would crash to the floor, shattering the glass. He would recognize 
this. But he did not hear shattering glass. 
Was it a thief in the night? He lay listening, not daring to move. The night was dark, 
cloudy, gloomy—and scary! Desperately replaying the sound, he heard a bong in his 
mind’s ear.
A bong! That would have come from the old grandfather’s clock. Yes, it had to be his 
grandfather’s clock. He knew it. His stomach released its tension.
His eyes popped open again. How could it be the clock? The clock stopped running 
when his grandfather died – forty years ago, this very night!
Suddenly the clock started striking. Twelve strokes at midnight. With bolt-upright 
attention, he sat in self-detention, and pondered.
His grandfather was a strong man who lived to be ninety years old. Then the clock 
stopped to run no more. One of his kin wrote a song about it, and it was sung for 
generations.
	“My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf, so it stood ninety 
years on the floor. 	It was taller by half than the old man himself, though it weighed 
not a penny weight more . . .”
He would find out why the clock was striking. Slipped quietly to the room near the 
clock’s encasement, he saw the clock standing with its door open.
His eyes adjusted a little, and there in the floor he saw a dark object. What was it? 
He had left nothing there on which to stumble in the night. You learn a few things, 
he thought, in a long life like his. And you keep things picked up so you won’t fall 
over them.
Moving with stealth, he saw something hunched and furry, standing vigil with eyes 
reflecting light. His cat! Apparently, the cat had chased a mouse up the clock 
seeking safety. Its weight tripped the spring wound tightly, causing it to strike.
In his delusion the old gentleman grabbed his shotgun from the mantle. With the 
menace looming bigger, he quickly pulled the trigger. Now the old grandfather’s 
clock is no more. And the cat and mouse are a taxidermy chore.

####
Written for John Heck's "Choose your forte!" contest

Copyright © James Tate | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |
When we get old with arthritis in our bones we make thoughtful decisions about the use of our time. We can amuse our grandchildren while our children inhabit their jobs. We can volunteer to help others like a wolf that knows how to hunt. We can do something creative with our hours and work toward an outcome that warms people’s hearts.

We have options about what to do with our days. We can sit alone in our homes like the last drop of water left on a rock, or we can behave like practiced magicians who can slow down the clock with the snap of two fingers and live like an elder who is not afraid of the dark and be more inclined help our family and friends as they voyage down the highway of time. 
 

Copyright © Howard Dion | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
I never knew my mother father
He died when she was about five years old
He was quite an adventurous man
So there was a lot about him to be told

He was an Indian soldier in the British army
During the world war one campaign
He Came to Trinidad from India
And never return to India again

I don’t know how he met my grandmother
Or how their romance did began
Because my grandmother was born handicap
With Deformed feet and hand

But it must have been love at first sight
That moment must have been really great
I wish I had ask her about that moment
But I never think about it till it’s too late

I don’t even know the date or year
But they got married a little while after
She must have been really beautiful
And he must have really love her

They had one child which is my “my mother
Then my grand father died when she was five
He was taking her to India to see his family
But Got sick and he didn’t survive

I remember my mother telling stories
That her father use to tell to her
About all the places he has been to
And bout his time in the war

And about one time he and other solders
Was tired in the forest and took a brake
Think they sat down on a log of a tree
But it really a big fat snake

She taught her a lot at a very early age
He taught her how to build camp fires
And he use lift her on his shoulders
he gave her a lot hopes and desire’s

she told how he build her a chair
And he listens to her every dream
How she would spend all his time with her
And made her home made ice cream

And how he has so many stories
He use to tell to her every day
He would about his family in India
And he never ran out of things to say.

And thought he died when she was five
She remembers every thing about him
Some thing that she will never forget
She carries with her forever within

My mother says I look like her father
And sometimes she looks at me and sees him
My grand father was about six feet tall
With muscles, very handsome and slim

And though my grandmother was handicap
She just captured his heart completely
This proves when the magic of love comes
True love knows no boundary

Now they are just apart of our history
And their story was of a time before
I’m writing from recollections’ of my memory
I wish I could of remember and write a lot more

Copyright © kasim ishmael | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
His evening’s at hand
For me it’s midday
The world rushed bye
Nothing can stay

Confused and befuddled
He’s still dear to me
As a toddler of two
I bounced on his knee

The down on a thistle
Has blown far away
But this morning great grandkids
Did roughhouse and play

Copyright © Douglas Dicketts | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
Sitting working in my private room a grandfather clock ticks and tocks so very loudly,
Like a metronome tuned into my mind my eyes become heavy my lids slowly begin to close,
My mind drifts into very dark places, jet black places with a tiny white dot way off,
I walk towards the dot and after miles and miles it started to grow so much brighter.

Looking behind to see where I started there was nothing just the darkest of dark black,
I have no choice but to keep on walking towards the white dot now confused and scared,
After hours and hours I reach the dot but it is not a dot now it is a new bright world,
There were green fields greener than I have ever seen the trees had heavy velvet leaves.

People walked towards me they were smiling they were happy I wanted to shake their hands,
But they hugged me and held me and talked so kindly my troubles and worries disappeared,
Young children skipping, my new friends laughing it seemed I had known them all my life,
Being with these people was pure happiness we walked up to a white mansion we went inside.

A beautiful girl came running out to meet us she stood in front of me and gave me a rose,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen it was frosted and gilded and drops of dew fell,
A man with grey hair and a white suit sat by a piano and began to play the sweetest tune,
I leaned on it's shiny surface and could feel the beat of soft hammers on wire, pure music.

All smiled and clapped when this maestro had finished my friends giggled as they saw my joy,
They asked lovely questions nice questions I enjoyed answering as they made me feel good,
We got up and began to walk back to the place where I had first met my wonderful friends,
We talked we laughed everything was about nice things I could feel the smile on my face.

Then the man with grey hair and the white suit said it was time that I made my way home,
Still smiling I desperately wanted to stay forever he saw this and said to have patience,
They stood in line by the entrance each person hugged and kissed me tears ran down my face,
The next thing I knew I was in my private room the grandfather clock still going tick tock.

I thought about my wonderful dream those wonderful people and still felt very warm inside,
It was all so very real and was very disappointed knowing it was just a lovely sweet dream,
Those people in that beautiful garden blessed with such loveliness they seemed so very real,
Standing up and stretching I saw something by the door it was a beautiful rose frosted and dewy,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen.

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
Why is it when someone go kill them self 
That they always have to go for such a violent way?
Is your life so miserable?
Wouldn't you want to go pain free?
To become pain free
In order for the deed to be done
A violent way is the only option
Is there something wrong with that picture?

Copyright © Miya Fontaine | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Grandpa had a good idea
for treating his sore knee.
He'd get a jar and fill it up
with raisins; and then he

would fill the jar with brandy or
at least with alcohol,
any kind would work for this
he wasn't picky at all.

He'd leave the raisins soaking
in the jar for several hours
and then he'd take them out and he
would fill that jar with flowers.

And then he'd give the flowers to
my Grandmother in case
he got too soused from drinking all
the liquor in that vase.

It didn't do a doggone thing
to make his joints unstiffen,
but as he said, and I agree,
it surely couldn't hurt none.

Copyright © Christine Lehman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
Everyone flies
I’m still left behind
Scared to death
I’m losing my mind.

Sitting on a chair
Counting white hairs
Realized I’m too old
But I just don’t care.

I see the beauty
A man getting old
Got wrinkles on skin
Memories don’t fold.

Have money and time
Though no more strength
Let me live each day
Make a longer length...

Copyright © Lei Strauss | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
some say  O..T
they have the key
be there don that
know where its at
this just reminder
repect the
OLD TIMER

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
                                Mirror mirror on the wall
                              Who is the fairest of them all?
                              Sure not you, you silly dope
                             In this field you have no hope.
           
                                 Mirror mirror judge of all
                            Can't you see some beauty small
                                    If its there its sure hid
                                That's why I answered as I did

                               All your teeth have fallen out 
                                You have wrinkles all about
                              Most all your hair has gone away
                                  What is left is turning grey

                                  And your chin is double now
                               A stomach that would fit a cow
                              In heavy folds your skin doth sag
                                To tell the truth your just a hag
                         
                               And as I thought to answer back
                              The glass hung there began to crack
                                   It shattered and fell to the floor
                                     To end its lies forevermore

                           For my Grandfather........He gets it...

Copyright © Jai Bankson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
The perfect gift
Is often a myth
It's clearly out of reach

You're already gone
Never to respawn
But listen to me preach

The best gift of all
Is hearing your call
And having you back with me

It's been too long
I wrote us a song
I wish you were here to see

Christmas is about love
The innocence of a dove
But also family

Grandpa that's you
We all know it's true
I fall right under your tree

You are my gift
That one wish
I'll glance up at the moon

I'll blow you a kiss
It'll never miss
Grandpa I'll see you soon
                                                                -<3









Copyright © Alex Riker | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Home is not the same,  it's changed since I've been there,
I go to sit under the apple tree, and recall all the memories that we shared,
Hiding away from the world where nobody could see my tears,
This place holds my heart in so many ways, and was my safe haven for years,
Where my heart resided before all the changes took place,
When I was little I would go to that spot, it was my place to pray,
The talk is soon their selling it,  my heart is broken inside,
I must go back to my spot because I know there isn't much time,
Grandma and grandpa can't keep up with it, it's all too much for them,
I go to help as much as I can, but in my heart I understand,
This home is where my heart is, and where it will always be,
This is where I was raised, my heart, my family.

Copyright © cortney bartholomew | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
For those that read this.all goes to my Grandfather,whom wrote most.   
     The reson I get to write is because he knew what I Didn't.......R.I.P.With Love,Doc
             ''We talk of how the Lord did come
               In form Abram's seed
               Of miracles that He performed
               His care for human need
        
               Of those He healed and those He fed
               Compassion in His heart
               The inspired record given to us
               Is really just a part

               We read of how He gave His life
               Upon Calvary's cruel tree
               To pay the sin debt of us all
               And made salvation free
       But all of this is as a myth,The church its doors should close
   No truth exists,no eternal life,except life,Except Jesus Christ arose
  -But praise the Lord,the Holy book,Records this glorious fact
  Death could not hold the Son of God,Nor sepulcher stone hold back
       Therefore the power of endless life,The Son of God does hold
    And this our hope by faith in Him,the story shall never grow old
                 Oh grave where is your victory
                 Oh death where is your sting
                 Death is swallowed in the victory
                 Of Jesus Christ our King

         He is the resurrection and life of all who believe in Him
               All earthly values that man holds dear
                     In light of all this truth grows dim
      
                 He arose and we shall rise
                 From graves wherever they may be
                 Or if alive when Jesus comes
                 From death forever free!''
                                                            Stafford D.Bankson 
                                                    and his Thankful Grandson
                                                                               Jai''Doc''B
                                                                   
                                                                  

                
 








Copyright © Jai Bankson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
My fingers your ears
Your eyes my tears
My lips your breast
Your tongue my chest
Your mind my soul
My grip your hold
Your hands my thighs
My whisper your sighs
Now gently I kiss your lips
Oh god you feel so hot
A little further down I go
I think I have found the dead spot
Even with you 
Your eyes covered
You could still 
Taste the lust upon my soul
When you discover your purpose
You realize that you belong
To someone a greater
Greater means no longer among
You are no longer a dream
You realize that you are the fairy
All we get is talking talking talking
Speeches all we hear
Badly needed waiting waiting waiting
And another year is here
Achieve anything aim higher 
Work hard dream bigger
Look after yourself 
And love each other


Copyright © Arif Muhammad | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
To my grandfather with the golden soul
Who sees through all the lies that are told
By my side you have been offering nothing but
Kindness and love
To me you are my gaurdian angel
There to pick me up in case I fall
To my grandfather with the golden soul
You are straight from the heavens above 
Offering me nothing more than kindness and love

copyright2009
amanda vaughn

Copyright © amanda vaughn | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
You grip my hands as they begin to shake,
With tears in your eyes, Sweetheart, everything will be ok,
I gave you grandma's butterfly and you held it in your hand,
So you could look at it everyday until Jesus takes you home again,
I can't thank you enough for all the love you gave,
For everything you sacrificed, I thanked you over and over again,
The only man on this earth I respected the most,
You always gave, never complained, not once did you boast,
You were the example of Gods love to me everyday,
Peeking through the door i watched you on your knees to pray,
You hold a place in my heart no man could fill,
You gave me peace and security, your heart was so real,
I paused at the door, I can't bear to watch you leave,
What will I do without you, my heart can't breathe,




Copyright © cortney bartholomew | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |
YOU! Yes you, if you were still here I'd yell at you I'd go to you I'd look at you and show you I am still here I am still here YOU ARE NOT YOU! Yes you, the one who made me sit like this made me feel like this You did NOT make me I made me I am still here YOU ARE NOT YOU! Yes you, I won, you see, I won, I have a life I finally have a life I don't need to think about you anymore I am still here YOU ARE NOT I hope you rot

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse |
Chapter 2

All her emails took months to reveal Chapter One
But the trust between us kept on growing,

On her part, perhaps getting that I really cared,
And for me, con game fear, was a caution.

At the start when she just ask for poetry help
It was certainly innocent starting.

I helped edit her poem on her brother’s death, (1)
Which was hiding an iceberg of feelings,

Little hint, from just it, her whole family died
And that she was the only survivor.

Then she finally shared that her parents were dead
And how  she had been grievously injured.

It seemed clear, early on, she was tightly controlled
The relations quite distant she lived with.

But I was not concerned just because of her age
Till she overheard plans for adoption.

They were hoping to access her parent’s estate
Which was hers as the only survivor.

And her trust was so small that she actually feared
Them complicit in death of her parents.

We had talks about how little power she had
I advised her she needed a lawyer.

But she had little way to find one on her own
Even poetry time was restricted.

I felt sure she was hiding her friendship with me
Sometimes days would go by without speaking.

But with culture and distance to keep us apart
There was nobody else I could talk to,

Though a picture emerged of both power and wealth
And a family possibly murdered.

July 10, 2016
Brian Johnston

Poet's Note:

I promise that Neethu's story is not all doom and gloom. The next three
chapters will relate wonderful and amazing changes in fact. Stay tuned!

Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
Living One's life
Demanding respect
Just to end up shriveled and barely breathing
In a hospital bed
Touching so many people 
and creating a grand family
To forget it years later 
with a horrible disease

I am so sorry
That you have to go
But i won't make you stay
Because you suffer so
I am so sorry to let you leave
But i know you would understand
For so long, we have grieved

Goodbye, know that we Love you
Now, close your eyes tight
We will never forget our Grandfather
So, please just rest tonight



Copyright © Maz Zie | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
                      I have to make my living on my friends
                        My enemies contribute not at all
                      Therefore I cannot give,or profit ends
                           And then my buissness will fall 
                                                                             
                            I gladly lend you of my goods
                                 I ask only that you pay
                                I make a profit as I should
                           For after all I work each and every day

                      Now you would not want to work for naught
                           So why do you expect that I should
                    Contribute all the things that I have bought
                      Sometimes I think you do not wish me good
                                 
                      Now there are many stores that sell for less
                            Most any merchandise that I keep
                            Yet when your in financial distress
                            My goods it seems are very cheap

                           But on the day when you have cash
                        It seems my prices are always too high
                               For to the superstore you dash
                        It makes me want to sit right down and cry


          For my Grandfather's Store;
            
                    

Copyright © Jai Bankson | Year Posted 2016