Loss Grandmother Poems | Examples
These Loss Grandmother poems are examples of Grandmother poems about Loss. These are the best examples of Grandmother Loss poems written by international poets.
It brought back old memories I thought I had buried,
Memories I believed had faded with yesterday,
But they came pouring back like rain.
The fragrance revived a sense of gloom,
Flooding me with moments we shared,
Her voice echoed in my mind,
And her smile returned to me again and again.
The scent was her favourite;
It surrounded her,
Bringing her sunshine,
It was her vitality elixir.
Now, the fragrance has become my torment,
Unearthing a painful loss.
Her absence is a hidden darkness within me;
Her depth was truly one of a kind.
I sit alone on the porch, remembering her wise words.
Though she has departed to the beyond,
Her light can still be found.
It’s a mystery that blossoms on a tranquil night.
September 22, 2025.
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
In one corner of your room
you’d hung a faded photograph
of Charles Lindbergh and his plane
in sepia
covering
a lighter-colored square of wall
exactly the same size.
He looked so dashing
with his scarf and smile
but his eyes were dark and sad
(like yours)
beneath his aviator’s cap
and it was signed,
“To Mildred.”
Why did you hang it?
Did you dream of flight
as you plowed the land
on your John Deere?
By the time I thought to ask
about the picture’s story
you’d already flown too far ahead
for me to hear your voice
above the wind.
i miss the way she looked at me
i miss the way she held my hand
i miss the softness of her cheek
i miss the games and girlish laughter
i miss the passion in her day
i miss the time she'd spend with me
i miss the years cruelly stripped away
i miss most the things she had to teach me
but since she's been gone i recognize
she's been the angel watching over me
AP: 3rd place 2025
I look to my right
And there’s a bin of stuffed animals just like the one you bought me
I look to my left
And there’s your favorite flavor of ice cream
I look down
And I see your Nebraska sweatshirt I couldn’t let them throw away
So I think maybe
Just maybe
And I look up.
But there's no trace of you in the sky
Just the harsh grocery store lights
Reflecting off the tears streaming down my face.
Against the side fence,
four long planks of wood
ascended like steps supported
on pillars of old red bricks
serving as a stand
for my Grandmother's collection
of potted plants.
Cuttings from exotic species gifted
by friends, passed down family heirlooms
harboring memories of past lives,
feathery ferns and plump bellied cacti
battled South Australian
frosty winters and the baking heat
of a summer sun.
All throughout my childhood
they were sustained by love,
flowering on the cue of seasons
and erupting into green
in a yearly miracle of renewal.
I had this odd notion
that each plant found root and drew
from a medium beyond mere soil,
that a strange symbiosis existed
between plant and a human soul.
Not one succumbed to heat
or cold or fell victim to disease.
They grew as a constant, helping
to hold up a wall that gave
a safe and solid perimeter
to our lives.
When my Grandmother died,
they died too - at first
escaping notice in the shadow
of her passing. It was later
when bare spaces drew attention
to their absence and added
to the list of what was missed.
Time heals grief but memory
excavates the loss.
It's been forever since you went —
To the other side in a heartbeat —
To return the life you've been lent,
Towards the edge of the stellar backstreet.
Your footsteps echo until now,
Thumping gently throughout our little place,
As my longing heart can't find how
To make myself accept your ended days.
And my frail soul is pierced each time —
The perfect curves in your mouth I recall —
How they soothe like an angel's chime,
As they fade away in the fall.
If I weep my tears in the void,
And if I scream until there's nothing left,
Would He return your chance — destroyed?
Rewrite your bright tomorrow that was theft?
But I know in myself the truth —
That at last you've gone to the clouds afar,
Away from the pain and dispute,
So I bid farewell, wherever you are.
-
"The loss of a grandmother is a reminder that life is fleeting. But it is also a reminder that love is eternal." ~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Dear grandma, you were so wise,
We miss your smile, your kind eyes,
You're gone and we're left to grieve,
We loved you. Why did you leave?
Singing songs in a voice loud,
Clapping hands, of you we're proud,
Sharing the Gospel, so bold,
Wrinkles lined your soft face old;
Who'll give us pocket money?
Life without you isn't sunny,
Twenty years gone, miss you still,
Your empty place, none can fill.
By Chad Carlson
The title says it all. I've been cursed with family deaths... Let me explain. 1 grandmother and 2 uncles is 3 deaths in the last 4 months. 5 weeks ago my grandmother passed, my uncle Tom was found dead 6 weeks before her death and at 7 A.M. my phone rang to inform me that my last remaining uncle was found dead. Like the superstition death came in 3's and the numbers were in order... Odd to think about... But on that note I'm going to get off of this and crawl back into bed or the nearest hole and pretend none of this ever happened.
Once there was a time,
mill chimneys ruled our skies,
above the shadowed streets,
where people lived their lives.
Once there were the stories,
that grandma used to share,
of troubled times at the mill,
and kitchen cupboards bare.
Once there was a window,
at home where I belonged,
I sat and counted those chimneys,
but they disappeared one by one.
Once there was cotton here,
it's kingdom didn't last,
we're still living with shadows,
those memories of the past.
Originally Written on February 05, 2024; 12:13 AM
Written for my deceased grandmother: Purification C. Ferrer
In Manila, where work fills my days,
I’d visit for your birthday in so many ways.
I'd ask what you'd like to eat,
Papa would always say healthy,
but Jollibee was your treat.
Ignoring his advice with a quiet scheme,
You insisted “healthy lacks the dream”
This year, with an excuse in mind,
I missed your calls, a regret I find
On sunny days, meetings took my time,
On rainy ones, I chose sleep's climb.
Gloomy days slipped through, on silent phone,
Multiple times you called, I left them alone
In shadows of regret, where pain resides
Waiting for me, your patient heart
I’m sorry Mama a profound impart
I'm sorry, Mama, I wasn’t there
I’m sorry Mama, with all regrets
People say the dead can't hear, yet
Still, I pray my sorry reaches you, oh dear
I’m sorry Mama Ta with all my heart and sincere
And as Daddy CF would always say,
“I love you with all my heart”
In our reply, a sentiment clear
“I love you forever & ever"
My Mother’s Mother
I never met her,
But often in my dreams
I’ll visit her.
My mother’s mother.
I visit her grave,
Lay down flowers I’d
Imagined she liked,
Think about how young she was,
How young my mother was.
I talk to her.
When I was younger
I wanted to ask her
“Why did you leave my mother so soon?”
Now that I’m older
I want to ask her
“Did you tell her you loved her,
When you left?”
I’m certain she did.
My mother would hold me too tight,
Her tears stain my shirt too much,
Her body shook too hard with sobs
She tried to keep quiet,
For her words to not have been
Full of love and affection and kindness.
Kindness from someone who will leave you
Hurts.
I was writing a story,
A story that took place In autumn,
A story about a woman who became a shadow of herself,
A woman who earnestly battled her midnight,
A woman who was chauffeured to her past,
A woman whose past cloaked her present,
Her last days were heart-wrenching,
I remembered my grandmother,
I remembered the last discussion I had with her,
I remembered how she navigated her life's sojourn,
I could see her face,
I could hear her voice,
I felt her around,
Her reassuring words echoed in me,
Tears streamed down my eyes.
February 13, 2023.
I Felt Like Poetry Contest,
Charles Messina.
I watched her slip under;
The influence of death laid her still.
She would be gone forever,
I felt the grief hit.
We would no longer create delicious cookies;
Sew our first project;
Crochet our first scarf or blanket;
Never hold each other in hugs made of 4 cold hands.
Taken by time;
By age;
By death.
It hurts me in ways I've never felt.
And as I sit over her grave;
Mourning the loss of a grandmother.
I realize she would mourn me,
The loss of her granddaughter.
Here I sit on this night so still,
not a rustle in the leaves
nor a stirring in the grass.
No whispers intrude; naught but mine.
Ill news after days spent ill,
unwelcome foreword to grief
inexorable more like than not.
No answers come; naught but malign.
A thirst I can never quell,
a gulp seeming to smash the silence
whilst whiskey spars with the fear.
No solace is on tap; naught but fake.
A call from inside breaks the spell,
an urging for sleep's cocoon
next to a lover's warmth.
No closure can I find; naught but striding on.