Grandchildren Grandmother Poems | Examples
These Grandchildren Grandmother poems are examples of Grandmother poems about Grandchildren. These are the best examples of Grandmother Grandchildren poems written by international poets.
When I became a grandmother
I realized that although I had loved my children
I had a greater capacity to love a grandchild whom I could send home
I did not have to discipline this one
I could be the treat-giver, the heroine, the champion
Without the aches and pains of requiring grandchildren to behave
for they would only be here a few hours, not all day
It was a game-changer for me.
No rules; just fun and frolic.
One of them wrote an essay about me.
She called me the AKG – awesome kid grandma
I could have never gotten away with this as a mother.
they swarm into our home like bees
seeking daisies, lilies, roses, and such
we throw sugary treats at them
allow them to commandeer the TVs
and the computers
Their parents roll their eyes
For we were never this way with “them”
We did not have to be
We were not their grandparents
The grandchildren want to live with us
They want to move in
They think we are better than their parents
Because we can spoil them completely for a few hours
Some want to spend the night
We have to say “not this time”
Because when they leave
we are exhausted and have to take a long nap
because our energy is completely gone
which is why God gives babies to young people
As day progresses,
her spirits begin to sink
as if on command.
When did it begin,
this feeling of listlessness,
of being useless?
Not so long ago,
her days were filled with the joy
of being needed.
Now the grandchildren
she cared for daily for years
are grown, on their own.
She has no desire
to walk or write a poem
when she feels this down.
Do they think of her--
she hears a knock at the door.
The grandkids have come.
They lift her spirits
reminiscing, expressing
gratitude to her.
The next day, she walks,
cleans house, and writes three poems.
She can’t stop smiling.
Kind words are a sweet serum.
they were reading our minds, grandma
who? she asked, concerned
the aliens!
The ones from planet X474Z!
She knew they were having fun with their Uncle Larry.
He had a knack for making life fun.
She remembered when she asked him to watch his sister's children.
Now here he was, sitting around in an aluminum foil hat.
Not Planet X474Z! Grandma yelled.
She ran off screaming.
Delighting her grandchildren.
Completing their perfect day.
I still see her in her white rocking chair.
Sharp hearing and her once, sharp vision going.
Rocking, dreaming of her grandchildren growing.
Their toys, left abandoned, at which with love, she stares.
Her heart broken from painful emptiness!
Those days of hugs and love, forever gone.
When, with those grandchildren, singing songs.
If only their pictures, brought back such happiness.
She knows full well these days are her very last.
She is a delicate shell, abandoned on life’s shore.
To her family, she’s a huge burden and more.
Midnight Angels carried her to where she would be
wanted, at long last!
1/8/2023
I love my grandchildren so much it is nuts
I loved my children this much too, but it is a different love
This is a “I can be as crazy and friendly as I want” kind of love
It is a much more freeing kind of love
It cannot be explained; it must be lived
When you get grandchildren, you will understand
but not a minute before
I do not want a bunch of crying or sadness Grandma said.
Release a bunch of balloons and sing upbeat songs when I am dead.
We grandchildren all heard her say it a million times.
She sang it and wrote poetry about it and put it in rhymes.
I do not want a headstone, they are creepy she told us.
You can remember me other ways, but don’t make a fuss.
Play Puff the Magic Dragon. Don’t become grouchy grief buffoons.
So today we said good bye to grandma, releasing her balloons.
I've always lived in Iowa, she said,
Thought I might leave when my husband died
But I didn't have no where I could go
And no money to get there.
Iowa's as good a place as any, you know,
Now, my grandchildren are here,
Guess I'll stay close to them,
But I don't see much of them these days
They have their own lives to live.
It's the same sad story everywhere you go.
She throws a towel over her shoulder
And hurries away toward the kitchen.
written August 24, 2021
When you retire you can attend clown college.
Yes, I agree. I would like that!
Or be a race car driver, my other buddy says.
I laugh, picturing myself smooshed into a race car.
How about a ballerina? You would be a great ballerina.
And without dance lessons of any kind.
Yes, I could do that, I agree.
Spending the day with a four and five-year-old
is a great reminder that there are possibility thinkers.
Please let me be a tiny drone today.
Hovering at a house far away.
In Omaha at a quarter ‘til two.
I’ll see my grandchildren, that’s what I’ll do!
I’ll buzz past their heads and give them a wave.
All six will laugh, giggle, rant, wiggle and rave.
Hello Space Grandma! Please land and stay!
I am a crone drone, I’ll yell, then I’ll fly away.
Scrambling to get the largest, juiciest blackberries
She did not feel her arm scratches until much later
You look like you jumped into those bushes Daddy said
Thrilled she was baking a cobbler just like her grandma
Be sure and sprinkle extra sugar on that crust her brother said
Grandma had taught him too, leaving her recipe as family legacy.
It was only one of many gifts she left her talented grandchildren.
Although she was my grandmama,
We all called her Miss Ida.
Children and grandchildren alike did succumb
To this quaint, obscure, southern custom.
In the days of gold and lavender,
Mother was "Miss," and father was "Mister."
When buttercups danced in the sun,
When skies were vaguely cinnamon.
She gave to me a lilac, gingham dress;
It was cherished for its prettiness!
Among my oldest memories
Are those of being at Miss Ida's knees.
She had a certain wood stove,
Warm like those sunsets of mauve.
And used to cook wild collard greens,
In days when I wore little blue jeans.
When bluebirds flew around the bend,
And crows from the sunny South End,
When cherries drooped upon the trees,
I began life at Miss Ida's knees.
grandchildren weasel into heart wrinkles
smoothing, soothing, and loving
revitalizing you
It is the best of times.
Sitting with a 3-year-old grandson
And his corner. In a recliner,
Cozy, while his head leans on
My shoulder. We have gotten
Him other blankets, softer ones.
But his die-hard comfort is the one
With the corner he could stick his finger
Into when he was a baby. He does not
Talk about his blanket.
He calls it “my corner”.
He gets irritated if anyone
Else tries to look at it.
It brings him comfort like
Nothing else does, except
Maybe Mommy. I watch
Him wearing it out with
His fingers, and I smile.
One time after an especially fun Grandma Cousin Camp Week
Where Grandpa was in hiding for 7 days, and 8 grandchildren and I did whatever
we please,
There was a bit of pouting
That it had to come to an end.
My oldest granddaughter, whom I will refer to as EM,
the wisest of the wise, because she is 4 years older
and terribly smart said,
"You know how you guys like to have a friend over?"
There was lots of nodding and yesing because we all love Em.
"Well, Grandma is having a friend over," she explained.
"It's GRANDMA!"
They all got in the car
and waved good-bye,
Fully understanding
now.