Memory Grandmother Poems | Examples
These Memory Grandmother poems are examples of Grandmother poems about Memory. These are the best examples of Grandmother Memory poems written by international poets.
This is a classic story to share.
About the best grandmother ever
She was the person who truly cared.
Back when I was still a little girl
When nays are not that old
She buys me a wooden slipper.
Together we tend her garden
She's a good storyteller.
We are never bored with her.
She got our back when we needed her.
Every problem we have, she's always there.
She always carries her magic purse.
Inside there are lots of stored memories.
Bobbies pins, gums, receipts and more
Old notes, mirrors, even photos galore
Reading glasses and lipstick all in there.
Our grandmother has a magic wand
That makes us smell delicious air.
Cooking us our favorite meals to share
For every summer all her grandchildren
Will come to her house to gather
Our dinner is always full of laughter.
Everywhere she goes, I'm with her.
All the things that we do together
It is a memory that we'll always remember.
We all grew up with her love and care.
Sharing with every piece of her
The love she gave us is so rare.
In our hearts she stays with us through prayer.
On your first anniversary tears are shed.
More than memories, we want you home instead.
You're my first and last thoughts every day.
You'll journey on within me.
Your memory will not fade away
As long as I live and breathe.
Like the glow of a fire in the wintertime,
Your love warms this heart of mine.
I close my eyes and I see your smile.
I fold my arms and feel your hug.
I watch your shows and hear your laughter.
I sit in the dark and see your light.
I'll carry your light wherever I go
You're no longer here but I love you so.
When I see something awesome I hear your "Wow!"
And feel your emotions during certain songs.
Though we can't communicate,
Somehow I know the things you'd say.
Thinking back, I still wonder why
We never got to say goodbye.
Even you didn't know yourself
That your time to fly had arrived!
You are cherished and loved by all you knew
And today you unite us in thought.
It's hard to believe you've been gone for a year.
Miss you lots Nana...wish you were still here.
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
grandma, the family storyteller
in old age would forget
so her stories changed with the retelling
but an essence of truth remained
her voice echoes in my heart
was each story semantic to grandma
new in ambiguity to her
with random memories merging
I am the storyteller now
looking into the calm reflective waters of time
seeking recollected memories that echo
my words specular with reflected words
I am that girl at the kitchen table
listening to her musical voice impacting me
I wonder did she realize her life ending
did she want to give me her gift
I often escape into her fugue of melodic telling
her unexpected memory with all the beautiful failures
that perhaps only I who wished to be like her
who knew her stories told over years would grasp
warm fire -
the click of my grandmother's
knitting needles sending me
to sleep.
My grandmother's hands
knew things mine have forgotten,
how to make bread rise,
how to hem a dress
so it would last.
She saved everything:
buttons in mason jars,
stories in the space
between stirring and serving,
love in the way she said
my name.
This is what we lose
when we move too fast,
the slow art of remembering,
the patient work
of passing things down.
Her kitchen was a kind of church
where recipes were prayers,
and every meal
a small act of keeping
the world together.
Now, I try to learn
what she never had to teach:
how to make something
with my hands,
how to turn memory
into bread,
into words,
into something
that will feed
the ones who come after.
Each story I tell my daughter
is a vote against forgetting,
a way of saying:
this mattered,
we mattered,
you matter too.
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
Memories lost within a frozen mist
And dangling in the static atmosphere
Of muddled recollection of things dear
Haunt the backwoods of the years she has missed.
Through foggy glances, blurred thoughts that persist
In the dim haze, shapes of the past, appear;
These flittering figures, some far, some near,
Skitter through her mind, meek and shadow-kissed.
But soon they drift to a fathomless past,
A time she can no longer touch, just hear.
Rocking mechanically, her face austere,
She searches, brow stuck in a furrowed twist.
As I watch her eyes wander vacant space,
I wonder, “Will she still recall 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.
in grandma's kitchen the aroma so sweet
with every warm dish a memory to greet
the clatter of dishes and laughter so bright
a sanctuary filled with love and light
her hands work like magic in flour they dance
creating delights that bring smiles in a glance
the kettle is whistling the cookies in rows
her secret ingredients no one truly knows
with stories she shares as the oven's warmth glows
each recipe borrowed from years long ago
her gentle advice like a comforting quilt
in the heart of her kitchen a legacy built
so here's to the moments both big and small
in grandma's kitchen there's love for us all
*MAMA I REMEMBER THEM THOSE DAYS-
Mama, I remember the those days;
When you and grandma prayed;
We stayed in a church, them days;
Mama, I remember when we’d dance and sing;
Those this was be the joys, I’m now reminiscing;
And O’ what a time;
Seasons came around;
You in the kitchen;
Makin them pies, my, my, my
Mama, I remember them those days;
Mama, I remember them those days;
you teaching me my ABC's
you showing me what I need;
you holdin and huggin me;
you reprimanding, scolding me;
And O’ what a time;
Seasons came around;
You in the kitchen;
Makin them cakes and pies, my, my, my
Mama, I remember them those days;
01/03/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2025©
I read her old letters from time to time
Hoping one day she may still write
Pretending she's still just miles away
I'll send my letters out anyway
As I read the words I still hear her voice
In these passing moments my eyes get moist
All these times she talks about I remember well
Will you be gone very long? Why must you go at all?
I keep my thoughts, my memories
And share them with my family
All of us at your house on Christmas Eve
Say Mr. Postman do you have a letter in there for me?
I still feel her presence by the Christmas Tree
Grandma’s wall clock stood with timeless elegance,
Its chimes each hour, a heartbeat’s alluring dance.
When she passed, it found new rest on my aunt’s wall,
Echoes weaving memories' enthralling call.
She caught my wistful gaze, then gave it to me,
Since then, it’s brought timeless and endless joy free.
I remember your hug
Arms wrapped around me with love
We'd rock back and forth
Like the swing on my porch
And you'd squeeze me so close
I still miss that the most
A little dance with our feet
And a soft kiss on my cheek
Later this year
Sick and full of tears
I layed next to you in the hospital not knowing it was possible
Your hand clenching mine
By God's perfect design
Two hands interlaced
Love cannot be erased
I wish you were still here
With no pain and no tears
But as I grieve for you alone
I'll remember you are now home
My sweet G
Your memories will always be with me