Christmas Granddaughter Poems | Examples
These Christmas Granddaughter poems are examples of Granddaughter poems about Christmas. These are the best examples of Granddaughter Christmas poems written by international poets.
Santa’s little granddaughter was named Little Mim
Her adorable personality had an enormous hold on him
She was sassy and fun, and loved him ever so much
He had sixty-five photos of her on his kitchen hutch.
Little Mim’s curly hair was a treat to the reindeer crew.
They wanted to touch it, acted like it was fresh and new.
She loved the elves, and visited them in the work shop.
They watched her twirl, dance, sing, jump, skip and hop.
Little Mim brought such joy to the North Pole.
All of the workers loved her curious soul.
They taught her to make the toys, and wrap them too.
They loved everything about her, she was never blue.
Santa bragged so much about his granddaughter to others.
They rolled their eyes behind his back, and these were his brothers.
Never appreciating anything he did, not understanding him.
They also could not appreciate the adorable Little Mim.
'Twas the night before Christmas that was freezing cold,
my 5-year old granddaughter couldn't keep elation on hold,
for she knew, for her Santa would bring at night nice gift.
So, she wanted the long hours of waiting to soon drift.
She had known Santa'd come through chimney with glee,
so, if there was one in the new house she wanted to see.
She ran upstairs to look at the roof, but couldn't find one.
In tears, she said Santa's visit her fate had surely undone.
I assured her, he would come through the window for sure,
give her the beautiful gifts that would definitely allure.
At night the window of her room she didn't let us close,
although outside the chilly wind from the snowfield rose.
Morn sun flooded her room through window open wide.
She tried to shout in joy seeing the gifts lying by her side,
but her voice was choked, gripped by a bout of cold.
That night before Christmas she never forgot, even when old.
Her rainbow hair is so ugly! Her mother said to me on the phone.
I was only half listening now, reaching for a second scone.
They were blueberry and chocolate and yummy with caramel.
“I am sure it is not that awful,” I told my daughter, ShellMel.
I had also had my hair dyed that week into rainbow colors true.
I especially liked the reds, the pinks, the purples and the blue.
My granddaughter came into my house on Christmas day and began to smile.
Her hair was not half as colorful as mine. ShellMel was not happy for awhile.
That was Christmas! Great Great Grandma told them.
The children were stunned at the old photo.
This did not look like any Christmas they had ever had.
Why is the picture all gray?
Their great-great-grandmother explained black and white.
She pointed out her gifts. She had been six. Her sister was four.
Only two gifts each?
The children were stunned.
Not understanding.
it tastes like christmas
a tiramisu moment
critique by age five
where is the popcorn
we all pretend to look
but it chokes grandma
It sounds like santa
jingle bells rocking the roof
critique by age eight
where is grandpa?
loud snoring leads us to him
christmas at grandma’s
Grandma's vanilla cake with brown sugar topping cannot be duplicated.
My sister and I used to help her bake it for the holidays
Not only was it moist and sweet and tasty,
but the smell is something I dream about.
I salivate in my sleep thinking of this heavenly cake;
it was Grandma’s specialty.
In November of 1964, Grandma died suddenly in her sleep.
She was only fifty-eight.
It was a shock to all of us;
Christmas was not the same.
Life was not the same.
Some of her daughters tried to bake Grandma's vanilla cake with brown sugar topping.
She must have left out an ingredient, they thought.
They used to fight over which ingredient that might be.
They never got it right.
For fifty years they have been trying to recreate Grandma’s vanilla cake.
With little success.
Because it is missing an ingredient.
It is missing Grandma.
The night before last year’s Christmas was freezing cold,
my little granddaughter couldn’t keep excitement in hold,
for she knew all the lovely gifts for her Santa would bring,
wanted the nightly hours to fly away quickly on wings.
She’d heard that Santa would come through the chimney,
if there was one in its place, she wanted herself to see.
So, she rushed to the roof-top terrace, but didn’t find one,
but I assured he would come through the window for fun.
At night she didn’t let us close the wide window of her room,
outside the chilled wind from the snowfield we felt zoom.
In sunburst morn seeing the gifts by her side she cried in joy,
voice choked, her delight the spell of cold couldn’t destroy.
December 21, 2020
Rhyme checked at RhymeZone.com
Contest : Christmas Rhyme Only 8-12 Lines-Premium Prize
Sponsor : Tania Kitchin
Angels Sing
I hear them,
all the time.
When I pick up my child,
and hold her close,
her breath…
Harps; lovely,
faraway,
and distant.
When I go to my grandmothers,
and clean her kitchen,
all afternoon,
while she teaches me,
how to make,
cornbread and beans…
the right way.
Violins and soft flutes,
as she smoked for 60 years.
She is dying,
My heart is crying,
but the woodwinds are respectful…
of her years, if not my tears.
When I go to my loves grave,
and stand beside the small flag,
I can hear the band,
playing Rock Songs,
favorite one time hits,
and the Star Spangled Banner!
The vocals, on high,
Every word a blessing
to the family,
you left behind.
The freedom to listen,
The freedom to sing,
to laugh and pray,
about everything!
‘Twas the night before Christmas,
my small granddaughter, excited over the party gorgeous,
and for the gifts Santa would bring for her,
wanted the nightly hours of wait to be soon over.
She’d heard Santa would come through the chimney,
so, if there was one in place, she wanted to see,
rushed to the roof-top, but didn’t find one.
In tears she said Santa’s visit was undone.
I assured he would come through the window for sure,
and give her the gifts that would certainly allure.
At night the window she didn’t let us close,
though outside the chilled wind from snowfield arose.
The morn sun flooded her room through the window wide,
she cried out in joy seeing the gifts lying by her side,
but her voice was choked in a bout of cold.
That night before Christmas she won’t forget even when she’s old.
December 1, 2019
Contest : The Night Before 2
Sponsor : Joseph May
"A mother’s love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.” Agatha Christie
Beautiful Sadness
I raised my little girl from birth
And through the years her special mirth
Has brought such joy, now I'm aware
Of things we may no longer share.
It breaks my heart she's moved away.
My quiet tears are shed each day
For when I see a youth like she
I recall how things used to be.
My grandchild too that I miss so
She's seven, growing fast I know,
Maybe Christmas we all may meet
And it will be a special treat.
A beautiful sadness will remain
Until I see them both again.
7-20-19
Writing Challenge 2, July 2019-
Melancholy- Poetry Contest~Third Place~
Sponsor Dear Heart
3. Beautiful Sadness
The grandkids paid a visit
On the day of Christmas Eve.
The city’s fairly empty then,
On holiday reprieve.
We double-parked at daddy’s work;
They saw his office space
And then we drove to where we live,
Our New York City place.
We got a spot – a miracle!
In front of our front door
Then spent some time inside
Which they were dying to explore.
Some games, some lunch and then a walk,
The river quite a hit
And then the playground, which for them
Was just a perfect fit.
Hot cocoa back at Nana’s
And a bit more time to play
Before we headed suburb-bound
To end this lovely day.
We brought them home to mom and dad
Like cupcakes freshly frosted,
Then turned back to Manhattan
Feeling happy but exhausted!
My granddaughter, just two years old,
States clearly her desires
And also lets us know when there is
Something she admires.
So “Christmas lights!” she shouts with joy
When we pass homes so brightened.
It’s really quite adorable
That she is that enlightened…
Yet not because she’s so advanced
For one whose life is newish,
But rather cause, like all her kin,
She happens to be Jewish!
"Crispy, crumbly, chocolate Christmas cookies cooling . . . "
I am going to turn back the pages of time,
to when my Grandma made cookies in wintertime;
I would sit at the kitchen table with my cat,
cooling on the counter were creations sublime.
Grandma said, don't touch, and in her rocker she sat,
reading my book I stopped to give my kitty a pat;
But he had vanished and I was just petting air,
oh, just smelling that chocolate would make me fat.
Grandma snorted loudly and got up from her chair,
checking the crispy, crumbly treats- she turned to stare;
and she said, my dear I told your not to touch them,
but, but I didn't Grandma, I was loud to declare,
And at that moment we noticed my cat Tom Thumb,
one Christmas delight was diminished to a crumb;
how sweet are these pages of my life to recall,
kitty was in the "dog house" cause he had succumb.
__________________________
November 10, 2016
Poetry/Rubaiyat Rhyme/Tongue Twister Time
Copyright Protected, ID 16-848-903-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Tongue Twister Time
sponsor, Mystic Rose
Fifth Place
Once in a dream-time in a land far away, MJ woke up and wanted to play.
With magic and mystic and music in mind, she went for a wander to see what she’d find.
While moving and grooving and rhythm she kept, gold fairy dust sprinkled on each careful step but the road was as wavy as water is wet, it wobbled like jelly, all gooey she’d get!
She skipped and she hopped and flew up and down, weaving through sunbeams, drank dew drops she found.
Then stopping for *kai adventure on hold, headed for home before she got cold.
Dusky and dim did the lovely day dwindle, sparkling like rows of Christmas day tinsel.
Moonlight and twinkles above her sweet head, soothing the traveller as she lay in her bed, once in a dream-time in a land far away.
*kai = food
Two tragedies made a man bitter and hard.
Life became intolerable after he was scarred.
On Christmas Day his granddaughter fell in his pool and drowned.
Because of that terrible accident, that poor girl is no longer around.
When he found her dead body, he was horrified by what he saw.
Just six months earlier, he also lost his daughter and son-in-law.
Now he hates Christmas more than he would a plague.
Just the mention of Christmas fills this man with rage.
This man became so bitter that his heart is now as black as coal.
Those tragedies destroyed his life, they sure did take their toll.
His granddaughter was taken far too soon, she was only five.
Ten Christmases have passed since but he still mourns because they didn't survive.
(This is a fictional poem)