Best Great Grandparents Poems
We are apples growing on our parent's tree, planted by our grandparents from the apples of our great-grandparents ~ author
October skies still reflect in your eyes
the way they once did on that day we were wed.
Autumn's bright leaves recall fond memories
of sweet days together through dark, stormy weather.
Once we were young, with our songs still unsung
As we both wondered, "what's it like to grow old?"
Nights fell, the months turned, new calendars came,
Now leaves in chill weather, in love, fall together
in orange, in crimson, in yellow, in suburn, in gold.
Our sunrise has faded, our sunset is near
The springtime has passed and the winter
we once thought we'd fear
is now here,
this love we still share is so dear.
The season's deep magic hides changes within,
A rose's young bloom that won't open again,
like children that change right in front of our eyes -
the soft painted ceiling of October skies
in orange, in crimson, in yellow, in auburn, in gold.
// My grandparents had an October wedding. This song was a gift to them on their 60th anniversary. //
written October 1979
CINDERELLA WHAT NOW
I’ve often seen you zoom past Mars,
Blonde hair flowing and blowing
In the breeze of the milky way,
And its trillions of stars.
I so longed for you to be mine,
I imagined us sitting in the curve of the moon
As it slowly began to wane,
And we watched planet earth beneath us,
And the gods of the seas sending tides
Out, splashing foaming and dancing,
Raging, loving that God and the Moon,
Chose mother nature to run this chore,
By being bossy and certainly imposing!
Mystery girl what is your name,
Is it true you are called Cinderella,
You must be the fourth generation,
And according to the invitation
To the ball, your great grandparents were,
Prince Charming and Cinderella
The rich prince and the poor cinder girl
With whom Prince Charming fell in love.
And now you have all the wealth you need,
Choose me, tell your dad what you really want,
And take, a slight tumble,
Learn to become a little humble.
You have captivated my being,
Only of you do I dream.
I know you’re from Venus and hot,
Many suitors you have got,
From Jupiter, Mercury and Uranus,
And Saturn, which one of us
Will it be,
For I want to marry you,
I have no jewels
To offer like the others,
I am not poor, and will cherish you,
And give you a good life,
As my wife.
Only love and devotion,
From my heart with emotion.
Pretty lady all will be disclosed
At the Ball, at which your father
Will name the lucky man.
You are stunning,
But for whom are you gunning?
The night arrives, all the eligible
Young men invited from every planet,
Arrive in high tech space ships,
Engineered to impress,
Like your emerald studded green
Much admired ball gown, gems in excess,
Never in History has such a gown
Been seen before,
I’m on an emotional seesaw,
Your green eyes seem cold,
And your manner distant and bold.
The suitor finally named, Prince Zuma
From Jupiter and you will be
Wife number ten.
You must think long and hard
About this wedding,
You will be part of a harem,
I whisper in her ear,
I am leaving this pretentious scene
I’m afraid this match might
have a sad ending,
You, being the subject of this plight.,
Should you need me, contact details
In the hem of your pricey dress.
Think hard, your life has
Become quite a mess,
Money has become your master,
You are not thinking of forever after.
Acrid smoke in the scientist’s bell jar
Blankets of chenille-covered snow
Crystalline carbon diamond star
Drips forming stalactites grow
Effervescent waterfalls’ dreams
Frothy-topped cappuccinos
Gelid surfaces of lakes and streams
Halos of angels in holy repose
Icebergs splitting from their source
Jasmine-covered pergolas in Spring
Knuckles clenched in fear or remorse
Love’s purest form sobering
Mandala patterns on frosted window
Newly-born flamboyant flamingos
Opalescent lustre of pearls on show
Pineapple-licious snow cones
Quills of the porcupines’ defense
Ringlets of great-grandparents’ hair
Steamy hot springs vapor intense
Trailing wisps of London fog air
Undulating winter foothill maze
Veils of fine tatted lace purity
Wieliczka Salt Mine passageways
Xilinous spider webs artistry
Yahrzeit candle flame in memoriam
Zephyrus ballooning sails on a whim
We have spent a lifetime developing an understanding of our heartstrings…
discovering our happiness, our love, and our enjoyment…in all the little things.
Things like popcorn at the movies, falling leaves, kind words,
banana pudding, chocolate ice cream, the singing of the birds.
Puppies…singing in the shower, counting all the stars,
holding hands, family dinners, eating peanut butter from a jar.
Flying kites, reading a good book, doing something totally unplanned
Climbing a mountain, eating s’mores,
walking near the ocean with our bare feet in the sand.
Butterflies, ladybugs, rainbows, the shape of clouds up in the sky
Hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day…chasing fireflies.
Cookies warm out of the oven…the smile of a bride as she walks down the aisle
Children, grandchildren, root beer floats…a hug, a kiss…a smile.
Since we continue to discover new little things with every dawn
It makes sense that our list of little things…goes on and on and on.
And to this list today…with a happy heart…this joyous news we bring…
born yesterday (November 15th) into our family…our newest little thing.
Her name is yet to be determined but I’m happy to report
baby girl, proud Mom and Dad are doing great.
She is 18.8 inches tall…and I’ll have to leave you guessing
because one never asks a lady…even a little lady…
to tell us of her weight….
And as new great-grandparents…also just born yesterday
when it comes to Deborah and me…
we are over the moon with excitement…as happy as can be!
Speaking for the other great-grandparents, grandparents, parents
aunts and uncles who were also born yesterday….
we are all so happy little one…you decided to come our way.
One look at your face, baby girl, tells us you were worth the wait…
and reminds us when two people fall in love…
the kind of magic and the beauty
true love can create.
I'm mixed, biracial, an oreo, a mutt. I get called a lot of thing but in the end I'd like to be called human. That's all I am anyway.
I don't fit in.
Not with the whites.
Not with the blacks.
Not with anything else.
I don't fit in because I'm different, because I am two halves that have somehow made a whole.
But I don't feel whole.
I'm mixed, biracial, an oreo, a mutt. I get called a lot of thing but in the end I'd like to be called human. That's all I am anyway.
I have nappy, curly hair. No one can tame it. No one wants to.
I never count as a whole person- not to anyone, anyway.
I have to choose "other" when stating my race on a form because I will not pick one half, I will not conform.
White people don't want me because I am black.
And black people don't want me because I am white.
Blacks act like my great grandparents didn't get whipped across the back.
Whites act like I belong on the other side, as if about my race I lied.
I struggle with self identity, no place to put myself amongst society.
I stick out, a much different variety.
I can not exist- some say- because mixing races is against their religion.
What am I within, if I am a living, breathing, sin?
Life isn't always black or white, sometimes it's both, sometimes it's me.
So now,
do you see,
the plight of being me?
Orphaned footsteps round the old place.
Pitch black soil, packed deep with bartered
coin and Indian heads – wood and otherwise,
coat her worn leather shoes, Hutterite chic.
The long land screams within its own silence.
Prairie sage burns somewhere, a ghostly smudge
for the undulating grass and, those it serves.
Its alive scent makes the dead turn towards
its head - and the barely living turn to listen.
The impossibly endless horizon holds its bright
blue at bay, begging acknowledgement for
its self-professed being and looming enormity.
She looks at the broken window glass and
through the tattered, delicate gray lace. “Those
were hers.” She whispers to the one who listens.
This great-great-granddaughter sees the curtains
as they once were – wistful in the hot Manitoba
wind; fresh and lowing with the honest elemental
scent of aspens, hope and bare-knuckle wash boards;
always fresh; shifting in the cry for solace in summer
shadows – never as still as this moments endlessness.
Blowing through the deep brown of splintered pine
front doors; cracking the announcement of cast iron,
rot and burnt wood comes the simple statement of –
I lived. This mother of five young does not cry,
just yearns to walk in the old ones footsteps;
to know them loved; hear the birdsong through
unbroken bedroom windows for a 5am waking;
feel the resistance of dough on fingers that beg
to be broken, and kiss the twisting undead, living.
The burning of the noonday sun taps her whole,
marking; branding her pale Swedish skin its own.
The red sting of burnt breaks her inward silence,
welcoming her familiar face home.
© Kristin Reynolds 3 29 2009
*Reposted for John's Summer Celebration Contest. This is a personal celebration;
celebrating and honoring my great grandparents who settled in Manitoba after leaving
Sweden and Denmark. This celebrates the summer of family, at least for me. We went there
every summer until it was gone...
I love my old barn because it brings back memories galore...
I started playing there before I knew what memories were for.
The barn was there before I came to be...
And great grandparents preserved it so their descendants could see.
Good times, bad times, it's seen them all...
Winter and summer and the harvest in the fall.
Each nail, each board and the bird nests too...
There is a time honored tradition in an old barn like you.
I love my old barn because it keeps my feet on the ground...
I even get excited when it creeks and moans and makes it's mournful sound.
There is a spiritual connection one finds there...
And a heart full of prayer fills the air.
TK<
When I thought love was dead,
God sent me you.
God showed me
that he wanted to be happy.
God sent me you.
God sent me a great person.
I want to live for eternity with you.
I will go through the good and bad times with you.
I will even go to the end of the earth,
Long as I'm with you.
I will never stop loving you.
Even if hell freezes over and the world ends.
Even if will the only one in the world,
I want to be with you for eternity.
I can see us growing old together.
And dying together.
I don't care where we are,
Long as I'm with you.
Wherever you go, I go.
Wherever I go, you go.
Will be glued together.
Will be chained together.
Will be one together.
My love will be like a candle that never burns out.
My love will be like a light that never goes dark.
My love will be like an eternal love for eternity.
My love will never run out.
My love will never dry out.
My love will never end.
I'll be there, when you're sick.
I'll be there, when you're tired.
I'll be there, when you're angry.
I'll be there, when you're in the hospital.
I'll be there, when you're hurt.
I'll be there, when you're alone.
I'll be there, when you need some one to love.
I'll be there, when you need a friend.
I'll be there, when you comfort.
I'll be there, when you need some one to talk to.
I'll be there, when you need some one to hold.
I'll be there, when you need me.
We can share God together.
We can be like my great grandparents.
Our love will never end.
And we will always have God in our hearts.
I meant to tell about my travelling aboard.
Of my visit to West Africa
For genealogy purpose, I wanted to see my great grandfather homeland.
He was from Guinea.
He loved dance and drumming.
I submit this missed poem!
Lenny was polyrhythm.
He loved his total body dance.
He beat his drum to articulate his movements.
His Sub-Saharan music traditions were practice.
The Hills of Mississippi is where he meaningfully existed.
His life formed many cultures there.
Wolfe’s Plantation is where he lived.
I submit this missed poem.
To a competition, I am entering.
Emma was his wife and a short woman to Lenny’s height that reached over six feet.
They married when she was only sixteen.
Emma gave birth to five children.
Their names are Donnie, Mae Emma, Jeb, Lenny, and Coleen.
Emma was the teacher of The Wolfe’s Plantation.
Through her wisdom and knowledge, she departed education.
A missed poem is written to enter a contest that overlooked my thoughts.
Once called “A Tribute to Guinea, West Africa,” is now entered as “A Missed Poem.”
This is part of the original…
The love of my great grandparents brings me here.
To Guinea, West Africa, I pay tribute.
Their culture in dance and drumming is our heritage.
My great grandfather family is from that history.
West African slaves to European’s whites of Eastern Hemisphere.
United States of America is where they lived.
Lenny’s parents stayed true to the tradition.
He danced to the polyrhythms.
_____________________________________\
Motif: Heritage/Family/Origin/Mixed Blood/Contest Name
~Please read About This Poem~
What makes us beautiful is not color,
But just a handsome heart and an effulgent cerebrum,
So as much as we dwell in this world,
We are one blood each with only a soul,
So folks let’s stroll away from our domains,
To the palatial planet we dwell in,
Which has different races; Caucasian, Mongolian, Negroid among others,
With different ambient, languages and ethos!
But that doesn’t halt us from drinking from the same river,
Because we are all Jehovah’s semblance!
And we are all children of the earth,
Who didn’t choose our own races,
Neither did our parents nor great grandparents!
So let’s just fuse as kin and kith,
No matter where we are, or come from,
We are all coherent!
We are one blood.
We are all human beings,
Who have souls and shadows!
And we all pass on,
When it’s our time to rest in peace!
Africa, America, Antarctica, Asia, Australia and Europe
We are one,
And we wear the same uniform.
Colors are just layers
deeper-day-dreaming.
was he not a confident lover?
disheveled-darning-dominant.
confidence is not letting what may be disheveled in you get so deep that it dominates
so by day, be daring.
dream.
he transformed into all she needed.
he was all she needed.
cliched or not, it all happened for them overnight.
he made his great-grandparents proud
after explaining "what you felt in that moment"
Couples marry; it's tradition
Since the beginning of time
Our children would do the same
While in their youthful prime
Handsome, intelligent, employed
Would be their choicest beaus
No ills would befall a safe home
Established in love that grows
Into a heart entered a love
A beau with mutant genes
Carrier of Huntington's
Disease that stole all esteem
As tradition would have it happen
A child would come their way
Innocent was the baby boy
That in the cradle lay
As great grandparents cuddled him
Never did they expect
Such a fate would entangle, hold;
And people would reject
Thirteen innocent years God granted
Then his joy was taken away
He knew that he was a defect
Hope disappeared to stay
At age thirteen when Cody's dad was diagnosed with HD then Cody knew
he could come down with the illness..He was tested at 18 and he had the
gene..He now at 29 has the early stages of the disease..Longevity expected 10 years..God could intervene our only hope at this time..
Unfinished..Don't know exactly how to go forward yet
It first began looking, at my great grandparents, in old pictures albums or on the wall, so I did not understand longing, for simpler times or why, I would think I would see a picture of me there. I would always look but never seeing me. It never stopped me from looking, when I was young, looking for myself. The times were simpler but not easier, as the black and whites, showed the hardness of the times, written on their faces each line or scar. Written for all to see, yet I looked for me back then. It was strange, I know; but with imagination of a child in the heroic sense. How life could have been, so much better then and what a hero I could have been.Whether, medieval or cowboy or war days, that is where I played. In retro seeing me line and scars in black and white all the battles one
Silliness coupled with much humdrum
drains creative energy from the minds of children.
Bored kids, raised by televisions, make warped decisions.
Viewed daily by the hour, murder becomes ordinary.
The wild lunacy of far too many people
causes vulgarity to erupt at an early age.
Integrity is not taught by crude interjections.
Reality: kids mimic adults without perception.
Elegance is foreign; brutality, common.
In modern childhood decorum is misunderstood
as mere rules and likewise humility is worthless
Laxity reigns with sporadic parental harshness.
Today’s children have a mentality and morality
that would rattle our great-grandparents’ false teeth.
Our children are wiser than their peers of yesteryears,
re: street-smarts, fits and starts and body parts.
Little things touch my heart,
Things give my day a glow,
A kindness acknowledged
Or the call of a cheery hello.
Family gatherings are noisy but fun,
Four generations
Great-grandparents to Great-grandson
It isn't all sweetness and light
We don't always agree
But we never fist fight.
Life isn't dull,
It's complete and exciteful
Although at my age
I find a lull
Welcome and delightful.
Like all families
We have shared memories galore,
And in the future
There will be many more
Losses and gains
Happiness and joy
But they will forever remain
Our Girls and Boys
Even when I am gone
And no longer there
The collection of memories
Generations will share