Grandfather Death Poems | Examples
These Grandfather Death poems are examples of Death poems about Grandfather. These are the best examples of Death Grandfather poems written by international poets.
Ebony eyes eclipse ripping away sun
Moon blooms of golden gloom
Lips lacking limerick’s lift
Onyx mood swings back and forth
Like grey grandfather clock
Time ticking as a blues bomb
Raining purple passionate pain
clouded by lemon lyrical labyrinth
Of love lacking it’s sweet liquor
The bittersweet longing embraced
Tastes like red regrets sifted through time
Straining to be reinvented not lamented
In black bird’s somber death song
Sacred and solemn in honor of loss
Mourning is important inked in green
Like poison ivy uncomfortable
But never worthless as it is digested
And creates cranberry calling to
Remember the fallen angels
With soft tears laid like roses
On the cold creamy colored casket
When you died
We wept and cried
So much you left
Inside unsaid
Buried with
Unexpressed regrets
Nothing to do with
Your grand children
You adored us
Unconditionally
Our youth our zest
Our innocence
No judging ever
Pure candid love
We gathered
When it happened
And I was the one
Who insisted
I’d sleep in your bed
I felt so privileged
Never doubting
You had visited
And kissed my head
Watched over me
Nestled there tiny in
The palm of your hand
Keeping me warm
All night till morn
AP: 1st place 2021
Since the second of the two of you had died,
I finally reached the day I no longer cried.
It was one of the last mornings of December,
I started laundry after waking from slumber.
I gathered all the towels around the house,
Walked down the stairs quiet as a mouse.
After I began the washing machine, I saw:
Two dimes, I knew it was you and grandpa.
I smiled, went to water your memorial flowers,
But as I carried a pail in dawn's sacred hours
Suddenly two big drops had fallen to floor,
I knew it was you two approving every chore.
I texted my partner I no longer have loud cries,
But I would still helplessly well-up in my eyes.
I know you two are watching over me though,
I know you two shall see how I'll further grow.
NO FEAR OF WISEHUY DONALD MASSIMO PELLEGREN FAKED HIS DEATH IN FORT MYERS TO CONTINUE DOING HITS FOR THE MON RUNNING THE WISCONSIN WOMANS PRISONSADLY MASSIMO DECIDED TO IMPERSONATE MY DECEASED FATHER BORN 9.14.1942 CHICAGO WHY SIMPLE LOOKING FOR MY GRANDFATHER HERITAGE SERVING IN ROME SEVERE IDENTITY FRAUD UPON VETERANS AND THEIR FAMILY GAMBINO HITMAN HIDINGBOUT IN DETROIT RUNNING PRISON GAMES THE MAFIA'S HORROR SHOW SEVERE DEATH THREATS HITMEN ATTACKING DISABLED MOTHER ATTEMPTING TO RACKETEER MY AMERICAN POETRY EMBEZZLING A TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM ON MY BEHALD FORD MOTOR COMPANY THIS WISEGUY GARMENT DISTRICT HITMAN FAKED HIS DEATH TO BECOME MY FATHER IRONICALLY OBSESSED WITH 1942 MY FATHERS BIRTH DATE
Wearing my late grandpa's shoes
As I do what he would never approve,
Because this life is what I choose
As I realize I have nothing to prove.
?A grumpy grandpa (from Greece), gruff and gray,
is grazing on a grain of grass, graceful.
He’s grumbling that the grim grave is growing
greater and greedily greeting his grasp.
I sit at the foot of your bed while all others pray—
As you fall this dark December night slowly away—
I wish that you be carried by stars of bright heavens light
Showing beyond certainty, you leave this world more right
You are the grandfather; my children deserved,
a gift to them that you have overwhelming served.
I am humbled before you at the foot of your bed,
I'm happy to offer, every, single, tear that I've shed
even more over, I wish my heart was dying instead
So hear this message, I said it clearly before you went on your way
You're the father I chose; over your life, I hope that love, I did convey
When Grandpa died and his clock still ticked,
he fell from a ladder by a tree -
nor could that clock on the wall predict
when I died at age twenty-three.
A traveling artist, who, out of luck,
implored gramps (...how'd he know his name?)
My grandpa was kind. A deal was struck.
Soon his picture was in a frame.
The parlor portrait's eyes would follow
me, conveying every feeling.
Kindness and cheer, I could swallow,
but remonstration sent me reeling.
A frisbee stuck in a tree, so high,
Grandpa said he'd retrieve it for me.
Just hold the ladder, please, small fry?
and that's all that he asked of me.
Nobody knows that story but me.
I sway gently as the wind does blow,
from a branch on that sycamore tree,
but the eyes on the portrait know.
When I go to Heaven someday; my love's spirit shall lead the way.
I want to meet my grandfather in a valley of pink lilies.
I shall embrace my cousin in fields of tiger lilies.
the phone rang during supper.
No one wanted to get it.
We were devouring butterscotch pie.
My favorite with graham cracker crust.
My mother called my name
Said “get the phone”
I jumped up
An old lady said “Is your mother there?”
I made fun of the old lady’s voice as I handed the phone to Mom.
Mom yelled “DICK!”
Dad jumped up and grabbed Mom before she hit the floor.
She had fainted.
It was my grandfather on the phone.
Not an old lady, just a crackly grief-stricken voice.
My mother’s mother had died that day.
I could not face butterscotch pie for fifty years after this.
For a blessed hour to sleep and awaken in
your presence,
as the dusty antique grandfather clock chimes in
solemnity's hour of bereavement,
to whom I am enslaved, always.
My cherish of you in unquenchable fires, scorching,
undying,
as the netherworld's watchmen appear in the
eve shadows-
remnants of the years past joys and sorrows.
All of life's anguish of regrets,
of sweeter remembrances,
of seeking solace from the sympathy
of the saints,
as summertide's augustness begins
to weep farewell, fading.
I still hear your jeweled singing,
of dream travels through the expanse
of misted drapes of stars of a sapphire
and golden heaven-gate,
to have communion with you. ~
arthritic hands search the fretboard
finding chords that hurt the least
the old guitar brings a toothless grin
then we sneak a sip of whiskey
His aged fingers squeezed hers at last
Was this a final, fatal goodbye?
Her tears stuck to her pillow
No, grandpa, please don't die
Heading downstairs she turned on the light
gasped, then shook with fright --
'Twas grandpa, a young man, reading to her mother
~ Did God mean this for her to uncover?
Powers of language of flowers hold significance in my grief.
Pink lily reminding me my grandfather found relief.
Tiger lily reminding me my cousin's life was brief.
Almost died myself the 1st of May, 2 years ago,
Seizing as I had another death of my ego.
Flashing forwards to first 4 days of May just a year ago,
I lost a cousin all because of sins of "the ego."
Suddenly remembering my grandfather who passed 2 years ago,
I recall how he was born post-war on Cinco De Mayo.