My Granddad's Father Christmas
My granddad’s Father Christmas.
I’ve known since, as a waif,
I heard his Father Christmas voice
That deep and rumbling friendly noise.
It kept me warm and safe.
My granddad’s Father Christmas.
He’s big and soft and loving.
And when I’m sad – a bit upset
His silly jokes make me forget,
Then I’m afraid of nothing.
My granddad’s Father Christmas.
The beard gives it away.
It covers up his face by half
But cannot hide that booming laugh
That resonates all day.
My granddad’s Father Christmas.
When he comes round it’s funny.
His tricks and rhymes and gifts are magic
(Although his singing’s rather tragic)
He turns a dull day sunny.
My granddad’s Father Christmas.
Though what do people see?
An ageing man with bulging gut.
To you he’s nothing special but
He’s Santa Claus to me.
His
eyes gleamed
like blue pearls
when children cried
Granddad please join us as they dashed around
the glowing ember fireplace with such glee.
A warm embrace
adds cheer to
Mother’s
shroud.
Date created and posted : 28th November 2020
Photograph 3
NB Lady in photo background could be children’s mother.
Loving parents have this shroud which radiates goodwill.
They also know when to let grandparents get involved.
I understand,
Each time you held our little hands,
How lucky we were and yet,
Such moments that glow midst the hearts swirling core,
Are the easiest to forget.
I understand,
When you wrapped us in blankets,so tight.
Rocking us patiently, deep in the night,
Knowing that someday you wouldn't be there,
The sad, silent witness of our nightly prayers.
I understand,
Every Christmas,snowed cold on your pride,
For the tinsel and toys that you couldn't provide.
Unscathed by deprival, in ignorance, blessed,
We learned Dickens and Yeats and loved Busby and Best.
In grief, at last, I understand,
You'd never hold MY children's hands,
But through times passage, comfort brings,
To know they sleep 'neath Angels wings.
Stupendous, terrific, wondrous and more.
Great granddad is happier than the days before.
What is it? I ask.
But he now wears a mask.
His Alzheimer’s kicked in at thirteen after four.
Granddad Breathed River Air
My grandfather worked on the river.
A tugboat captain was he by trade.
His jobs were diverse and he loved them.
Grandma and their children waited home.
As a teen, he helped ship a sculpture.
On the river he hauled in wrecked boats.
He tended the dredge for a train bridge.
For a lifetime he breathed river air.
Some days he came home to great laughter.
Tall tales and new pranks he always shared.
He caught fish for family fish fries.
When rested, river air called again.
Written 12/19/16
I loved my Granddad because he was so special to me...
He was the type of person when I grow up I'd like to be.
"Don't let the bed bugs bite,"he used to tell me at night...
And our adventures at bed time were always out of sight.
"Chuck E. Cheese was a big hit with us...
We always had a great time and there was never a fuss.
He liked green and I loved blue...
And Granddad there is no denying I'll always love you.
We acted silly and did our thing...
And everything we did we did with a bang.
The middle of the day was our special time...
And the winner of "Go Fish" always won a dime.
I made him a card for Granddad's day...
Just to let him know I loved him in a special way.
Polar Express was a train trip we used to take...
And Disney World was a special trip we liked to make.
He gave me a snow globe I'll cherish forever more...
And after all that's what Granddad's gifts are for.
His favorite color was green and mine is blue...
Granddad, I'll always love you.
TK<
I first remember him when I was 3
Around grandmas bed did hands hold we
As she would go to meet the Lord
No tears showed he though his soul tore
As I grew older he taught me how
To do match equations that make men wow
I worked in his wood shop for two whole years
I learned just a sample of what he could do
The love of his woodwork I'd never lose
My love with poetry started with him
I recited a poem in each grade school year
I still have the books he read of poetry
He joined grandma when I was 15
Til this day I love him dearly
Done on 09/14/14
To crouch beside him in the rows,
Counting seeds beneath rainbows.
Three in each hole, I’d count with glows.
He let me help; his garden grows.
To sell the pears he grew and picked.
Red wagon wheels click-click, clacked, clicked.
One penny each, the price was strict.
The neighbor kids their fingers licked.
To shave his beard while on the couch,
To hear his words; those never grouch,
And tales of ghosts for whom he’d vouch.
Yes, all of this without one ouch.
To sit beside him while he sleeps
In quiet stillness without child peeps,
Until, alas, his scare would creep.
Awake he snored; was not asleep.
Or hear the tales of where he’d been
His work on waters with boatmen,
Three busy tugboats from docks to glen.
Granddad, my hero, way back when.
To hear his laughter once again,
Reliving days that were back then.
Alas, his death brought my chagrin.
I live to hug him once again.
Copyright January 14, 2013
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
(Forever Families, God taught the way
Grow pure love of Christ everyday.
That’s what the L.D.S. people say.
I live my life to hug granddad someday.)
Granddad I love you so.
The time is hollow like a dead bird once sung
The trees are empty as brown leaves brush along
I have a picture of you but now its memories are so strong
Every time I see sunlight I'll think of you now you’re gone.
Time held in his hand,
a shoebox cradled the past,
treasures saved for a grandson.
Granddad's pocketwatch
was tarnished with memories
in an attic of summers.
A family bond,
sun-drenched hours with his granddad
captured through a window pane.
The laughter of kids
was heard bouncing off buildings
as moms called from opened doors.
Favorite pastimes
were checker games on the porch,
hydrant splashing and stickball.
Red, white, and blue flags
waved as fireworks exploded
brightening the July sky.
Days in the city,
meant shows at the cinema
and stops at Sal's Candy Store.
Subways and sidewalks
went ev'rywhere and no where.
Streets were adventures for two.
Grandson and Granddad
running sticks across fences
with smiles and lollipop sticks.
A family bond,
sun-drenched hours with his granddad
captured through a window pane.
Passed down to a boy
were tales of the good old days
from photo album pages.
Cherished memories,
a shoebox cradled the past,
treasures saved for a grandson.
.
(Dedicated to Frank Johnson who died in 1981.)
He was born in 1888 and he died in 1981.
His name was Frank and I'm his great grandson.
When I was a little boy, I remember him giving some change to me.
He was a great man who almost lived to be ninety-three.
I wanted him to live to be a hundred,when I was a kid.
If anybody deserved to make it to a hundred, he sure did.
When he died, he had a forty something wife.
He had a long and happy life.
at summer's end, our carefree
whistling, as we hiked to the bus
station, was enough..
for indeed, to whistle with my
granddad was to shorten the
long hike by half..
and to walk with him through
gravel and rock was to hear
the dirt road laugh !
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