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.
Words are swirling.
I want to write them down,
but even in my mind, tears blur the ink.
I think you'd understand.
You, the English professor,
the storyteller,
the Southern Gentleman at heart.
You, the naval officer prone to seasickness
who could talk to anyone,
out loud or on paper, without bias or ill-will.
I miss hearing you whistle as you walk
and the smell of your shaving soap.
I miss your infectious knee-slapping laughs
and your unmitigated love for jam.
I miss your stories, all of them,
about growing up in the South,
about your wise, kind-hearted mother,
and your dog, Scrappy.
I miss your rows and rows of books
and their dust and must and might,
and your love for Blake and Keats
and Alice Munro.
I miss knowing you're around, somewhere,
making the world better just by being there.
I miss the purity, the goodness
of your enormous heart.
I don't think I can describe it quite right,
but I'll try.
With your books on my shelf
and your words on my heart,
I'll try to convey
what an honour and blessing it has been
to call you Grandpa.
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!"
Spring — Passion
Kintsugi dawn—
white plum scents night air
tea rises in stillness.
Cranes cross pale sky;
child laughter drifts on moss.
A garden remembers.
Summer — Vocation
Tatami breathes—
cicada shells cling
reborn softly.
Koi flicker below
ripples fade in quiet hands.
Evening thunder calls—
incense drifts
forms bow.
Autumn — Mission
Fox lanterns kindle
shoji float through silver mist—
ancestral spirits stir.
Stray dog nestles
by the gate;
even strays seek warmth.
Tea vapor
recalls morning.
Winter — Profession
Snow settles
on stone lanterns
pine needles in palm.
Cold brushes fingertips.
Crane arcs slowly—
silhouette lingers on old walls.
Work kneaded
with laughter;
fire clothes darkness.
Completion — All Seasons as One
Sakura scatter—
petals dance
mirror tea vapor.
Breath holds the garden.
Circle closes
opens anew.
Tea cools,
reflects sky—
time folds gently.
They were already awake,
The sky dark as the work ahead,
Hands stiff from la tierra,
Feet bruised from the miles,
Yet they never stopped.
The nights were too short,
The days stretched on,
Sleep was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
Still, they pressed forward,
One step, then another.
La tierra gave little,
But took all they had.
Baskets filled with fruit,
Hands worn from the toil,
Every mark, every tear,
A step toward a future
They could only imagine,
But believed in.
Backs bent,
Bruised hands,
Yet their strength remained.
It wasn’t for them;
It was for us.
They worked for a future
That lived only in their dreams.
Every weary limb,
Was woven into a legacy
That endures through time.
What they built isn’t carved in stone,
but in the quiet moments we hold close,
in the lessons that shape us,
in a love that never fades
a legacy that lives within us.
Dedicated to Elena Eagle
My Daughter
On the Closing of Oakland A’s Stadium
9/26/2024
~ ~ ~
Your Grandpa is right there next to you,
Cheering on the A’s, with a beer or two!
Down from the skies of Heaven, he flew.
To be with his Grandaughter, feeling so blue!
He sees all the wonderful things you do,
For your family, you are magnificently true.
Proud of his smart grandson, six foot two,
And your husband, who’s been true to you.
He knows so well you will cry this Fall day,
When the A’s stadium, closes, their last play.
He wants you to not feel any deep dismay,
For the Oakland A’s will play yet another day.
Grandfather loves so you very, very much.
He came to earth for you to feel his touch!
Grandfather loves the great England bunch.
Eddie, he says will be in the MLB, Grandpa’s hunch!
9/30/2024
Your hand taps on my arm
then points towards the door
now you have decided
that I can't work anymore
Logging on way too early
I'm due a break for sure
especially for someone
I don't want to ignore
You ask me for a story
one that we've shared before
I'm told I need to read it
sat on the bathroom floor
Time is always precious
who knows what's in store?
I'll always be your grand-dude
but you won't always be four.
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
A fatherless boy with a motherless son, wrote stories of nature to please everyone.
Stories from the meadow, stories from the sea, native son of Sandwich, we come to honor thee.
Five generations, of his family tree, native son of Sandwich, we come to honor thee.
The shadow cast by twilight's breath,
A tale transpire, of life and death.
A refuge boy, adrift and torn,
From distant lands, in agony borne.
To Italy's shores, he finds his way,
Where ancient mutters softly sway.
Betwixt the olive groves, he's found,
By the hearts that beat with love unbound.
A grandfather, with eyes so wise,
Where sorrow dwells, and joy defies.
His children gone, to foreign lands,
He takes the boy into his hands.
In alleyways where whispers sigh,
They walk, beneath the azure sky.
The old man's love, a beam bright,
Guiding through the darkest night.
In vinery green, they find their rest,
A refuge in a world oppressed.
For in the embrace of love's refrain,
The refuge boy is born again!
Through labyrinthine streets they roam,
In search of comfort, not of home.
For blood may bind, but love endures,
In hearts that kindle sacred fires.
In Italy's embrace, they find their place,
Where love not blood, embellish their grace.
The refuge boy, now grown and wise,
Beneath Italian skies, he thrives.
Luminous miscellaneous adorn my crown,
Frills and strawberries,
Thorny circlet dusted with a light layer of twinkle,
As my eyes hysteric with confusion
muse on this loss.
I gather the lumps of loaf
crossing the border of light
toddling and traversing through the hues
of bent butter beauties
drooping into the worn old stone
one foot forward of the other
two stayed peering past
my grandfather built all this.
silver lick of hair stuck to his brow
that little rhythm in his hands
trembling like the trickles of water
heaved, trodden, beat and brandished
by the river rover.
oxidized poles decorated with patched quilts and marked clothes
trodden through top soil
of the hearth of the earth
will i even sense this again?
this burrowing thing inside of me
borrowed from ages long past their prime
will i too become another fleck on the sun scorched sill ?
They carried on discreetly
pretending not to care
then on the day of the wedding
none of the family were there
mum cried in the kitchen
the news was much to bear
dad had lost his temper
his choice words hung in the air
the household was in crisis
with lots of opinions to share
the summit in the sitting room
agreed it wasn't fair
"nothing good will come of this"
said grand-dad from his chair,
while grandma simply said it was,
"a hole in the wall affair".
A mop of white hair
Over a young old face
A pair of laughing eyes
Locked in a different place
As he tells his grandchildren
Tales of his youth
Each one guaranteed to be
Ninety percent of the truth.
He talks of a million years ago,
Really just nineteen sixty two,
And they look at him in
The way grandchildren do.
He tells of his adventures
Of his scraps and scrapes
Marvelling in his mind
At some of his escapes.
A grand daughter says
You’re telling fibs I think
He gives her a smile
And then a slow wink.
They all give him a hug
When it’s time for them to go
And he experiences thoughts
That only Granddads know.
He thinks of the joy, pains
And sadness they may know
And hopes they’ll all learn
As they mature and grow.
Life is such a gamble
And it’s a privilege to see
The continuance of his line
And how it’s going to be
The young mother died,
before she could hold her newborn child
Paternity was unknown
the secret his mother had never shared
The boy was cradled in the arms of his grandmother
they were aged poor people in the countryside
a few chickens and four cows in the barn were all they had
no prosperity
gossiping at the child's birth -
bite thy sinful tongue
Characterized by tight finances and little food
The grandfather found hope in the hopeless
The economy needed a boost
In the wood shed he found the antique organ grinder
Polished it shiny and gave it fresh colors
Life was not meant to be lived in wealth
the organ pipes were still breathing …
gave hope for a simpler everyday life
Every afternoon he took it on his back
and went his way with heavy steps
it was jingling coin that drew him
... a shame to live on alms
daily health and toil
the poor man's pride and honour -
hope in his tired eyes
Reaching—reaching
rivers to the sea, trying
to attain wholeness even
when the pain of losing you
dares to drown me.
As your hands grasp mine
the waters of warmth
struggle to assuage,
I witness how your
deep blue eyes reflect
the ancient hearts of
unseen depths.
As streams of tears
reach the tides of the sea,
I sing you songs and hope
they ring eternal—just as your
love has rung eternal
onto me.
8.13.2023
To my Grandpa Walt
Your eyes are failing
It's been a while
Although you've got
That cheeky smile
Their service contract
Long expired
So grandpa you should
Have retired
Your speedy legs
Once raced the best
Now traded plaudits
For old string vest
You fought and won
With strength and poise
Now mostly sleeping
(plus buzzsaw noise)
We know your parts
Are obsolete
Just worn so thin
Or incomplete
Yet priceless you,
So loosely held
No screws in place
Just fractured weld,
Have grasped our hearts
With all you've done
Guided the truth
For everyone
Your value
Can't be held in stocks
Although you've shared
It's you that rocks
You might be old
And slightly rustin'
You'll always be our own
Steve Austin
You are quite priceless
That's our opinion
To us you are
One in six million