Get Your Premium Membership

Best Grandparents Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Grandparents poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of grandparents poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Grandparents poems, articles about Grandparents poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Grandparents poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...

View all new Grandparents Poems

The Best Grandparents Poems

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The red wheelbarrow

The old red wheelbarrow is still standing there
right next to my Grandfather’s fixed rocking chair.
Though neither has moved in a good many years
their presence revives former  laughter and tears.

As children, my Grandfather placed us inside
the bright red wheelbarrow and off we would ride.
Down rough country tracks to the orchard we’d go
returning with plentiful apples in tow.

I once asked my Grandfather why it was red,
‘That was your Gran's favourite colour’ he said.
And red were the roses he laid by the side
of the grave where he mourned for his beautiful bride.

When Grandfather died, I just hadn't the heart
to cast on the scrap heap his rusty red cart.
And so by his rocking chair it shall remain
to take me on journeys down memory lane.


For Your Poetry Journal 	Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings

Copyright © Wendy Watson | Year Posted 2018

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Special Rose

She sits and rocks, so gently back and forth
Her chin leaning heavily on her chest.
In her hands she cradles, one flat waxed rose
And sighs as pain is swelling in her breast.

Her long grey hair, now tied up in a bun
Is what I see when entering the room.
I helplessly watch, her tear drops flowing,
They look like dew, upon the lonely bloom.

Slowly she looks at a picture nearby,
A glimpse of a smile creases her face.
Granddad with her, stand on their wedding day
With red roses, and a dress of white lace.

After the wedding, she said with a smile,
I took this one rose and waxed it back then.
Granddad had laughed at me wondering why.
I said, for the special memories when…….

And now this old rose, I hold in my hand,
Precious memories kept in my drawer
I pull it out remembering the day
When granddad loved me, and I loved him more.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
Contest: Encounters with Flowers 

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Grey Wind

**Dedicated to those who preceded us and gave their blood, sweat and tears, so we can have the luxuries they could not**

The wind whispers, the wind whispers ----
   the wind spreads her wings,
   so all can sing her lonesome tune;

An old wind blows, older names gust
   and whirl and chime,
   remind those unfinished pacts of days gone by,
   plea they deep in the night
   when the arbor grates the house...

The withered barn is grey to dark
   and the yard chasing with ghosts;
   whisper in wind of forgotten oaths,
   to freedom in day when sun is high,
   justice takes pleasure even in shadowed realms,
   even the gales cease their roar and great wars die
   and the end shall end anew;

What in the wind, with tethered and sleepy heads,
   do they ask, do they plead
   and have us do?

Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2017

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Don't Throw Me Away

You look at me so uninviting;
I may have some missing teeth, stumble when I walk, bout' to FALL!!!
Stutter when I talk, but yet I'll still call;
Might smell like ole mothballs or mint or maybe even Old Spice;
You see me and you stare, you're looking at the patches of my skin YES! it's different (maybe  diseased ) different;
different colors and wrinkled on my face, the gray in my hair;
Yes you still stand there and stare. . . 
I may talk bout RCA, Philco record players you say "what's that;
I might talk bout Annie Oakley, BoZo the Clown, Captain Midnight, you say Whose that;
Well child let me tell you all...
Don't throw me away;
Cause I'm just like you;
Don't put me out cause I'm too slow;
You think I'm in the way and I can no longer grow;
Don't throw me away, place me in a rest/nursing home;
Don't put me away because you think I'm in the way;
I', senior don't talk bout me in front of me I don't understand a word you say;
I'm alive, I have more brain cells and I got all my memory, well;
That's more than I can, say for you huh-hey!
Imagine if I'd treated you such;
But I wouldn't cause I've got God's love in me so much. . .
Love you see
So I just suck it up turn the other cheek;
I may tumble but I won't fall;
I may forget something's but not all;
And yes I still eat meat;
 Cause I got all my teeth;
remember your just trying to get where I am at now;
I'm a senior don't throw me away;
I'm telling you I'm history and I'm a part of God's glory wanna hear, come here;
Come here and sit down, I sit in a chair can hardly rise or go anywhere;
You see me and you stare I drive slow you begin to cuss and swear;
I won't do you ill;
I won't act like you will;
I'll take you today......
But I won't, I will NOT THROW YOU AWAY

Dedicated to all Gods people's 60 years of age to 100 years
Thank you for your wisdom, thank you for your life. . .

Written by James Edward Lee Sr. July 6 2015(c)
For the book Poetry to Bridge Generations University Of Nebraska at Omaha 2015(c)

Copyright © James Edward Lee Sr. | Year Posted 2017

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.


How I loved spending a week of the summer holidays with my grandparents. Gramps would come and pick me up in his old pick- up truck, dad would bundle my suitcase into the back and I’d be on my way. Gramps would whistle as we wended our way along the winding country lanes until we reached their stone cottage. Grandma would be waiting for us to appear at the door, she always be wearing her checked apron which was flecked with flour. She’d scoop me up in her arms, and carry me into the cosy kitchen where the aroma of cooling gingerbread lingered in the air.

wheat from the old mill
freshly ground into white flour
grandma’s been baking

I would spend many hours in the garden with gramps, in the spring I’d helped him to plant lots of vegetable seeds and now summer had arrived they were ready to be harvested. Gramps would give me a ride in his old wooden red wheelbarrow, the wheel would squeak as he pushed me along the uneven ground and I would squeal with delight when we went over the bumps.  In the vegetable garden we would pick perfect pea pods that were fit to burst with juicy green peas, bright orange carrots and creamy cauliflowers which reminded me of brains. All the produce would be placed into the wheelbarrow and I would help gramps to trundle it along the path to the kitchen door. Grandma would be busy in the kitchen and I’d help by podding the peas ready for our evening meal. I loved the popping sound of the pods as I pressed them to release the shiny peas. 

from a tiny seed
colourful vegetables grow
harvest time arrives

Many years have elapsed, and sadly gramps and grandma are no longer with us. My father inherited their little stone cottage, which was eventually handed down to me. I now spend happy hours in the garden with my own grandson, and I’m passing on the gardening tips that gramps taught me when I was a small child. The red wooden wheelbarrow which I loved riding in is long gone; but I replaced it with a sturdy one made of shiny red plastic. My grandson loves riding in it to the vegetable patch and I love to hear him squeal with delight as I once did when I rode the same bumpy path.  

the red wheelbarrow 
reminds me of my grandpa
precious memories

Fiction write

For Your Poetry Journal Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart a.k.a Broken Wings


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2018

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.


We’d gather on the old wooden porch gramps would sit in his rocking chair with wisps of smoke rising from his cigar I’d snuggle up to gran on the faded old swing seat We’d sip lemon tea and chat late into the night catching up on the news since I’d last visited I always loved to hear the music of the wind chimes tinkling as they danced on the warm summer breeze My grandparents passed many years ago but I can still hear that same music as the wind chimes now swing on my porch I hold in my heart precious memories of times past Wind chimes Contest Sponsored by Edward Ibeh FICTION POEM FOR CONTEST 8/28/18

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2018

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Seed Of Friendship-A dedication

L-iving in a world of vast 
souls formed from 
another voided world,
E-ntering thru portals 
from their world to earth.
O-ozing spetacular smell 
and wail when the chips 
are down.
N-urtured from cradle to 
entity with a new world 
to face.
O-rganizes oneself for the 
task ahead,passing thru 
hurdles of life unabased 
and unabashed.
R-eaps the fruit of labor 
with joy or heavy heart.
A-ge sets in,mission 
accomplished or not will 
dawn on the entity.

I-n retrospect,he thinks 
about his childhood and 
how life was to him.

L-iving in confidence or 
shame,he bows his head 
in victory or defeat.
O-nly the taste of time 
will tell the durability of 
his achievements.
V-oid of preference the 
aim result bears the 
foundation for his lineage.
E-njoyment or lack lies 
with the works of the 
man,for there is no food 
for the slothful.

Y-oung ones,a stitch in 
time saves nine,make 
haste while the sun 
O-iling your lamb always 
like the ten virgins is the 
key to success.
U-rging you to shun peer 
pressure and focus on 
the course marked out 
for you by fate,so a 
fulfilled life you shall live.

An acrostic for you 
Leonora Galinita.

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

New Future Of The Internet

New Future Of The

Cable cost are up
too high
You turned to the
internet and so have

My Youtube channel
is the way to go
Now I can even make
video shows

I group the videos
to make a show
To bring you the
best of where I go

For kids the mower
and stove videos
I also have vehicles
and some scarecrows

Kids can watch from
morn til night
with lots of things
for a kids delight
Light houses, ship
building, and horses
Antique barn yards
and tractor pulls
just for you

Aviation, taxidermy,
and crafty wood
Viewwithme Youtube
has all the quirks 

The historical homes
make a great tour
Contest and oxen
pulls are never a

Animal friends, I
haven’t forgotten
I have horses, dogs,
cows and sheep too

Plenty of petting
pens and milking for
And a simple click
is all you have to

A lot of shows with
a mix for all
Like demolition
derby or a stunt so

So if you dropped
the cable and you
have a need
I have three
channels for you to
By: Doris Anne

Copyright © Doris Beaulieu | Year Posted 2014

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.


I was one of many that had the priviledge
to live with my Grandparents.  The lessons
I learned from them will remain with me for
the rest of my life. My Grandmother was a 
very wise woman and her way of thinking
and explaining things made me listen.
I remember when one of my so called friends
set me up with with a blind date. A horrible 
evening for me. When I got home and told 
the story my Grandmother just laughed. Finally she ask me
"are you sure she is your friend", then she told me
the story of the rattlesnake.
Once there was a rattlesnake that got caught
in the freezing weather. A kindhearted man
found him and the snake said "please help me".
The man freed the snake and brought him into his
warm home and put him by the fire to warm.
The snake bit him and the kindhearted man
asked him "why did you bite me, I just saved your
life". The snake told the man, "you knew I was a 
snake when you brought me in".  I realized then
what she was talking about, choose your friends wisely.
One day I was helping this lady with some chores.
She was a  very unfriendly woman and expected you
to work till you dropped.  I told my Grandmother about it
and she said, "always remember, there are some people
that will work a willing horse to death".  I remember 
that lesson very well. My life was touched by this wonderful 
woman in a way that I now tell these stories to my children.
Everyone must learn lessons, I pray you can learn them
from someone that lived during times that were hard, they
knew the meaning of hard times.  The depression taught them well.

Copyright © chris hardy | Year Posted 2014

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Grand Larceny

What’s it take for women to hate
their first born so long and so cold?
Sly smiles as he choked on the bait.
You sat in that one church so bold,
Blind and deaf to Love’s story told.
Among serpents in pews hearts won,
you died unbroken, mute and sold,
in how you treated your own son.

A father’s heart chipped out of slate.
Your measure given is twofold,
to regret forever too late,
brimstones are all that’s left to hold.
Your neglect was poured and it rolled
eighty-three years under the sun.
The Great White Throne decree behold,
in how you treated your own son.

How his innocence you both ate,
An orphan made in constant scold.
No mercy in your ways or fate.
In Matthew you read he foretold,  
hypocrite’s wages to be tolled .
The grave’s sleep keeps remorse undone,
your legacy as I grow old,
in how you treated your own son.

If I am to breathe Heaven’s air,
your first grandson, when life is done,
I don’t expect to see you there,
in how you treated your own son.

Contest: Not Your Average Ballade
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey

My change is my rhyme scheme :  'ababbcbC ababbcbC ababbcbC dcdC' 

Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2015

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

a poem- dedicated to nirvaan

oh nirvaan ! truly dearly you ,
how should i tell you,
how much i love you,
i am your uncle,
you’re my nephew,
thats not all i have to tell you,
i can see in you,
astonishing wisdom and noble cue,

so i like to earnestly convey you,
in this world of disguise beauty,
nirvaan be the crown of integrity,
cherish the values of buddha,
knowledge, character and generosity,
and accomplish the ambedkar glory,
your parents nita and vivek,
working hard for your sake,

for you the platform is set,
to lead the rest,
born in wealthy country of opportunity,
don’t ever forget humility,
towards suffering dalit society,
strive for their prosperity,
your grand parents abhayanand and jhanaprabha,
devoted most of life as an ambedkarite,

be the reason for their pride,
by never giving up the quest,
that born american by birth,
you are equally devoted,
to spread the dr. ambedkar's word,
to make india pro-buddha,
oh nirvaan! truly dearly you,
buddha’s of past, present and future, bless you.
sadhu, sadhu, sadhu !


Copyright © rahul gade | Year Posted 2009

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

the nun and the witches last walk

Even though
It was so long ago
It still holds the place in my heart
The one I reserved for special moments
with him 
The times before his health
got the best of our relationship
Back when my grandpa 
was able to be my 

It was my first parade
and one of his last
The Halloween of

There was
and lions
and bear
oh my.
but there was also the usual
witches, and monsters
but most importantly
there was my grandpa.

He volunteered to help
with the small monsters
of classroom 301 that year
which would also be his last 
so he was able to walk with his
even if he kept stopping 
to pick up candy 
along the way.

walking with him
along the crowded streets
past the sirens of the firetrucks
and over the steep hills
will forever beat any memory
trick or treating
passing out candy
or the endless Halloween parties

for that was just a moment to enjoy
now that his old age has hit him
there's no more walking
no more dressing up for Halloween
just to see a smile on the face of 
his grandchildren
his little monsters

That moment will forever hold my heart
ten years ago was
the last time 
this witch
had her
of a grandfather
walk beside her   


Copyright © Alexis Hogg | Year Posted 2015

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Once we all were child

there was a time when we used to be beautiful
we were used to smile, ran atleast 2 miles
we were used to create images of many mysterious objects
we all were once child, 
play and smile without any panic for a while
this is a tendency
that everything which is born is due to die
as even water is due to dry
the birds which fly
will one day fall and die
the plants which were once green
become shrink and fly 
yet they also die

this life is only a test
your time will come after a little rest
you will be buried in a grave
and will become a dust

we all were once used to be child
so kissed us on our forhead
as we re bound to go to a world 
a world full of fairies, full of joy

yet this is something which isn t confirmed
one day we all shall be resurrected 
will stand infront of our God
there  will be two different sights 
the heaven which give joys
and the hell which frights
that day we shall remember all our frauds
as that day only one power will rule
that shall be of God
if you don t believe it than you re a fool

we re once used to be child
so don t be afraid of tomorrow's sight
just believe in God
do good deeds
as the time has started us to feed

so don t be afraid of death
as it is bound to come
either early or later
and there shall be a day
when your name will totally fade away

Copyright © Faraz Ajmal | Year Posted 2017

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Greatgrandma Loves Writing Poems

She really does...
She writes a lot about love,
crying, and
About someone dying.

She writes about flowers
In gardens,
Pretty crystal vases,
Gracing tables,
Layed out in lace.
Great Grandma wrote
Once, about my face.

She writes of the stars and
The moon,
Once dancing on it, as it smiled.
Said she wished she could have
Stayed a while longer,
But sunrise called,
Scattering through the
Morning woods.

Birds sang in mellow tones,
Ravens black, were seen
Soaring almost as high as eagles.
Robins are her favorite things,
Except for butterflies,
Which defy the idea that there is
Any creature more beautiful!

Greatgrandma wrote about the
Waves licking the shore.
I looked and looked for the
Dancing sun,
She said lingered.

She's writing now about
Some special thing.
I know this because always,
When she writes,
She sings.

2:50-2:51 p.m.
March 20, 2013 EST

Singing Still

Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.


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


Pure Childlike Fun and Enthusiasm Contest by Carin Krutsinger
Third Place - June 2018

Copyright © Susan Gentry | Year Posted 2016

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Old is not for Sissies

We old folks know what day it is
by the things we don't repeat!  
And when Tuesday rolls around
We drag the garbage to the street! 

Wednesday means the can comes in 
And NEVER would we forget
That way we know its Thursday 
And on Friday we can sit!

Saturday and Sunday 
company's at the door
look forward to the gifts
Who could ask for anything more?

 Judy Konos 5/12/16

Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2016

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Three Keys

~One key
             Two keys
                          Three keys~

B  R  E  A  K my walls of passion as we turn doorknob number o  n  e,
   young love started a romantic destiny meant for only you and I.
      So many months turning into years of traveling and creating fun,
         for the vows we swore released a lifelong commitment...
                                                                                      ...we do sanctify.

“Sneak in quietly the babe's asleep…” as we turn doorknob number t  w  o,
   our family has begun and life is hectic with the cooing and the crying.
      Although it seems chaotic at times deep down we always knew,
         this was the dream we always hoped for without hesitant denying.

“Welcome son! Please walk right in!” as we turn doorknob number t  h  r  e  e,
   “oh get over here sweet Ella and tell me all about your school day!
      I’m so delighted to catch up and laugh, and see your beautiful family,
         there’s nothing like being grandparents, oh how I wish you could stay.”

So many keys are made to fit so many doors into our adoring futures,
  from youth grown into a loving marriage, and now grandparents are we.
    Our souls connected the first time we glanced; became sewn on sutures,
       to think this life was born behind closed doors using three simple  k  e  y  s. 

Date Written: July 15, 2016 Rhyme Scheme: ABAB-CDCD-EFEF-GHGH Original Contest Entered: Three Keys Contest Date Judged: July 20, 2016 For Contest: I Got Zero, Nothing, Nada- 2 - Poetry Contest Sponsor, Broken Wings

Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2016

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Son Of A Gun

Son Of A Gun

My Great Great Grandpa was a musket
only one son he would want.
My Great Great Grandma named him shotgun
he used to love to hunt.

He too would only want one son
and that's just what he got.
My Great Grandma named him rifle
he was a single shot.

Married with one son himself
Grandpa wouldn't take no static.
His son was highly favored
and they named him automatic.

Along then came my daddy
who I never gave no lip.
He lived inside a holster
that men wore on their hip.

He had a great big family
but I'm his favorite one.
My daddy was a pistol
I'm a son of a son of a son of a gun.

Edwin C Hofert

Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Let us come to measure sky,
It's length, breadth
height, weight, width, area
everything, everything to be measured.
Sitting on the back of cloud,
flying to end point of sky,
And thus,
to uplift our stature and head. 
If, measuring tape will not support
We will measure with our hand
And go up to moon
Moon, that comes to our lap
With every call of our mom.
We will play there, 
revolving round and round,
on the dusty & wavy ground.
Then again, we have to measure
the hidden sound of lullaby
that mother used to sing,
The eternal love that grow within us
with soft tender wing, hidden under hill.
At the evening, we’ll return back
jumping from that high,
Let us come to measure sky,
Let us come to measure sky.

We will suppose to measure
The distance of land of stars
With the support of a rope
Stretching from heart of moon
And fixing with the soul of sun.
We have to measure 
The intensity of glow of each star
Where our grand parents
breathing their pleasant life,
and blessing us to stay peace.
And at last,
We have to step ahead
to visualize the Sun 
measuring intensity of its ray,
Temperature in June
And temperature in May.
Everything we have to weigh.
We know,
Our mind is enlightened with whose light,
Our heart is so strong with whose heat,
Our soul is like ocean, grown from which point,
He is our father, light of our day,
Let us come to measure sky,
Let us come to measure sky.

Copyright © Manmath Dalei | Year Posted 2016

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Bentwood Rocker

I have a Bentwood Rocker
It's the most cherished thing I own
It is made from the willow branches
of an ancient tree at my grandparent's home.

It embraces me on my back porch
both in the morning and at night
when a pair of cardinals come to visit me
at both the first and last day's light.

I rock in a gentle rhythm
sip my coffee and watch the clouds
and think to myself life's worth living
As I just sit and rock without a sound.

Sometimes I hum a favorite tune
and sometimes I just rock silently alone
somehow this chair seems to center me
It motion washes away life's rough edged stones.

As I sway and think of days gone gone by
of my brothers and sisters and me
climbing up among the branches
of my grandparents big old willow tree.

We used to swing on all the branches
Like the Jungle Book's Tarzans and Janes
Laughing and swingly wildly, never quiet nor mundane
Yelling out profusely, howling out all the Jungle Book slang.

We used to weave together the branches
into leafy wreaths without any thorns
improvised crowns of the greenest splendor
Just as Julius Caesar would have worn.

Sometimes we added in flowers
Daisies and dandelions were always in season
Sometimes we just sat in that old tree
Just happy to be there, for no given reason.

And so decades and decades of years have gone by
My Grandparents have long since passed on
But I think of them often as I rock in my chair
Cherished memories to always remember.

And now the winter has settled in
My cherished rocker sits covered in snow
Waiting for the days of the songbirds return
Waiting for warm days instead of the cold.

It sits silently waiting for Springs blossoms to arrive
for a day when I can rock without being froze
for an evening when relaxing in my comfortable rocker
will signal the end of one of my beloved warmer days.

Copyright Christine A Kysely December 14, 2010

(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved, 

Copyright © christine a kysely | Year Posted 2010

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Two is company
Three a crowd
A and B call the shots
I'll C my way out

I've become a nuisance 
With the key to their heart
A knee high fence
Setting them apart

They clear with ease
The top of my Hurdle
I'm just a disease
A bothersome girdle 

I gave them a boy
Adopted their man
Then a girl brought joy
They don't understand

They dote on the first
A monster in training
I have been cursed
No need for explaining

A fantasy solution
There's no such thing
Entitlement, illusion
They'll continue to bring

Pick a seat, not a side
A quant little quote
The author was high
When he joyfully wrote

An invisible line
Heavy and thick
Clear to the blind
A blunt, jarring kick

I won't sugar coat
My pen speaks truth
Start building your moat
And digging your boot

Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2016

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.



I miss grandma’s house after school, grandma’s house after church, grandma’s house after a long days work. I miss them because they remind me of my grandma. Lemonade, cookie jars, jeopardy, aloe plants, banana pudding, ice tea, patsy cline and diet coke etc. all have memories that make me think of my Grandma.

Grandma is always giving
Here take this pillow take some food “take what you want.”
She wants you to have it
She just wants you to be happy.

Are you hungry? Let me make you something.
I am not hungry grandma. I say.
Grandma says: Let me make you something anyway.

Straight to the point is her way
Stop chewing your nails stop eating so much chocolate
Your face is breaking out! No girl is going to like that!

She cries when we leave, and cries when we arrive
Tears of joy and sadness she cannot hide.

Three words that define her are
Self-less, supportive, and loving

Grandma is the rock in our family

I want to tell you

We love you!

Copyright © Nathan Reger | Year Posted 2017

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Warm Apple Pie

Every Sunday afternoon we’d go to my grandparent’s home, those were the trips I’ll never forget with my siblings and I- My grandpa would greet us with that pleasant smile shown, and I’d always smell the sweetness of my grandma’s apple pie. Looking back at those memories it makes me want to sigh. One time she taught me from scratch how to make her delicacy, the correct way to kneed the dough, how much sugar to utilize- I remember grandpa whistling an enchanting Christmas melody, and to this day every year I still bake those homemade pies. At the county fair in two thousand and nine I won first prize. My mother never could get the recipe right, so much time wasted, but I prevailed every time, I guess I was a natural from the start- My husband says it’s the most delicious food he’s ever tasted, as I bake those warm apple pies from my amiable and gracious heart. Last year I taught my daughter to bake, with the recipe I shan’t part. The Scent Of Baking Bread, The Scent Of Clean Sheets Fresh Off The Clothesline Poetry Contest Sara Kendrick February 16, 2018

Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2018

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Gearing up to what should be magical
Special winter to be a first of firsts
Brand spanking new at the grand-parent thing
Marshmallow snowsuits, sleighs and Santa Claus
First fluffy snowflakes falling from above
The Christmas tree lit up with shiny balls
Starring our nine-month old baby darling
Picturing with glee the sheer confusion
Crazy folk coaxing him to be wreckless
Bows, ribbons and coloured flashy paper
A few minutes of this and he’ll get bored
To make him magnificently happy
He just wants a cardboard box and cookie
Our Christmases will never be the same
Knowing next year he’ll be more into it
Now we just drool at all the photo ops

Submitted for contest MY WINTER sponsored by VIV WIGLEY - November 17, 2017  -  RANKED 5TH

Copyright © Line Gauthier | Year Posted 2017

Details | Grandparents Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Members no longer with us
But still in our hearts
Here amidst reunions
A few less place settings
And empty chairs
Ghosts quietly mingle
Stealth and incognito
Among all the hugs
Smiles chatter laughter and stories
Barely noticed yet included
Far from forgotten

Submitted on February 9, 2018 for FEBRUARY 2018 STANDARD CONTEST sponsored by BRIAN STRAND

Copyright © Line Gauthier | Year Posted 2018