Grandfather Family Poems | Examples
These Grandfather Family poems are examples of Family poems about Grandfather. These are the best examples of Family Grandfather poems written by international poets.
I found him in a box of dust-soft relics,
a face blurred by time yet bright with family and memory.
From brittle scrapbook pages, his life unfolded-piece by piece,
his story rose—a German farm boy who fled Dorn,
the sailor who leapt into Gulf-dark waters, swimming
toward Galveston Bay and the faint glow of a future he hoped to claim.
Texas shaped him with love, labor, and loss,
eight children rooting his family deep into new soil.
Dusk pooled in the attic around me, his courage moved
through our family line into my own bones~a quiet inheritance.
*You may find the accompanying memoir vignette at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/the_stranger_in_the_box_13607
I wish that it was Christmas time -
in the future when
my son and his new wife
have had their children then,
and they are surrounded
by family -
grandmothers, grandfathers,
including me,
and three thousand miles
has shrunk to none,
and their kids call me grandpa,
and we can have fun,
and the smell of pies is in the air,
and the Christmas tree is blinking -
where it is warm inside,
and the grownups are all drinking,
and to every grandkid sleepy head,
I say sternly, "it's time for bed",
and they argue a priori,
"Grandpa, read us a story!"
He would walk into the room
Shoulders held high
Pinnacled to touch the sky
In my eyes a giant of a man
My Grandfather wore a face
Of a blue-eyed Irish sage
With wondrous stories and rousing song
In every breath and heartbeat
Belonging to his Celtic tradition
Some might call him strapping
To me he was a brilliant smile
We would hold hands to dance and sing
In the light of him loving me
So simply, almost magically
He would pull me from my shyness
Into a world of extraneous joy
As he twirled me up onto his shoulders
Then crashing to the floor, feet on the ground
To dance with fire and delight
With every step while singing
Loud and clear of the happiness he knew
In this poem-request, I hope I don't sound overly pushy or snotty :-)
But I pray more Depends can be donated so old people can go potty!
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.
head cradled on folded arms
as a young boy I’d sit rapt
in the tales told by an old man
as he drew pictures at our dinner table
no bragging, not at all
just remembrances
of arid deserts and tuscan sunsets
heaving seas and emptying bellies
he saw the world
give or take
in six years
for king and country
back then I did not notice the pauses
how he never mentioned friends
eyes magnified through thick bifocals
searching some distant battlefield
he came home and got work in a mill
watched his wife die not long after
brought up three boys alone
but never grumbled, not at all
As I knew no living grandparents,
I’ve been a grandson to none.
But I have been a son, a god son,
a younger brother, an older brother,
A nephew, a cousin, an uncle,
A grand uncle, a great grand uncle,
A husband twice espoused,
A son-in-law, a brother-in-law,
A father, a god father, a stepfather,
A father-in-law,
And an ex-husband twice removed.
As my children are not yet parents,
And, given the state of the world,
May possibly never be,
I am grandfather to none.
If certain familial ties can be
Regarded as bookends to a life,
Mine are less than evident,
Leaving my existential chronology
Dangling famously over edges,
Mocking the persistence of memory.
For Elmer N. Koski 1901-1941
Grandfather,
Might a memory be borrowed
Like perfume from another?
If so, may I borrow your sister's
Of a long ago summer when you were fifteen?
She remembers:
You made your bed outside
Near the living room window, apart yet a part.
She remembers:
You played an ocarina
Night after night into the night.
What melodies did you conjure
That she remembers though frail with age,
Other memories faded to forgetfulness?
When you played did you ponder the stars
And wonder at your own significance?
Grandfather,
I will borrow the memory and keep it safe
In the place where precious things linger,
And repay the loan with this verse.
skilled you are your smile makes subtle demands
a potent weapon are those soft brown eyes
you arrived with your birthday threads in hand
that laughter such a deceptive disguise
I do pride myself on my people skills
yet in your presence I tend to go blind
at first I resist then bend to your will
with you I lose track of my thoughts and time
I answer quickly to your beck and call
your hidden agenda I cannot see
I shiver at the thought that you might fall
your strange control I choose not to believe
there is no need to change this scrumptious world
first grandchild how I love thee little girl
in billowing pipe smoke
he laughed like santa
then went to heaven
i was five
AP: 1st place 2025
I remember sitting on my grand dad’s knee,
when he told me about the good old days.
How he courted my grandmother with glee,
He fell in love and spoiled her in many ways.
Told me how he asked her dad for her hand,
and her father gave them his blessing as well.
My granddad was the happiest fella in the land,
The story of their union made my heart swell.
Until this day, I tell my kids of my family's history,
So they can share our history with their children.
I don't want them to doubt or it be a mystery,
And my kid’s kids can tell their grandchildren.
01/11/2021
Inspired by “
The Good Old Days”
Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
He knew how to slaughter and dress a chicken
She baked bread every Friday in the tiny kitchen
He built their one-car garage from lumberyard scrap
She grew veggies on hardscrabble soil, for her family and pap
They didn't speak English, never went out to eat
A little meat on their table during the week, a rare treat
No insulation in their frame house, not all the windows closed
In the summer they boiled; come winter they froze...
Their own sons were ashamed to have parents so green
Their friends wouldn't come over, a hidden couple, unseen
They were my bubbe and zayde, my grandma and grandpa
Gone by fifty ~ Inscriptions on their graves at me gnaw
Note: the letter 'e' in 'bubbe' and 'zayde' is pronounced as a 'y'
Goodbye
I waved as you left the drive.
I heard your sweet voice…
ever cheerful.
Hours passed.
I did the dishes.
I cleaned up.
I got ready for bed.
I received the call.
I sat down.
I wanted to die.
I…
A sense of holidays!
Blueberry pie hot out of the oven with buttery toppings
popcorn popping in the pot with oil on the stove
Lemon and lime are the sour balls used for drinks or garnish
Take that hot pan out of the oven with your glove.
Coffee is served with a biscotti, black coffee, strong, steamy
Fresh coffee beans ground and gurgling through the percolator
Unsweetened coffee, hot, burns your lips, bitter to the tongue
Cold ice in the freezer and the glass shelf in the refrigerator.
Uncle Joe’s gas problem and Aunt Emma’s feet
As Grandfather breathes and snores through his nose.
The last crumbs of cinnamon, the last glob of whipped cream
Take Grandma’s hand when you walk out, she hates to impose.
“Hurry up slowpoke-take my hand”, said the little boy to his dad. “Wait until you taste the cherry water ice on 2nd Street”
“Hurry up slowpoke-take my hand”, said the boy, who was now a teenager, to his girlfriend. “Wait until you taste the cherry water ice up on the avenue.”
“Hurry up slowpoke-take my hand”, said the teenager, who was now a father, to his son. “Wait until you taste the cherry water ice just off the bypass.”
“Hurry up slowpoke-take my hand”, said the father, who was now a grandfather, to his grandson. “Wait until you taste the cherry water ice at the community center.
One day, the grandfather felt like having a little cherry water ice, then he heard a voice say: “Hurry up slowpoke-take my hand. Wait until you taste the water ice in Heaven.”