Great Grandmother Poems | Examples
These Great Grandmother poems are examples of Grandmother poems about Great. These are the best examples of Grandmother Great poems written by international poets.
It seems like yesterday.
When you were to be our first born
We waited for your birth
Two brand new grandmothers that morn.
You took your time, but then we knew.
You had arrived safely and sound
We each held you our precious girl.
Our smiles and joy they knew no bound.
You are our great delight.
We’ve watched you grow up through the years.
A woman you’ve become.
Our love shines brightly through our tears.
With tears of happiness
Congratulations we both say!
Now Twenty-One, how can that be.
It seems like Yesterday.
My great-aunt, Ada, said to me;
you’re like your father used to be;
I never knew quite what she meant
or cared, I had a life unspent.
Her sister, Mary, gave me books
which I devoured like cakes she cooks;
both were born Victorian girls
their high church collars, necks of pearls
whose tut-tuts shaped my father’s core;
gossiped my mother was a whore;
in which, sadly, there was some truth
notably after red vermouth
or Babycham and brandy wine;
the show of stocking tops a sign.
My grandma Hanna was the third
of sisters, with some values shared
before year ninety sixty nine,
who knew the truth, and broke the line;
encouraged me to go to sea;
not shelter in the morbid lee.
My early childhood was great, I was the first born.
My mother had five children after me so I mostly remember
spending lots of time with my doting grandmother
who kept me busy learning to sew & knit before I could read & write.
I had such enthusiasm and benefited from tons of attention.
Creativity was a game to me and I learned to value time.
When I was nine, we moved far away and life changed overnight.
I was really lucky to land a grade 5 teacher who guided me
to learn english at an accelerated rate. I was a good student.
I've always been particularly thankful to both, teacher and grandmother.
they truly helped mold me into the person I turned out to be.
To be a good grandma, who me?
What do I see?
Through rose-hued glasses
or molasses?
For when the kids are very small
to them, I’m tall,
I’m lots of fun;
but comes, I’m done.
Like a giraffe, I must stretch my neck,
for little peck,
gain perspective,
retrospective.
I’m wandering
and pondering,
what did I give
great-progeny to help them live,
be wise, feel loved;
of God beloved?
Fall in each arm;
hope my prayers hold them, keep from harm,
Make skies of blue,
little askew.
When youth is through,
will they be good grandparents, too?
Great-grandma Gerty of the family Grim
Threw around threats, controlling them
Threatening to cut them out of her will.
If they drank, smoked, danced or used a pill.
In her eighties they thought it won’t be long
But she is one hundred and two now, still going strong.
The sun rose gently, soft and warm,
But the house feels quiet, missing her charm.
Eid mornings filled with light and grace,
Now hold echoes of her smiling face.
She'd sit by the door, hands soft and old,
A shawl wrapped tight against the cold.
Her eyes would shine with joy anew,
As we lined up, eager for what we knew.
A crisp ten-rupee note, folded with care,
Slipped into our hands with a loving stare.
To the world, it was small – just a simple bill,
But in our hearts, it holds value still.
We’d run and laugh, feeling so grand,
That tiny treasure safe in hand.
To her, it wasn’t the amount she gave,
But the love and blessings that she saved.
Now Eid arrives, but she’s not here,
Her absence is sharp, yet love draws near.
I close my eyes and I can see,
Her gentle smile, watching over me.
The ten rupees may fade away,
But the memories will always stay.
Her kindness lingers, soft and deep,
A love eternal, ours to keep.
So as we gather, side by side,
We know she’s with us, full of pride.
And every Eid, in hearts and prayer,
We found our great-grandmother there.
Gorgeous antique bracelet
Golden twist on my wrist
Gems of deep red garnets
Glistening, glittering
Garnished with seeded pearls
Glowing soft milky white
Great grandmother’s bequest
Upon first entering, there's a picture of a lion sitting, staring, and scrutinizing all who enter.
Next, your eyes are drawn to a beautiful picture of a white house backed
by trees and embroidered with a myriad of eye-catching flowers. As you
take a seat at the dinning table, a painting on the wall greets you with
power and solemnity. It's a lion's head, cheek to cheek with the head of
Christ crowned with thorns. Near the fire place, a much smaller and less
colorful picture hangs. It's a picture of my grandmother sitting in a
wheel chair with hospital tags still on her wrist. She smiles with no sign
of care as a great grandson leans over her shoulder. Next to the front door
hangs a picture of, not suggestions, but the 10 commandments.
If it were mandated that only one picture could remain, grandma's picture
wins hands down. You see, it was grandma who shielded and protected me;
who comforted and reassured me, loving me unconditionally. Yes, it's grandma.
My final answer.
Our Grandmother gem is gone
Tonight, I'm missing her from afar.
Her white granite smile
cobblestone wisdom
devilish-warm humor
humble strength, like a Cobalt star.
I met my great niece for the first time
she's a whirlwind of diamonds and sapphire
emerging from the chrysalis of an old soul.
Wisdom blossoming like springtime rose.
She's woven from grandmothers' tapestry
with her own unique weave of light
She, our newest brilliant gemstone
has the embers of God in her eyes.
MOTHER DAY
It's not easy to write a mothers day poem
She has watched you ever since you were born
She never makes any kind of fuss
She always took care of us
She was always there to listen and discuss
Sometimes she would be overprotected
But her raising us was always effective
And she is a mother that will always be respected
She never asks for much in her life
She just wants to be a perfect mother and wife
You know she will be a perfect parent
And a great-grandparent
And you know you will never be embarrassed
This is why we all listen when she speaks
These are just a small amount of a mother's qualities
This is why any mother is unique
MOTHER DAY
It's not easy to write a mothers day poem
She has watched you ever since you were born
She never makes any kind of fuss
She always took care of us
She was always there to listen and discuss
Sometimes she would be overprotected
But her raising us was always effective
And she is a mother that will always be respected
She never asks for much in her life
She just wants to be a perfect mother and wife
You know she will be a perfect parent
And a great-grandparent
And you know you will never be embarrassed
This is why we all listen when she speaks
These are just a small amount of a mother's qualities
This is why any mother is unique
In my kitchen's grasp, where spices hop free,
Whispers of our memories, in each recipe.
Khichdi's humble grace, a bow to our roots,
In grains and lentils, tradition assent.
Herbal notes linger, a fragrant ballet, a scenic design.
As generations gather, in love's display.
Grandma's hands, a harmony of care,
Amma's gentle touch, flavors rare.
Papadums bloat, tales of old flames,
In every fold, history takes flight.
Black tea's warmth, with Tulsi's caress,
A sip of time, warm embrace.
Amma's pickle, a tangy delight,
Mingling with Khichdi, in consonance light.
Handpicked mangoes, memories unfold,
A dab of pickle, a story retold.
The Great Indian Kitchen's embrace, ceaseless love
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
This lady’s hair is so, so white,
creates an aura for that face.
Her age puts forth its beauty in the street.
She could be my charming mother,
my darling grand-mama,
that lovable great Aunt Lucy.
But I am old, and all are gone.
How easy it is to conjure memories of those
three ladies when someone passes me in the street.
(29 Feb 2024)
I heard a ring on my doorbell today.
I answered it without a delay.
I opened it up just part of the way.
Then quickly peeked out, expecting to say.
Hey!
I soon realized that no one was there.
I was just talking into pure thin air.
I noticed a box that was shiny and square.
From where it came, I was not aware.
Beware!
I lifted it up, and the address was me.
I untied the bow with no guarantee.
I opened the lid, and what did I see?
Things that I lost, this sure could not be.
Glee!
I searched all around inside of the box.
I found all these pairs of unmatching socks.
I dug out a bag of childhood blocks.
Even a key, not sure what it locks.
Unlocks!
I looked all around for that one special thing.
I knew if I found it, a song I would sing.
I know when I'll see it because of the bling.
Please let me find my grandmother's ring.
Shining!
I hunted and hunted, then hunted some more.
I had a great feeling I could not ignore.
I knew I was close to what I looked for.
Inside of the box left at my front door.
Score!