Black Grandmother Poems | Examples
These Black Grandmother poems are examples of Grandmother poems about Black. These are the best examples of Grandmother Black poems written by international poets.
April 24 was her birthday
How I recall words she'd say
Telling me she wants a new purse
Or asking if I’m going to church
A tender heart with spirit of God
Watching her in favorite chair nodd
Salt and pepper fresh fish delish she’d fry
Fresh peas and biscuits tea summertime
Imprinted on my mind how she was meek
Kind wise witty homely in her ways peace
Never understood why she loved snuff
I guess addicted to that dirt looking stuff
She left words of wisdom like white pearls
Never again will there be in this crazy world
A grandmother as loving as self sacrificing
Bernice is her name she was truly a queen
Not in a boisterous blunt in your face way
But in imperfect beauty with duty who prays
Happy heavenly birthday Granny!
Grandmother was a beauty in her way
Dark brown skin like a Hershey bar
Salt n pepper black hair wisped by wind
As she snaps green peas in a bowl
The sunflowers she planted so romantic
Casting seeds like red roses in the breeze
Feeding the birds in belly and our eyes
Like bowling balls knocking down such sights
Her bare feet ashy knock knees calloused
From praying the most selfless prayers
She dips snuff and spits in an old Pepsi can
Unashamed of her poverty and southern accent
Where have all the moments gone,
As fresh as a summer breeze!
That kissed newborn, fresh, emerald
leavees on Chicago’s trees.
Whatever became of my expansive,
Blond desk, that smelled of fresh wood?
Or, my white and black saddle shoes?
I’d wear them, ah, if only I could!
What about all my fun and convivial high
School fun, and class of friends?
I imagine them all, now grandmas on
Family-blessed, weekends!
What great satisfaction, to know that this,
My beautiful, bright, and so blessed progeny,
Will carry me with then in spirit and
Humble works, rest with them, so poetically!
4/26/2024
"Buff-a-flies!" My tiny granddaughter points
to the black and yellow wings settling around us.
"Butter-flies," I agree with caveat.
She scowls and refuses to speak again
until after dinner time.
Did I learn my lesson? Mostly...
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.
Palm trees and ocean breeze heavenly received by this pasty white
northern teen. On the drive to grandma's snowbird roost she points
out a black family; "they must be renters, blacks are only here during
the week to work".
road to Disneyworld
lined with tin and waste wood shacks
short of dreams come true
7.9.2020
A Memory Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Planned-Demic
No work, no play, even dogs don’t stray
And you can forget your paltry pay
Off to the supermarket by half past five
An early start might keep you alive
Buying things, you never bought before,
Hang on Madge, let’s get thirty more.
Lots of toilet rolls and tomato puree
A difficult time for a shopping spree
No need to fret we’re in it together
I bought a mask of pure black leather
No good for the virus but what the heck
I wear it all the time, keeps the wife in check
Everything’s good, but grannies in a tiz
She’s won’t go out, she’ll watch a quiz
With the political parties getting real excited
When all the plebs die, they’ll be delighted
Inhaling and exhaling life one Marlboro Red at a time.
Those devil sticks sucking the satin from her face.
She'd wrinkles that could put a Shar Pei to shame.
She earned every one of those wrinkles in spades.
Despite battalions of carcinogens
She lived for about 383 seasons.
A life garnished with laughter- love- respect.
Surviving 2 world wars and a black divorce mess
Abuse-humiliation- loneliness -neglect.
Burying two husbands and scores of friends.
And a curly-headed girl in a lavender dress.
She passed on the wisdom of the ancients.
Only a few ever really cared enough to listen.
Lessons forever forgotten, timeless elixirs undrunk.
All becoming yellowing stains upon the brooch of death.
Table for One
Crayons…..chewed
all colors taste the same
story told
with sound effects
contest won
longest French fry
dessert
purple - Black Raspberry ice cream
alone
in the brain freeze zone
dancing
in Grammy’s arms
John G. Lawless
©11/5/2019
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.
Homemade jams and breads;
NO body eats at Grandma's table anymore;
Soft warm communications;
Real clothing made by hand;
No polyester blends;
A gentle voice yet stern reproach;
a Second time, no third choice;
a hug goodbye a spanking and a "don't you cry"
THIS IS OF MY GRANDMOTHER
Black N White TV, doesn't mean racial equality;
Violent sprees, fighting not all to be;
Here at hand filtered sown quilt;
No biscuit and gravy left to eat;
Read a book touched, felt, smelled the pages;
Granma still sings "rock of ages";
Real clothing made by hand;
NO polyester blends;
THIS IS OF MY GRANDMOTHER
09/27/14
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2014, 2015, 2018
from anthology
Celebrate: A collection of writings about Women
University of Nebraska @ Omaha 2015©
l
was
just small
with black hair
visiting grandma
and her budgie bird Pete, who flew
and would land on my head and poop and I would yell loud,
running and screaming, you stinky bird don't go on my shiny hair but he always did
one
day
he flew
after me
into the bathroom
because I really had to go
and he fell into the toilet with a big fat splash,
I laughed saying to grandma, Pete has finally figured out where he should be going
____________________________
July 26, 2015
Poetry/Fibonacci/budgie "Pete" needs to go
Copyright Protected, ID 15-694-799-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Everyone Poops,
sponsor, Roy Jerben
Third Place
Again, death swirls its black finger
around the aura of pristine ponds.
Sprouting the stoutest weeds.
Amidst sleepy lilies and emerald songs
Which used to breathe freely.
Where souls once rested so naturally.
Again, death swirls its black finger.
Leaving me slightly paler than a happy life.
I'm never quite as fleet as death,
(a party balloon popped by a dying cigarette...
The darkest swayback horse at best).
it sure ain't the south but it sure was hot
all the children danced in middle of the street
just cooling off in the fire hydrants
sirens could be heard miles away the streets were
all blocked off as civil rights leaders
waved flags of freedom while protestors shouted
no blacks allowed thee empty logos read
colored only others announced white only
my grandmother was Irish my grandfather
African American I was brown i felt distant
and rather bored with only one crayon
to color my famous drawing on this very hot day
i'd finally completed my famous masterpiece
a sheer work of art and what a sight to see
that all of the faces were brown just like me
suddenly my grandmother sighed again
it sure ain't the south but it sure is hot