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New Grandmother Poems

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GrandMother Moon: Philosopher of Law by Dillenbeck, Gerald
To My Grandmother 1900-1999 by Behm, Kurt Philip
Grandmother by Goss, Christopher
Grandmother by Haight, Sandra
Grandmother by parker, cs
Grandmother Esther by Acrich, Marc
Grandmother Always Encouraged 'Ten words ten lines 2' Contest by Roper, Eve
To My Grandmother Nannie by Trimble, Renee
Words to the Wise from a Depression Era Grandmother by McCadden, Laura
GRANDMOTHER OF GROOM by Rodrigues, Kim

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The Best Grandmother Poems

Details | Grandmother Poem |

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

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

Details | Grandmother Poem |

One in Four Women

Terror seizes you, and it isn't kind.
You try to go somewhere peaceful in your mind.
But the pain rips you right back to here and now.
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of even saying "ow."

You try to be strong, but he tears from you, a scream.
Oh God, please let this be a terrible, terrible dream.
I thought he was supposed to be a friend of mine?
As the tears grow down my face like vine.

He tells me I wanted it, even though I screamed no.
He says my attitude and outfit told him so.
In the same breath, he threatens me never to tell.
If they ask why the tears, you better say you fell.

As I got out of the car he pulled me to him and hugged me tight.
He kissed my forehead and said Don't worry you'll be all right.
Just remember, if you open your mouth, no one will believe a dirty whore.
Now go inside before I take you for another ride and give you some more.

Into the house and straight into the shower.
I was in there for what felt like hours and hours.
My grandmother knew right from the start.
Please don't tell, it would break Daddy's heart.

Please, Grandma he's not worth Daddy going to jail.
For my sake and his, you can never, ever tell.
She kept her promise and never uttered a word.
At night, she told me, my cries she heard.

For six weeks I kept my secret and told not another soul.
For six weeks I sunk deeper and deeper into a hole.
Not until I heard that he raped a fourteen year old girl.
Knowing I could have prevented it, shattered my world.

I finally told my horror story to the cops and to my Dad.
I don't think I'd ever seen him so violently mad.
Mike was arrested, but in jail he would not stay.
He lived around the corner and we had to move away.

He got probation, but not for me, his word against mine.
I was sixteen, of legal age to consent, so for me he'd get no time.
His punishment, probation for only a couple of years.
Me and his other victim were left with our fears.

Would he find us and take revenge for what he said was a lie?
Would my father hunt him down, and go to prison for a rapist to die?
He got away, pretty much scot-free for his deplorable crime.
His victims were the ones who were serving the time.

This IS a true story, my story, but not my story alone. After 8 years and raping several
other women Mike was sentenced to 35 years in prison. As he pleaded his innocence, we were
all in some way vindicated. He never did a day for brutally raping me, NOT ONE DAMN DAY.
But he's doing plenty now. I hope he gets ALL that he deserves.

Details | Grandmother Poem |

Upward Journey Of Lessons

Upward Journey Of Lessons

As I sit here , and to myself I smile
Thinking of those that I have met
For the most part, were docile
There were a few i wished I'd forget

Times of great talk and great fun
People met, poetry discussed some
Those few in my heart number one
The others left me feeling numb

Can't help feel I still don't belong
Its my problem , always been me
Gut feelings have never been wrong
A caged animal I need to be set free

The kindness to me you've shown
My soul holds a certain wanderlust
Tried to deny it but I've always known
Seeing i can care and again trust


Thank you for showing me a wonderful time
Upwards journey of lessons I must climb!

Details | Grandmother Poem |

Grandmother's Hands

I will not forget,
my grandmother's gentle, loving, gnarled touch;
those hands that I loved so very much,
not a day spent with her I will regret.
          We made chocolate cake,
            our best dessert to make;
and we liked sad movies though we got upset,
those old, old hands would reach out for me;
        her grasp a plea . . . 

        I have a memory dear,
of grandma holding me to her beating heart;
when death came and my sister had to depart,
stroking my hair until my tears would disappear.
          And when grandpa died,
            we hugged and cried;
I watched her hands grow more fragile each year,
like a twisted road map of her tangled life;
       her death hit like a knife . . . 

______________________
April 28, 2018


Poetry/Rhyme/Grandmother's Hands
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1017-836-01
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudonym


Written for Jamie's Interesting Contest
sponsor, Jamie Pan, (Theme #5, Elements #2)

First Place

Details | Grandmother Poem |

Grammy's Girl

I see her pretty little face
With a sweet smile as bright as gold.
I think about the days ahead.
It saddens me, I'm growing old.

I love that precious little girl
With all that dwells inside of me.
One day I know we'll have to part.
I beg of Time, so fleetingly,

To warp somehow and backward go,
So I could share more of her life.
She says "Grammy, never leave me".
That I must die fills her with strife.

She says"I want to go with you".
I tell her of the joys instead,
How one day she'll meet a man,
He'll love her so, and they will wed.

But Grammy's love is all she knows,
So I will leave her parts of me,
In photographs and work I do,
In love notes from my poetry.

April,13, 2016
Happiness of Life Contest
Sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron
First Place

Details | Grandmother Poem |

A Missive to My Granddaughters

“A Missive To My Granddaughters”


My dearest girls,

How can I begin to tell you 
how much your smile warms my heart,
or the enrichment that penetrates my soul
when I feel your arms embrace me?

With you, I am a girl again reliving my own youth
When you share each new life experience with me.
Once again, my own fervor for life springs forth, 
As I listen to the enthusiasm that emanates from your cheerful chatter.

Your joy rejuvenates me.
Your smile pierces my heart and finds its way
To a special place reserved only for you.
Your zest for life gives me hope again for a better world,
And I thrive on your courage that abounds with each day that passes.

Please know…
That I have saved countless wishes for you alone -
A heart that is forgiving and true,
A mind that is forever open and exploring,
And the courage to face and overcome any obstacle.

I wish you a taste for beauty in whatever presents itself,
A flair of your own like no one else has ever experienced,
An infinite appreciation for all of Nature’s bounty,
And a magnanimous spirit for others less fortunate.

Please know that when I am gone, 
I will be with you always in spirit.
Whether it is the sweetness of a Spring rain,
In the coo of a morning dove,
Or the scent of a summer rose,
You will be reminded,
And you will know
That I am there
With you
Watching
Waiting
Until we are together..…again.

Details | Grandmother Poem |

'Love me with your Time'


I might make a noise right now
There will be a time when I go silent 

Will you miss my racket? 
In those days of silence? 

I will no longer yearn for your presence 
Like I do at this very moment 
Will you wonder?
Will you wish?  

For that good morning? 

I might be a nuisance right now 
I might ask you the same thing over and over 

One day 
Some day

My voice will go silent
All I ask today is be patient with me 

Please love me; with your ears 

Please love me; with your time 

Before all you will have 
Is my grave and the memories…

"Thoughts of the aged - loneliness don't discriminate " 

©134517022015

Details | Grandmother Poem |

BY THE SEA

PART One,,,, as she saw it.

The mountains and the meadows were always so beautiful this time of year. It seemed as if a fresh new world always came to life. The high cliffs turned sharply downward. As I sat listening to the ocean tides smashing against the walls of the mountain below. There was a mild breeze blowing from the south. The grass in the flower covered meadows moved with the breeze. The sun shined so brightly I thought it would melt me at times.

As I stood up from the log where I was sitting by the emerald forest, the breeze pressed my dress against me. It formed to the soft round curves of my breast, down through the curves of my waist pushing against my yielding hips. As I blinked from the sun, I saw him there in the distance. I had thought I was alone. But there he was, starring straight at me. What would I do and where could I turn? I knew what kinds of thoughts men had, my mother told me all about them. I saw that he was beginning to move my way!

I saw him there as he saw me. I was paralyzed, not knowing what direction to move. Though as I watched him from afar, he did not seem dangerous as my mother always warned. Still, I could hear her words like a tape recorder in the back of my mind.

Should I dare take my eyes from his? I could see his eyes were dark, maybe brown, or even midnight blue. Whatever the color, I could tell they were smoldering with restrained passions. His hair was long to his shoulder blades. I knew that because it moved with the wind. He had broad shoulders with long legs. I knew I must not let him reach me. If his arms entangled me, surely I would never get loose. And, I'm not sure I would want too. Even though I heard the words of my mother, running in my head.
I could feel the tiny beads of sweat trickling down between my breasts. I was not sure I should take my eyes from him as I leaned down to pick up the fan that had slipped from my hand to my bare feet.

PART ONE,,,, As he saw it.

The winter snow had melted and yielded to the bright warming rays of the spring sun. The bears had come out of hibernation with their newborn looking for food. The mountains and the meadows were born again, new, fresh and alive with life. Everything was beautiful and as it should be. Birds singing, their mating songs blended with the crash of the surf against the steep cliffs of the mountain. Nature was at peace with itself, and I came here to share in this peace. To be alone with the earth, or so I thought.

I found a place to sit on the grass hidden among the flowers in the high meadows. So I could enjoy the gentle breeze blowing while watching the forest animals. The warm sun caressed my body and warmed me. It was a perfect day, yet something was missing. A day like this needed to be shared with someone, someone special. Stretching, I caught a slight movement out of the corner of my eye, just across the enchanted forest of beautiful women. It couldn't be possible as no one knew of this place. I had come here for years and had never seen another person before. Yet, there she was. Dressed in a dress the wind made love to, pressing it to her body. Clinging to the sensual curves of her breast, down to her firm waist and full inviting hips. I suddenly felt drawn to her and stood up. I knew she had seen me as she was starring back at me, as I stood staring back at her. She was a vision. And I was afraid she would vanish if I approached her. Yet, she seemed to be smiling, calling to me as I started walking towards her. I remember the stories my grandmother had told me of the enchantresses that lived in this forest, but I did not hesitate. I would give to her anything she wanted, anything she desired.

As I approached her I realized she was real. She seemed to be looking at me, daring me to come closer. All the stories of the enchantress my grandmother had told me flooded my mind with a warning. Yet, she was so beautiful, so inviting and I couldn't take my eyes from her. I was slowly losing control with each and every step that brought me closer to her. I knew I was lost as I felt the heat of my desire to be with her, starting to take control. It was a struggle not to run to this beautiful creature, with the golden hair, and angelic face. As I came closer I couldn't help but notice her sensual breasts rising and falling with each breath she took. She seemed to be smiling, challenging me with everything that made her a beautiful, desirable woman. A woman this sensual, this beautiful, this desirable was surely the enchantress, and I was hers. As a bee is drawn to the flower, I was being drawn to this women.

Suddenly she reached down to pick something up. It was just then I noticed she was barefoot. As she bent over to retrieve what she had dropped, the sun reflected off her spun gold hair. and radiated a golden brightness that was almost blinding. Her dress shifted allowing me to see that her body enhanced her dress, rather than the dress enhancing her body. She would look beautiful in anything she wore. The heat of my desire for her was beginning to consume me with its fire. I felt the beginnings of ~

Nov. 18, 1992,,,, a Short story I started to write, A friend asks if he could write from a male's point of view.

Details | Grandmother Poem |

Silently She Weeps

Every day she comes to visit her,
lifts the spoon to her thin lips.
Quietly she sleeps, silently she weeps.
Life arrested in its waning grip.

Every day she comes with hope
that something in her changes.
Silently she weeps, quietly she sleeps
The memories time rearranges.

Every day she comes and wonders,
will she wake today and speak?
Quietly she sleeps, silently she weeps
An imprisoned mind in body weak.

Every day she comes and touches
the woman like no other.
Silently she weeps, quietly she sleeps.
Maternal daughter, loving mother.

1/1/2013

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- God Has Taken EVERYTHING -

                          My daughter`s budgie "Sissie" died a late night
                       The next morning I told her that "Sissie" was dead
                     With tears on her eyes and cheeks, she asked her mom
                      - Is "Sissie" in heaven with God and grandmother ?
                       - Yes, she is with God, grandmother and the angels
                                                I answer her

                         Surprised at this answer, my daughter investigate
                                            whether it was true
                             She walks into the room where the cage with
                                         the budgie used to stand
                             After a short while, she runs back to mom....
                        - Mom, mom.... God has not only taken "Sissie"
                                       - God has taken the cage too




                                   

                              This is a true story  -  - - from gold child`s mouth









dedicated to: Laila A.Mjelde
10.05.2012
A-L Andresen :9
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

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Grandma Happy

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

Details | Grandmother Poem |

My Origin

Where do I come from? Well we all come 
from somewhere. I was born in a small 
town, here in in good old U S of A. South 
to the border, by the Rio Grand. Mission 
Texas is the town's name.

My real parents came from Mexico. My
grandmother, it was said  - she came from 
Spain. My grandfather was indian. He fought 
in the Revolution. Both were on my mother's
side.

On my father's side, never knew too much, 
only that the grandmother died kind of 
young. The grandfather died years later, but
I never got to know them.

My father left my mom, when I was only three.
He never came back. My mother gave away my 
sisters, than later she gave me. She only kept
my brother, maybe she couldn't keep me.

I was raised with a nice lady and her husband.
I learned to call her mom. That title she had 
earned and my respect most of all. My parents
that raised me were poor, but made sure I had 
something to eat. My mother made my dresses 
so that I could go to school.

I learned to read and write and enjoyed school
very much, but I had to quit at fifteen to help my
parents out. Years later I went back and finished
my High School. 

I did not go to college , or mastered in any degree. 
I am what you might call self taught. For about thirty
years I worked with electronics and did my job well.
I gained respect from my bosses and high top
engineers.

My parents taught me good values that have helped 
me  through out life. I am not ashamed of my 
origin, of Mexican Heritage I came. I am what you
would call a TEX. MEX. and I live up to my name...

Just a little about myself. Hope
you enjoy it.

written by Lucilla M. Carrillo

Details | Grandmother Poem |

Death by Cartoon Sponge

        "More Spongebob, Mimi"--this I hear
        a dozen times a day.
        How much more can I stand to see?
        No more of this, I pray!

        I turn the TV off and run
        to fetch his favorite toys.
        When he says, "Spongebob's much more fun,"
        I must seek other ploys.

        "A Krabby Patty's what I'd like,"
        he says of noontime's meal.
        The common lunch I fix the tyke,
        he eyes with little zeal.

        The Krusty Krab invades my sleep,
        and Squidward haunts my dreams.
        Those creatures from the ocean deep
        won't leave me be, it seems.

        Can cartoon sponges start a trend
        of death by kiddie show?
        If SpongeBob's laugh can cause the end,
        I'll be the first to go.

rhyme scheme abab

July 26, 2016

Details | Grandmother Poem |

My grandmother's diary

Cucu, maitu 

Now that am older
I seek more answers 
In the same manner I did 
Those days gone, of fetching firewood to cook a cherished meal
I seek more answers 
Not in the manner I did
Fetching sticks in the forest to be used by teachers for spanking and whipping 
Oh how I dreaded those days, those chilling days of punishments for poor grades, tardiness and noise making
And there my hate for math began....fearing it even to this day
that math teacher that came drunk to class and we mostly got beatings for nothing

I seek answers to understand our family dynamics 
Interesting, odd, sad, puzzling, beautiful, worrying, entertaining,  
Is some of the descriptions 
The reason we are the way we are
The beings we become in unexpected fate

Cucu, maitu 

I've heard your many stories of "emergency" during the colonial rule
I've seen your youthful strength that grows more beautiful with aging days
You always say "it's the Lord"
I remember how when we were little you always got us to wash our feet before getting on your bed
How you then proceeded to pray for your ten children, your many grand children and your ever increasing great grandchildren 
Telling God each of their names
My sisters and I always thought you said some of the longest prayers
But now that am older I know why
The number of family members I have to pray for increases with new age
Like the last video i took of you singing and dancing with some of your great grandchildren, 
The melody of my life becomes more fruitful with each new beat


Cucu, maitu (kikuyu words for grandmother)

Best Grandmother Poems | Poetry

New Grandmother Poems

The Best Grandmother Poems

Tranquility

Summers Eve

Recalling Her

GRANDPA

The Woman

Famous Last Line

Brody

The Seamstress of Time

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

- On The Moon -

A PLACE CALLED BEAUTIFUL

Grandma's Hand Sewn Quilt

One in Four Women

Upward Journey Of Lessons

Grandmother's Hands

Grammy's Girl

A Missive to My Granddaughters

'Love me with your Time'

BY THE SEA

Silently She Weeps

- God Has Taken EVERYTHING -

Grandma Happy

My Origin

Death by Cartoon Sponge

My grandmother's diary