Best Grand Dad Poems
Ricky was just eight years of age,
As a single mom, had to down stage,
That his papa could die any day soon,
I remember that night, there was a full moon,
Doctor said that it would be a long night,
We watched my brave dad fight,
Withered to a skeleton, down forty kilos,
Bed sores were protected by many pillows,
Cancer had eaten away his life,
Married forty five years, to his devoted wife.
My son and my father were inseparable,
Their love for each other immeasurable,
Ricky went to bed, my Mom and I on alert,
Death was in the air, with my dad it did flirt,
My father was very, very ill
Time dragged, it almost stood still.
Night passed and morning came
The doctor came to visit, things still the same,
Took Ricky to school, drove back, sat to have tea,
With my mum when the unavoidable had to be,
Two caregivers by my dad’s side, the one
Shouted help quick, we ran, it was too late
Dad was on his way to heaven‘s gate.
It was eleven thirty in the morning,
A new era without my dad was dawning
My first thought dear God help me tell Ricky.
I drove to his school at the usual time,
Not wanting to alarm him, regular home time,
His teacher guessed as I tried not to cry,
And tried to keep a dry
Eye, what’s wrong mom Ricky asked, is it papa,
Yes my darling, Ricky sobbed, oh no mama
He sobbed and he sobbed, people came
And so did his friends, what a shame,
All thought of the relationship he had
With his beloved Grand-dad.
The next morning, my son,
Said quite bravely, mama
Going to school, have a spelling test,
What a wonderful little boy, I am blessed.
When I collected Ricky he said,
I spelled everything right from A to zed,
Papa helped with my test, the clouds in the sky
Spelled every word, I felt him so close,
I could touch his nose,
But after break all I did was cry!
Limerick : Once a Lonely Grand-Dad in a Log-Jam
Once a Lonely Grand-Dad in a Log-Jam
Paid an urgent visit to a Grande-Dame*
She lifted the stuck log
During Pea-Souper smog
Damn ! Got carried down Grand-Dad Rapids – Wham !
* Dame : pronounced as in French
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
It s only a wrist watch
with a faded leather strap.
With it's gold numbers
a precious possession that's kept in a box.
Shown to the grand kids
His pride and joy.
"But grand dad its only a watch !"
"It is only a watch !", but look what does it say ?.
45 years service to the railway.
My life is engraved on the back of this watch.
I gave of my all my sweat and my blood.
See my grey hair and calloused hands
these are the things I got with the watch.
When I pass on, this watch it will be yours.
hold it close to your heart, as I will be gone.
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Comp entry 24102016 old jewellery or just old things
The British Red Poppy to me
Always creates a tear when near,
Half my family
Having died because of war.
All had to volunteer,
That was the thing to do.
My Great Grand father died
At a very early age.Died at at thirty,
Another war hero Was written on the doctors page.
My Grand Dad of whom I hardly knew,
Died going over the top,
Blown to pieces, no body to view.
His two daughters enlisted as nurses,
Killed together when their ferry hit a mine.
When we were winning the war too.
My dad was shot by a sniper,
My dad only lost his arm.
He puts the replacement on,
Every day and removes it at night.
It always hurts but he smiles,
And says he is feeling alright.
I pray to the God who is up there,
If you love us, stop all wars if you care.
Remembrance Day and the Poppy
Are important to me.
We must not forget those who gave their lives valiantly,
So that you and I can walk on our land and be free.
In the quietness of the night,
I give my own thankful prayer.
Our soldiers gave the greatest gift of all,
Protecting us with their love and care
“HOSPITAL HUMP”
(a tall tale – or not?)
The wind and the cold on the hill
they stood still
as two shadows arrived
near the peak
above what was known
as “Hospital Hump”
a devious, dastardly,
butt crushing bump.
So started the legend
a Grand-dad and Grand-son
who challenged the hill
“OH, just for fun!!”
The younger had shouted
“Papa, do the hump”
to which he replied
“it’s just one more bump.”
They stood at the top
no fear…..maybe traces
looked down on the horrified
frost frozen faces.
Thus the legend was born
of a daring descent
toward the “Hospital Hump”
and all that name meant.
Bright blue of their chariot
rippling with speed
gathering momentum
approaching the deed.
Then, as all of nature
and man stood aghast
they hit “Hospital Hump”
going way, way too fast.
Frozen in time
against pure blue-black light
Papa and Grandson
about to take flight.
The toboggan drew air
as the partnership crumbled
the younger continued
the older – he tumbled
back flipped and rolled
in the feather cold snow.
The toboggan continued
its arc o’er the trees
as the terrified crowd
fell to their knees,
the kid – now alone
looking down on the trees.
Grandpa was up!
Tracing the arc
wondering if
it would touch down
by dark.
The crowd gathered near
unsure of their place
straining they saw
two eyes and a face,
under the snow
an ice covered grin
shouted “C’MON PAPA
LET’S DO IT AGAIN!”
6/30/2016
submitted to – Tell a Tall Tale – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Jesse Day
Once again driving down
this old country road,
days gone by,
memories rolling back
into my mind,
stories my grand dad
told me of this old
country road.
Putting along in his
old roadster, stopping,
for gas 19 cents a gallon,
bring back those good ole days.
Hot day like this one,
bottle of coke only
5 cents, he throws down,
rolling hills, everywhere
the eye can see,
trees reahing so high,
into the beautiful sky.
Him and I take all
of this in, to store
in our minds and heart,
as we depart this old
country road, I truly
cherish those memories
of days long ago.
wrote 1-29-07
The Golden Street
As I sit here all alone
And reflect on the home
My son invited me to share
And I readily agreed
This is where I want to be
With my son ,and grandsons
Living within a realm of love so rare
I recall my youth when
My Grandpa was my best friend
And he welcomed my Daddy and my Mom
There in his two room shanty
Where Mom gave birth to nine
And he expected nothing from anyone.
And Grandpa christened me
Irish lass. His Dad was born in Ireland
Way back then I can recall
Meals were few and salary small.
But I tasted wealth in the presence of Grand-dad
And I was told how Grandma moved away
After her first four were raised
She left Grandpa
And three young ones all alone
While she sought excitement
In Montreal, Quebec
Grandpa labored daily and spent nights
Void of warmth
Yet he never spoke of regret
And he loved her from his marriage to his grave
Grandpa took his responsibility
Seriously
Regardless of how his children turned out
Grandpa stood by them consistently
He accepted the negative
He praised the worth
Because Grandpa understood
He was responsible for giving them birth
And maybe I am old fashioned
But I believe Grandpa was right
If you bring a child into this world
You'd better treat them right
You had better be prepared to love them
In the good times as well as the bad
You had better be prepared to dry tears
To comfort them when they're sad
And if you fail to love them unconditionally
If you toss them away where doom they meet
Then you don't deserve them in the first place
And you don't deserve to walk The Golden Street
by Joan Donnelly Ellis April 14, 2016
Dear Ronny
What a Divine being you are !
You gallop in all your fours
the moment I call thy name.
At times, even my very look
fetches fast your benign presence.
You wag your tail ?
Flap your fan-like ears ?
Sitting by my doorstep rail
you wean out all my fears
and gently bark...you smile ?
Busy dad running after money
Self-gearing mom with her
Hectic hitches at her women’s wing
Brother, too little to talk to.
Friends stuck to mobile phones.
Tried to communicate grand-dad
Listless he had become, grew impatient
My approaches right or wrong, I was glad
I kept indoors like an eternal in-patient
for, none tried to understand.
Even tried God , Him I trust.
Threw silent prayers...again prayers
They say – a prayer is thanks giving.
It must be a supplication
Never turn it an application
Carrying worries to Him ? –my inner voice
No...Let it go. He destined it so.
Then, I turned my head to you, my next choice
The best choice, Ronny, raise thy brow ?
Doggy, you alone can bring me poise.
Now, I am pouring out my worries
Into thy reticently receptive rectangular head
Like the main channel of a overflowing reservoir
Forcefully falling into focused fathom
You wag your tail? Is it tail ? Or head ?
When an understanding soul is there
We continue riding in one-way
I tend to continue in that vein
Hey, Ronny, What’s that? Tears in thy eyes ?
There...I got my living god.
Composed by Muralidara Kannan
My dad was renown as a cad
Which made my love life rather sad
Would I know when I kissed her
That she was my sister?
If not, he would be a grand dad!
I remember my old grand dad
Always wore his Sunday best
We always called him "Poppy"
It was always pinned upon his chest
For as long as I remember
He always had that piece of red
Tattered, torn, but sturdy
In memory of the dead
Echoes in his mind of years
Images so real
I never asked him what he saw
His tears...they sealed the deal
A silver screen of vintage flicks
In his brain of days gone by
Of good times with the friends he had
Of the days he saw them die
"Poppy" sat out on the porch
With his beat up Meerschaum pipe
He kept it tight between his lips
I never once saw it alight
He'd stare out in the distance
Seeing things from back in time
He'd listen to the voices
He never quite heard mine
We lost him back in eighty three
When "Poppy" got the wire
He was the last of his platoon
They had just lost Cpl. Squire
Echoes in his mind of years
Images so real
I never asked him what he saw
His tears...they sealed the deal
A silver screen of vintage flicks
In his brain of days gone by
Of good times with the friends he had
Of the days he saw them die
"Poppy" went inside himself
Never spoke another word
He was back with his old friends
As free as a free bird
Each year he would get dressed up
"Poppy" would go out on parade
He never, ever left the house
The porch was the longest trip he made
On the eleventh of November
He'd would polish up his boots
And at precisely eleven hundred hours
He would stand there and salute
Two minutes more of silence
From a man who didn't speak
But his actions, they said volumes
They showed that "Poppy" was not weak
Echoes in his mind of years
Images so real
I never asked him what he saw
His tears...they sealed the deal
A silver screen of vintage flicks
In his brain of days gone by
Of good times with the friends he had
Of the days he saw them die
"Poppy" never left his prison
The one he created in his head
His world was just the front porch
And the life that he once led
I remember my old grand dad
With his poppy, beat by time
It would adorn his chest proudly
And I now wear it on mine.
old man counts coup
lots killed few missed
aims true then laughs
a long stretched band
the aged hand aims
flies land dead
This actually happened. I was about ten years old, visiting my gramp’s home, in the North Carolina mountains just out of Canton. My mom needed some relief while she was about to have my second brother. Grand dad took us across the pasture to a neighbor’s home to listen to a champion ship boxing match on the radio. I don’t remember who fought but I remember it being gosh awful hot and the windows were up to catch a breeze which never came. On reflecting later I supposed it had something to do with giving the flies a way to get back out. Not the first sign of a screen anywhere on the windows. Anyway this old, old man about 200 or so years was in bed with some kind of nite shirt on. He was sitting up, propped against some pillows and had a sling shot rubber. He could stretch it out about three feet and then pop the flies off of his bed from about two, two and half feet away. It was all he could do to stretch that band back and you can imagine his hands were wobbling and shaking from the strain. When he popped a fly he would just laugh like crazy. Somehow he managed to sync with all that wobbling and shaking and would usually get a fly. On the way home we laughed about that till our sides split. I have often thought about the old man and the way he had to spend his last days. The way he laughed I guess he was happy enough in his situation. And the way we laughed I hope was not a lack of deference to his situation, but the comedic fashion in which he was acting. The longer I live, it seems the more respect I have for old people. Wonder why that is?
When you died
We wept and cried
So much you left
Inside unsaid
Buried with
Unexpressed regrets
Nothing to do with
Your grand children
You adored us
Unconditionally
Our youth our zest
Our innocence
No judging ever
Pure candid love
We gathered
When it happened
And I was the one
Who insisted
I’d sleep in your bed
I felt so privileged
Never doubting
You had visited
And kissed my head
Watched over me
Nestled there tiny in
The palm of your hand
Keeping me warm
All night till morn
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2021
It sat under the old Cottonwood tree in the shade
Before the house had "inside plumbing or running water"
Not the best, but all we had
Family owned and made
In the summer, it got a little hotter
Sometimes, you had to wait forever on old Grand Dad
In those days Castor Oil, was the sure cure for constipation
That was my grand mother's remedy, if that did not kill you, then came prune juice
I stayed skinny for many years
A running from her in the outhouse direction
She always kept us youngins loose
As a little kids she was one of my biggest fears
The fancy folks that lived up the road, had a "two seater"
I never could understand that at all
We just had the old standard one
Never was in one with a heater
A time for serenity, not a town meeting hall
Sometimes a place to hide from the Sun
Black Widow Spiders like to hide on the under side
Make sure you looked before you ever sat down
Or stomp them as they ran across the floor
Then one day we found our new pride
Got "inside plumbing and running water", we were uptown
Our outhouse never had a crescent moon on the it's front door
Smile
Grand Dad
b l i s s f u l l y
exudes with cheer
assures his favour for heritage grants.
Bearing kids of his children as treasures
Dad so delights
thanking God
for blest
gifts.
November 23, 2020
3rd place, "Double Tetractys 6" Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper; judged on 12/4/2020.
I’ve seen so much
In the few years I’ve been here
Some things witnessed
Are my deepest fears
Not too long ago
On July 26th of 2004
Two great friends
That I greatly adore
The first on this day
Was my dear ol’ grand dad
The other was a kid
And this kid had
A bright promising future
Just out of high school
And he always seemed
Oh so cool
Thing happen
Unpredictable and unjust
Yet push on
Everyone must
What is done is done
The past we cannot change
And at time this causes our lives
To be rearranged
Honor their memory with laughter
Do not dwell on the grief
Just move on
You must believe
I have lost men
Whose shoes I could only hope to fill
Some had passed
Because they were incurably ill
Some have died
Before their time
Passing in the very beginning
Of their promising prime
What makes a real man
Is not how he starts things
It is the kind of finish
He shall bring