Best Grandchild Poems
The Mother Tree
I am the mother tree that spawned the seeds of you.
My children, you've grown and branched away from me.
You've married, left home to start your life anew.
Where e'er you go remember you're my family.
My roots run very deep into the earthly soil.
My centered rings are many, you may not yet view.
They show the story of my years of work and toil
And of growth and wisdom I've tried to share with you.
As you branch out, your little seedlings too will grow.
You'll try to keep them safe under your canopy.
One day when they grow up and leave, you too will know
The painful pangs of missing branches on your tree.
As they return for advice from their mother tree
Remind them to honor God with humility.
6-13-20
~First Place~ Poem of the Day June 15, 2020~
Non Human Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
I look and ponder, watch you grow in haste
Explore with wonder, new experience taste
No fear encountered as you learn the ropes
Your sails adjusting, full with winds of hope.
But there are moments when the seeds of doubt
Without much warning spread and start to sprout
Then you need guidance, words which shed some light
Advice and promptings which once more excite.
I weigh my options when the waves rise high,
Stay in the background, tactful, on standby,
Not interfering, yet with cautious eye
Give needed help should threats intensify.
I am a lighthouse built on sound terrain
In times of darkness, you won’t call in vain.
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This poem has been published in a PoetrySoup Anthology:
“Radiant Verses” Nov 2024 (print)
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Placed 1st in Contest 540 Hosted by Brian Strand in Jan 2019.
Lighthouse Poetry Contest Sponsored by Eve Roper Placed joint first POTD on 24th Dec 2018 © 22nd December 2018.
Note: This is a poem dear to me, as the title would suggest, so receiving a POTD award undoubtedly brought added satisfaction.
Through the years they worked their spells
From drawers and cupboards, taking things
That through them, thus, were given wings
And changed to sweetness meant for kings
With warm and wafting scrumptious smells
My Nana's hands ...
Countless times we'd strolled to town
To shop for what she'd need that eve
(First taking stock before we'd leave)
A shopping list tucked up her sleeve
My wee lad's fingers, safe and sound
In Nana's hands ...
The way back home was twice as long
Our arms filled plump with paper sacks
The makings and some special snacks
Oh, how the groceries bent our backs
Yet even then, I held on tight ...
To Nana's hands ...
Still it was always worth the chores
To watch her mix and bake and cook
While dancing to-and-from her nook
And glancing, sometimes, in a book
Oh, how I marveled and adored ...
My Nana's hands ...
But sometimes they were hard to hold
Curled with arthritis, wracked with pain
She oft' times had to stretch and strain
Though NEVER did she ONCE complain
Through rheumatism's stranglehold ...
On Nana's hands ...
See ...
Those bent old hands in disrepair
Worked twice as hard so we could eat
Thus each night's meal and every treat
Was that much more divine and sweet
All from the love and tender care ...
Of Nana's hands ...
And still, my fingers long to share ...
My Nana's
Gentle ...
Hands.
- by Gregory R Barden
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Cornucopia Cooking" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
The chair is her home, her universe now
It is all that her many years will allow
Helena’s elegant beauty once shone
Now her mind wanders a world of its own
Age has changed her body but not her heart
Many great stories she’d always impart
To the wide-eyed grandchild she admired so
A girl who has loved her since long ago
Tales of black velvet gowns in which she’d dance
Soft moonlit beaches where she found romance
Economic hardships that came to pass
The rise and the fall of each social class
Her hands and face are now weathered with age
Accounts of the past still flow from this sage
And though some repeat again and again
I still listen now, just as I did then
I’ve memorized these tales, her gifts to me
And always I’ll remain her devotee
It matters not that my name escapes her
Love from her eyes she can always confer
Grandma brushes fingers across my face
And whispers, “Beautiful,” as we embrace
Though I miss years when she knew me so well
I know in the past her memories dwell
My love for her lingers, it always will
I take comfort knowing she loves me still
*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*
Hi grandpa, it's me again!
Your dentures sit in an open glass above the nightstand
Remember the tears grandma sang before she pass?
The way she looked into your eyes,
Moments before she said goodbye
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma,
She will always wait for you.
Hi grandpa, it’s me again!
The rocking chair is old and dusty
Remember the way grandma sat me on her lap?
Read many stories before I took a nap
How she enjoyed stroking my hair with her hands
I miss the way she rocked me to sleep every night
Hello, grandpa!
I stored your hearing aid away
Remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer?
I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina soar
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma loved
I hope you don’t mind, I’m keeping grandma's favorite scarf
Hello, Grandpa!
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Remember the way she looked in the yellow pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
Like the walking cane she handcrafted before she left
Hello, grandpa, it's me again!
My tears have soften now,
knowing you will soon see her again
Take your place with her in the sky
Please, say hi and give her a kiss
Tell her I miss her so much
I love you grandpa
~*~
Before I die, I want my grandchildren to know these things.
Believe in yourself and be your own best friend.
No one else can keep your secrets like you can.
And if you do not believe in yourself, it will be difficult for others to.
I want my grandchildren to know this:
When you get old your hearing and eyesight may fly away.
Like birds on an almost weather day, never to return.
So do whatever you want now while you are fresh and young.
I want to will my five hundred paintings to my grandchildren.
For I feel my children will pluck them off my walls and burn them.
They know how swiftly I paint, and do not have a love for hippies.
Grands appreciate my neon colors, unicorns, dragons and faeries.
I want to apologize to my children for the mess I am leaving.
I did not bother to clean anything,
It will be a bonding experience for you three girls
A week or two of cousins getting together, which will amuse me.
I want to assure you that I will be in a catbird seat, watching.
I will listen to what you are saying about me, and I will laugh with you.
I never took myself too seriously, and it will be a great time for me.
Because life beyond this world is the real living. Earth life is confining.
Letting you in on a secret. I am an astral traveler in my slumber.
I am not in my body; my spirit is outside, travelling at great speeds.
I do not believe in death, because I am also an empath
I am not “dead” – I am actually more alive than ever before.
You can see him now, dirty as a horse
that slipped in the mud, planting petunias
with that infamous shamrock thumb
(Irish from his Pop Appendage from his Mum)
stopping every now - and again -
to breathe deep that fragrance
rich with pheromone nostalgia
just like Grammy Georgina used too do
the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
I can still see her now, in her glory days,
with lovely lemon locks soaking up the summer sun,
rooted in that old-fashioned train of mind:
You don't stop your work until it's done!
(but a walking contradiction, just like her grandson,
... rose to her nose like ruby rebellion)
the tree doesn't grow solely from the ground
Water's an important player too,
especially from grandma's showering can
(laughing tears the shade of crystalline blue)
Course you can't forget those lifetime lessons either,
from dear ole Georgie, speaking with a sunny kind of seriousness,
about the importance of patience,
the fruitfulness of labor,
plucking up the surviving winters' courageous cucumbers,
blushing beets
the ground isn't just a place for our feet
Cause with her and I, we incinerate the stereotype:
young blood reflecting on infinity,
old knees dancing like she's got chipper chipmunks
for toes giggles in the background like a photobomb
to the expected chapel silence
(it's not all peaches and cream though,
sometimes we get violent)
Orange slush, flying miles behind us,
at times getting grazed in the face
by nature's food fight
our feet between the squish squish of the crab apple
We were two peas, if you please, in a curious pod,
like a whimsical joke from a laughing God:
Me, the champion of her scallions,
the guardian of her garden,
leaving all sensibility befuddled
with an, "I beg your pardon?"
I wonder if she knew then the gravity of the situation,
watching mama scream bloody murder,
as I came into this world ...
... was she scratching her head, lips curled, in questioning amazement,
just like Newton must have been, when developing his theory?
What d'you suppose they both were thinking?
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree ...
Written March 27, 2016
For the Cliche Contest Hosted by Silent One
I lived my best in season of the sun,
those yellow, mellow days when cares are flung
to June’s warm breeze, and childhood is begun,
a field to wander in, and all is young!
I lived my zenith in the summer heat.
Ah, zephyr of sublime and untried heights!
Blue sky, July, and taste of kisses sweet
still haunt my mind in cool midsummer nights.
In August came dry winds, and I was torn
from my adobe of early gleeful days.
My children both at summer’s end were born,
and now a grandchild in new sunlight plays.
When dusk, unhurried, comes, I live my best.
In Virgo’s sun may I be laid to rest.
For Brian Strand's ANY 2012 POEM any theme/
any form max of 18 lines Poetry Contest
and now for PD's Any Form Under 15 Lines Poetry Contest
I once had knew a man
Who became older than a dead man
A tired soul, he was.
Looked like he'd never seen a bed
And
His gray hair resembled a cloudy day,
With fog, and his swollen eyes -
- looked like someone had just punched him in the face
His skin was wrinkled like a dollar bill in a child's pocket
Told to put it in his wallet, but Gosh darn it, he didn't think it
Through,
the skin on his face was sagging like the jeans of a teenage delinquent,
Or like borrowing a pair from someone who weighs a hundred more than you
His back was hunched like he was searching for answers that lie upon the ground
He had always kept his walker close to him, it helped him get around.
Too someone else, he may just seem to be an old man
But too me, he is a gold man.
'Cause That's my old man.
Brody
I bought two new books for you today my sweet boy.
The Wizard of Oz and the Jungle book should bring joy.
I'm very proud of how wonderfully you read.
As an English scholar, I know you will succeed.
I see your picture in the morning when I rise
As I observe your dark hair and sparkling brown eyes
The thought and sight of you really makes me smile,
Although, when I saw you last, it's been quite a while.
I miss watching you laugh and play riding your bike.
I love photos sent of you and Dad on that hike.
You love to have fun in the sun I know, I know...
You race and ride that ATV just like a pro.
Your mommy sends me sweet pictures which makes my day
I would love to find a letter from you today.
You look so dashing in your boy scout livery
With badges bravely sought and won with chivalry.
Your Kung fu lessons have trained mind and body well
I'm proud of you my dear grandson and I can tell
The kind of compassionate soul you will one day be.
I pray to God you will be blessed eternally.
Sometimes tears fall because you live so far away
I long for your kisses and hugs most everyday.
Please don't ever forget how much your Gram loves you.
You have my heart, and with your smile I can't feel blue.
4-9-18
© Connie Marcum Wong
-Poem of the day April 11, 2018~
5th place in Emile Pinet's Non-Romantic Love Contest
Man loves friends
Babies have toys as friends
Children have peer groups as friends
Young men like making friends
Friends can become spouses
Entrepreneurs have ambitions and dreams
as friends
Stars are friends of the moon
The splendid glow is the friend of sunset
The shore is the friend of the sea
We are friends of our grandchildren
Pets are man's friends
Only genuineness and sincerity of heart
Showing a true love
Only sincerity and cordiality
Is a sign of friendship
Those happy, golden years, the children growing up...
great days of joy, some tears, sweet nectar in our cup.
So blessed the three of them had come to fill our life;
each one a special gem...years spent with little strife.
Oh my, those years went fast...so soon an empty nest.
Can’t hold on to the past, for sure, those years were blessed.
The empty nest took hold, such quiet filled our days.
Kids followed dreams of gold...we lifted them in praise.
We filled our days with friends and came and went as pleased.
Life changes as it lends the time to feel appeased.
Few years went by, behold! A second chance to spend
our time again to hold small babes, with joy attend;
to love and cherish each, and watch them grow each day,
to play with them, and teach! What joy had come our way!
Time passed…grandkids of five, no longer babes for sure,
have learned their way to thrive, now grown up and mature.
Again, the years went fast...another time to test...
can’t hold on to the past. Oh my, those years were blessed!
Our empty nest, twofold! Such quiet fills our days!
They too chase dreams of gold...we lift them now in praise!
We celebrate with cheers the cherished life we spent...
two times of golden years...with young ones, heaven-sent.
March 31, 2014
~3rd Place~
Contest: Nostalgia
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 07/05/2019
~3rd Place~
Premiere Contest: 2019 Marathon Mile #24
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 03/21/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: My Lovely Children
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 02/26/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: Golden Days
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Judged: 04/08/2015
Iambic Hexameter, Internal Rhyme, Couplet Rhyme
Footsteps on stairs,
little feet pounding, running,
child faces peeking round the kitchen door,
expectancy alive, dancing in their eyes.
They know that love is always here
waiting just for them.
Each one thinks he is favorite;
in his or her own way, it is true.
Each is the most special
not for anything they say or do,
just for being.
We have our rituals -
breakfast French toast and bacon,
back rubs and funny faces,
movie nights,
ice cream after church,
backyard camp outs,
lots of love, laughter.
Happy takes me by surprise
each time I look
in my grandchild’s eyes.
© September 11, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Letting Go
Letting go...sometimes it happens twice,
Eventually, as life does cast its dice.
The little ones we raised flew from the nest,
Though for sure, the time we shared was blessed.
Into our lives there came the second chance;
New little ones to share our lives, enhance
Grandparent's joy to love; lives interspersed.
Gift of second chance soon followed first...
Off they fly, now grown, new paths dispersed.
How quick the years go by when we
find joys we think will never pass.
Although they do, we happily
accept the new ones we amass.
joys of parenthood
relived with young grandchildren;
next joys...their success
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Letting Go - Three Form Style
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 04/13/2016
~10th Place~
Premiere Contest: Your Best Poem From Any of Laura Loo's Contests
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 09/18/2016
Car doors slam, country quiet broken
A race ensues… front door flies open
Dogs start barking, excitedly running
A happy day... grandsons are coming
Overnight bags in a flash are dropped
Energy released can never be stopped
"Papaw! Momo! We're here!" they yell
All that is missing is a ringing doorbell
Hugs, big smiles, checking all rooms
We stay mostly outside all afternoon
A walk up the driveway for a short hike
Playing on porch or riding their bikes
At supper they tell all that they know
Story after story and swear it is so
Baths, snacks, teeth brushed and bed
Tucked in kisses after prayers are said
Tired dogs look at us with questioning eyes
Is this temporary or for the rest of our lives?
Beside each child they settle for the night
On alert for a sign something's not right
Exhausted, we smile at our pride and joys
Grateful to have this time with the boys
8/10/16
Pure Childlike Fun and Enthusiasm Contest by Carin Krutsinger
Third Place - June 2018