Best Grandma Poems
I will always remember those uneven paths,
which led me to you -
sorrowful reminder of promises I could not keep.
All you wanted was to sit with me for a while,
to talk and maybe try to make me smile.
Yet fate did not let us share the stars,
not even for one night - now there is only darkness.
I will never forget,
how you would sit under the sage green veranda,
sipping on your sweet tea, laughing and chatting away.
Many would sit and listen to your non fiction tales
about when the air was clean and the fields were green,
childhood mischief and forgotten memories.
I'll always remember that glint in your eyes,
the warmth in your smile and that sui generis voice.
Especially when parades of birds would chirp at dawn
and when gazing at fireflies flickering under lanterns at dusk.
The veranda is now silent,
but grandma still calls your name.
The aroma from those abundance of petals still lingers,
but your scent does not appear.
Berries still appear from your affluent olive trees,
but they shall never be hydrated by your hands.
Sweet jasmine still climbs up veranda poles,
maybe trying to reach heaven, to be with you.
Your last words will always live with me:
"Come sit with me, even just for a couple of days."
but the next day you were gone...
Dedicated to my grandfather.
1930 - 18 August 2018.
Silent One
26 August 2018
Original poem - For Grandma
You died grandma and my heart was broken,
At your funeral I stood there trembling;
And in the name of love words were spoken,
I needed to speak words without weeping.
Me, standing up front holding my papers,
There was a soft breeze caressing my hair;
I looked at your coffin and the flowers,
Oh, how I wished this was just a nightmare.
I started to speak in such a sad voice,
And then, I felt your great strength within me;
I spoke of your life so all could rejoice,
So filled with your love that I spoke so free.
Then, I felt the papers go fluttering,
And in the name of love, I was speaking.
___________________________
New poem - Always For Grandma
And in the name of love, I was speaking,
As they put your coffin into the ground;
I looked calm but inside I was screaming,
Staying, until birds were the only sound.
Then, I went to the quiet of your home,
Wandering, I touched all your precious things;
And even to the attic, I went to roam,
Oh, grandma, your strength gave my poems wings.
It was you who gave me my first journal,
And you said, write it, write down all the pain;
My love for you grandma, is eternal,
And at last I wept, and outside was rain.
I lingered there for hours with memories,
Within me grandma, safe are your stories.
______________________
February 28, 2016
Poetry/Sonnet/Always For Grandma
Copyright Protected, ID 16-765-513-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Famous Last Line
sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
My Grandma smelt of peppermints.
Her kitchen of boiling bacon,
and margarine - it was always steamy
and 'welcomingly' warm.
The bathroom, off the kitchen,
smelt of carbolic soap, and a layer
of talcum powder dusted the cupboards
a reminder of its liberal use.
The garden, with a greenhouse,
had a glorious array of pinks
and Sweet Williams - it was always summer:
no winters here, always sunny, as I recall.....
The old corrugated air-raid shelter,
above ground now, was a haven
for childhood, childish games.
It smelt of paraffin from the heater.
My Grandma smelt of peppermints.
She would lick her hanky and
wipe my mouth if it was sticky
from the gingerbread she'd made.
My Grandma always looked the same,
never younger, never older:-
her memory etched in my cerebral
photo frame as I remember her ........
smelling of peppermints,
fingers deformed with crippling arthritis,
but smiling, wiping mouths, cooking,
or sitting in her little garden in a floral dress.....
She's been gone for thirty years now,
but still I see her there.
I see the tissue filled pockets in her
'pinny'and the pin-curls in her hair.
Yes, my Grandma smelt of peppermints.........
The nursing home called me early in the morning to come
as snow clouds sailed across the sky
and my heart swelled with a sea of tears
to see you lay still like a statue
my beloved grandma turned to stone
and I, a puddle of weeping and lost in my grief
grandma, I am not being strong and wondering
would you still love me ?
. . . or tell me to stand up straight
I loved you so much and your sweet serenity
all those beautiful scars of your life
your delight in a cup of tea
and a good cookie
your gift of storytelling that you passed to me
I want to share everything at your funeral, but wonder if I do
would you still love me ?
. . . if I shared our private conversations
that we whispered in hushed voices since my childhood
and how when I was hurting you were my shelter
you were my placid lake where I felt safe
my tranquility- the reason my words flow like a rippling stream
well, I spoke in the church of you and me
my words stilled the crowd to tears, but I still wondered
would you still love me ?
. . . love me for sharing our relationship
our great respect, bond and deep love
I was quiet as they lowered your coffin into the ground
the cemetery was full of bird twitters
but seemed soundless and peaceful
I will not say goodbye grandma for one day
my time will cease and when that day comes, I wonder
would you still love me ?
___________________________
December 5, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/Would You Still Love Me - Grandma
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1092-174-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Would You Still Love Me ?
sponsor, Edward Ibeh
Second Place
Let's eat Grandma... OR let's eat, Grandma
Punctuation saves lives because of a comma
So very small
But stands so tall
The difference of life and death for Mom's Momma
Have you ever woken up feeling like a kid
With angels dropping cotton candy on your soul
When knocks on doors reveal no steps in snow
And shooting stars have white beards and presents?
I get lost sometimes under goose feathers and it feels good,
Broken speakers squeak Christmas Carols
There are no clocks on walls, only the rhythm of pine logs in the fireplace
It smells of the forest I used to fly with horses,
No saddles, no hats, no shoes, no wolves...
Just practicing tying my shoelaces and sitting up straight for life...
I watch her reflection secretly pray in a room made especially for us...
*
It's warm, pupils - two mirrors of colorful lights on a plastic tree...
www.scripca.com
Iolanda Scripca copyright 2010
Grandma, The Farm And The Silent Young Cat
Before soft golden rays the roses slept
Night, its slumbers had not yet bid adieu
From its barn perch the young, silent cat leapt
Upon the old farmer's empty brown shoe
And from the farmhouse, breakfast call rang out
Grandma had no time for late sleepyheads
In her sternest voice, she gave warning shout
"Up and at'em, all rascals out of bed"!
That ringing throughout the place came alive
The cat swiftly raced to the backdoor
Soon as it opened in it would dive
To chase away mice was its daily chore
Table set with coffee, eggs and pancakes
Surrounded by those hungry mouths to feed
So delicious like only grandma could make
Out we went to fed livestock and plant seeds.
Midnoon her roses glowed vibrant red
Each paid homage to life and mother sun
Decked around the porch and the old shed
Grandma watered them having such fun
That garden and her kids her pride and joy
She still agile and spry at eighty two
With sweet memories of her three young boys
Each new day she thanked the good Lord too.
Before soft golden rays the roses slept
Night, its slumbers had not yet bid adieu
From its barn perch the young, silent cat leapt
Upon the old farmer's empty brown shoe
And from the farmhouse, breakfast call rang out
Grandma had no time for late sleepyheads
In her sternest voice, she gave warning shout
"Up and at'em, all rascals out of bed"!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-29-2021
Rhyme, ( Those were the glory days of youth )
Note:
As was promised, I wrote this new poem today,
using the phrase, the silent cat leapt-as was noted
from the haiku in my new blog, title-
"The Image, The Inner Reaches Of The Mind"
Thank you, James Marshall Goff for noting it
as your favorite line of that poem….
I promised to write a poem using that phrase
and have now done so.
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
I still remember the smell of lilacs,
as we would walk down a sun dappled street.
Everything seemed so vibrant being there with her.
Perhaps she enjoyed seeing the world through my eyes.
As we would walk down a sun dappled street,
I didn't know, her mind was trapped in a pitch black room!
Perhaps she enjoyed seeing the world through my eyes,
for I was an innocent and happy little child
I didn't know, her mind was trapped in a pitch black room.
From me she tried her best to shield her sadness,
For I was an innocent and happy little child.
Still, children grow up and secrets are revealed.
From me she tried her best to shield her sadness.
Smiles that she smiled were a gift gifted to me.
Still, children grow up and secrets are revealed.
Those burdens she should never have carried on her own!
Smiles that she smiled were a gift gifted to me!
Her mind was given rest when the Alzheimers came.
Those burdens she should never have carried on her own
She finally was happy, I could see it in her dancing
Her mind was given rest when the Alzheimers came.
I still remember the smell of lilacs.
She finally was happy, I could see it in her dancing.
Everything seemed so vibrant being there with her!
Written December 16, 2015
Smell of lilacs
Pitch black room
Dancing
I have loved him since I was young.
Through every cloud, he rose the sun.
His work was honest – one-on-one with land.
I loved this farmer and his callused hands!
Safe, strong arms would lift me to sit upon his tractor.
Picture boy and Grandpa - no memory could be happier.
Today, I took the inherited watch from my mantle.
Now the cherished timepiece accompanies my flight,
perhaps lending faith to my emotional plight.
Precious ticking in my pocket comforts my destination;
brings forth his presence and I will not try to stop it
for the watch soothes my driving desperation.
Steering, my feelings begin actively conceiving
wings in golden display soaring my car this day
thru prayer-filled air to timely see me there.
So many endless miles of thunder under my wheels.
Thoughts ever somber tumble various appeals.
I gasp down feelings he may leave before I show.
He stays in my heart’s eye while I consume highway
on burning, dedicated tires determined to fly
'cause Grandma phoned to say, Grandpa would soon die.
I am reminded of... the days I would watch her work
in her flower garden for hours at a time
I am reminded of... the days she would take me by my
hand and say come along help grandma
I am reminded of... me carrying my little bucket along
to help her water all of her flowers
I am reminded of... The smiles that would cover grandma's
face when new flowers would be blooming
I am reminded of... sitting on the bench with her and watching
the butterflies fluttering amongst the flowers
I am reminded of... The birds singing their happy songs as they
flew around the flower garden
I am reminded of... the wind drifting by us and the fragrance of
the flowers floating all around us
I am reminded of...our walks back from the flower garden and
our talks along the path back to her house
I am reminded of...how much I miss her everytime I smell these
beautiful flowers that still grow in her flower garden
In Loving Memory of my Grandmother
Helen Lyvine (Fosnaught) Myers
Entry: 5th Poem on the Soup for P.D.'s contest
12th Place winner
From deep recesses of my mind
I bring a great great-grandma’s face.
She left no photograph behind.
I dream her dressed in bits of lace,
Tatted perhaps by her own hand,
A talent she didn‘t leave to me.
She labored and loved and lived and left
No memories for her progeny.
I’ve traced her name, all I can do
To give her substance, make her real,
A living being who could cry
Could laugh and all emotions feel.
There was a time I could have asked
Her granddaughter of what she knew.
That chance is now forever lost
No one is left to give a clue.
Dear Grandma I lend you my pen,
Please tell about the life you led.
Be free to speak your mind through me
And say the things you would have said.
A wealth of stories left untold
And lessons from which we could have learned.
Dear Mollie Blosser, I’d then record
The place in history you have earned.
I look upon a sea of flowers, I see your face, and we talk for hours.
You see we have such history, you will never know what you mean to me.
You have given so much love and care, I would be lost if you weren't there.
You give of yourself, and you give of your heart. You are beautiful, loving, and
caring, and smart.
You shared with me the love of song; I realize that it's been too long, since I
thought of you as you truly are. In the darkest times, you're a SHINNING STAR!
My lovely grandma taught me how to bake apple pie
I helped her in the kitchen from when I was knee high
Old family recipes were written down in a book
Cakes, cookies and pies were all so skilfully made
When grandma gave instructions I quickly obeyed
We’d pour over the pages deciding what we would cook
I recall those childhood days and I often look
At its stained pages and the knowledge she conveyed
Baking was such fun
Precious memories remain
I remember happy times
Every time I bake
I put on her blue apron
And teach my son how to cook
Fictional write - Sadly I didn't have a maternal or paternal grandmother and feel I missed out so much as a child
Contest Three Style II
Sponsored by Laura Loo
Rules
1. One couplet : A-A
2. One stanza with rhyme scheme: A-B-B-A-A-B
3. One sedoka: syllable count: 5-7-7-5-7-7 (Checked with how many syllables)
09~27~16
Grandma got run over by a reindeer
I'm sure you remember that song
Well that was my grandma who was hit
And again, they got part of it wrong
See, she really was run over by reindeer
But it was nothing like they said
Those deer were driving a milk truck
That left my poor grandma nearly dead
My poor grandma just got done milking
And was putting the cows back in the field
When eight drunk reindeer in a milk truck
Crashed thru the fence and didn't yield
They just kept on going thru the barn yard
Straight thru the creek and down the hill
Grandma looked like a bug on a windshield
With pieces of her wig on that milk truck's grill
Now poor grandma never seen it coming
Cause she was looking the other way
We even found that poor womans glasses
Stuck on a scarecrow near the hay
Well, now my grandma had not been drinking
Like that song had claimed she was
But somehow they try to make it funny
Seems like those city folk always does
Well, that's about as much as I can tell you
Because the lawsuit is still pending
Those reindeer got some north pole lawyer
And we heard he's pretty good at defending
So beware of reindeer driving milktrucks
For they mean to cause your grandma harm
And don't forget try to remind your grandmas
To look both ways when she leaves the barn