In Hungary
On the train. It’s night. Late at night. I got a late train
Rushing from the airport, then closed one of the central
Train station. Get the metro and bus to the next available
train station. The idea worked. The way to my parents
Thank you for the idea, dear security man at Keleti Railway Station
Home, to my parents’ home, where I come from. Grandparents
Memory, tradition, more, good to arrive at this house, Memory
Unforgettable childhood, laughing with my grandfather, I see him
Fantastic, his garden, and the memory of his life. He taught me to be strong
He was a famous sportsman and revolutionary. And a poet. I love his memory.
He sleeping
Living
In the Light
I wrote these words from his earthly home. 08:14 the time. Early sun is yellow. Shiny
He knows my room here. Thank you. My grandfather. I respect you.
I am following you. Your life. Your philosophy. Your guardian angel
But my one is better
Because you are that
Thank you, my life
Good to arrive in your land, house
I keep your memory
In my heart
I will never give up
Waste not a moment
There are things
That only I will tell them
I cannot stand by
Satisfied, though frightened
By the “comfort” of old age
I will teach them
The game has rules
Be it Candy Land
Or Monopoly
I shall sing
Old songs
Loudly
Cagily teach them
To chant
In a controlled
Joyousness
I shall thank them
For allowing me
To grow old
Without growing up
Jocks real name was John
Obstacles, many he overcame
Complaining zero, he was my hero
Kinship with Scotland never strayed
Those two chairs have been there forever
My grandmother and grandpa used them
Sharing the evening sunset’s light
Holding hands and loving each other
They were there looking at each other when their time came
So, those chairs still remain as a tribute to their love
© Poem – XXII/VIII/MMXXV
LRET
with callous laid hands
the old man toils garden soil
of this dry, hard land.
as his blood, sweat and tears drip,
he gladly gives all he can.
he has seen the dawn,
and he has seen the sun set,
now he sees it all
as meaning and metaphor,
of this living garden bed.
he realizes
that everything in the end
must wither and die.
and his years have now condemned,
the sprite of youthful passion.
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.
It was Betty and Veronica
who asked Archie to play the harmonica
turned out the sound was so bad
that they rushed to replace him with grandad
2 men i called Grandpa acting like a Dad when a man walked away
Never batting an eye they'd be there for us everyday
One was out spoken and never left something unsaid
Other kept to himself so you find a way for your heart to mend
They always taught something new to me
Since I was just under Three
Just a girl that wanted her dad
Grandpas never let her stay mad
Sneaking extra Banana Popsicles when Grandma was napping
Getting into the sweet stash quietly so they didnt hear the wrapping
Grandpas had the joke and skits they played on us
Those new lighters and staples were always a lil sus
Whether it was one sneaking food off your plate
Or the making you open the pasture gate
Being told to not waste time or tears on a man who does show up
What he meant was brace yourself and keep your feet in the stirrup
People always had the chance to let me down
Grandpa showed me how to move on without a sound
Things they did shaped us into the parents we are
They've got the best seats since they became a star
I spoke to the sea,
a calm breath
though a gale raged
inside of me – both my
sails shredded, I begged
for mercy:
“Thou art the greatest world current,
what brag would be a wretched notch
like me!? Devourer of coasts!
Reshaper of vast continents! Bane
of man’s mightiest fleets! Countless
formidable have foolishly challenged thee, and now
lie silent in your crushing depths...were I
added to such esteem numbers,
a bald-headed, gray bearded, toothless
old dote, it would be a disgrace~
better toss me high into the
air, toward that island over there, for
unlike you, Great Wet Majesty, crocodiles
and lizards have no pride; then there
not be shame of yours to hide –
promise, never will I return….”
and this, dear children, is why
grandpa cannot take you fishing --
After he died, I'm always drinking.
After she died, I'm always smoking.
Because what use is a life worth living
If I cannot numb the grief I am feeling.
After he died, I'm always wondering
What could've been if everything was improving.
After she died, I'm always being
A better person for those worth loving.
After he died, I was always crying
About how he could have gone on living.
After she died, I was always questioning
If the addictions we have are worth anything.
After he died, I wondered why it's worth continuing
The legacy he left behind, but it's not for nothing.
After she died, I wonder if I held any meaning
In her life that was so sadly so fleeting.
After he died, I learned how to keep living
My own life despite my heart's grieving.
After she died, I learned how life has meaning
Even when we feel there is nothing but suffering.
brotherhood buried both beloved, bestowed us bred ~ a Basque bloodline
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.
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.
The Happy Wanderer
I like to wander near and far.
Just me and my little white car.
There are treasures to be found everywhere.
Just waiting to be discovered out there.
Soon I saw a little mom and pop store.
It was in a small house with a green door.
I was greeted by a jolly little old man.
He had a small green book in his right hand.
What can I do for you young man?
I will help you if I can.
I have this book, you will like it I bet.
So I said I don't know yet.
“Irish Blessings” was the title I could see.
For he was Irish as anyone could be.
For a few coins, the book was mine.
To be enjoyed in time.
I read it from cover to cover.
And enjoyed it like no other.
So as you can see,
I’m as happy as can be.
A kind word and a smile,
makes life worth while.
So be happy and smile.
For there is beauty in every mile.
-Leo Lefebvre, Author
?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.
Specific Types of Grandfather Poems
Definition | What is Grandfather in Poetry?
Poems Related to Grandfather
ancestor, patriarch, pap, forefather, elder, grandpa, granddaddy, granddad, gramps, grandpappy, paternal forebear,