Remembering Grandmother Poems | Examples
These Remembering Grandmother poems are examples of Grandmother poems about Remembering. These are the best examples of Grandmother Remembering poems written by international poets.
I miss you both
Your guidance being my oath
It seems like yesterday
You both went yonder far
Beyond my eyes
Up in Heaven having a look down
Your words through your wisdom
Wise and true
You would say today, Grandson you are doing what we advised and that’s pursue
You would be proud
Sometimes when I get into a struggle, I feel your whispers in what I should do
I feel your friendly breezes from outside
Your warmth on the inside
Your disciple being harsh and firm
Life’s preparation I needed to learn
Hard knocks from your experiences
Grandma and Grandpa truly knew
It was life to go through and making break throughs
My tears often fall in reflection
But never forget your lesson
You taught me how too preserver
Overcoming all the fear
I see greatness in the skies
I know you both are observing in watchful eyes
Inspiration you gave me
Being my very best
Always being in my corner
Tomorrows that became
Appreciative in take aim
Remembering you both now and forever
Thank you in the natural and the spirit
Love you both
Heart to Heart
Your Grandson to cherish
Until into the atmosphere
Your Grandson
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.
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.
Prayer
How to approach
Kneel and Spoken Word
Spiritual Virtues
Wisdom Teach
Showing the way Taught
A change
Rearranged life
Praying with a purpose
Acquaint being obvious
A Grandmother’s devotion in Faithful ways
A Grandson remembering those days
Praying straight out
The guidance all about
Talk and response
Uplift lesson
Praying Minds
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
Never finished answering to the dead
Prompt from Have You Prayed? Li-Young Lee
Sit up straight
Get your elbows off the table
Good manners don't cost
Less haste, more speed
What’s the magic word?
Have you tidied your room?
What time do you call this?
Smile!
You whisper in my ear when I'm shopping
You remind me to try harder
You interrupt when I am thoughtless
You correct my grammar
You reprimand impoliteness
You even follow me on a night out
Like a sentimental trinket, I carry your voice
Haunted by memories that chastise
Forever remembering your lessons
Forever remembering you.
24 May 2022
Do you ever have that divine dream
of jumping rope again?
And sometimes you fell,
running to Mommy, to make
it well with a bandaid and
her oh so, warm hugging!
How about roller skating on
the pavement?
That delicious vibration that
invaded your body?
Where did these fun days all
go?
You look in the vanity mirror.
Good grief, a head covered
in pretty snow!
And then a voice shouts:
"Grandma, can you bring my
jump rope here, that would
be so very nice!"
And you are brought back to
reality.
Remembering, that God's gift
of having a grandchild,
Beats the days of you being a
child times ten!
You go outside to give him his
beloved rope.
Your grandson's brown eyes sparkle
and fill your day with eternal warmth and hope.
*For Eddie, my joy and wonderful grandson.*
Love, Nana
April 20, 2020
3pm PST
Longing crashing over silently missing
Singing like a dream upon the river of memories
Letting happy times be remembered with my grandmother
Who now resides in bright Summerlands palaces
Dreams upon the river of memories
Remembering days talking of the past
and visiting each other back in days long ago
Back while she drew sweet breath
Dreams upon the river of memories
Back when I had my grandmother always proud of me
Something I dream of even now and hope someday I will please her enough
At long last, she will forgive my foolish mistakes
Dreams upon the rivers of memories
I long for a better time to see my loved ones
Just once more happy and strong
Even if I could not be there in person to see it a dream come true
Dreams on the rivers of memories.
I float along life hoping she is happy and well with our ancestors
But what can I know
I am but a demon she an angel
I fall into the pleasures of the earth, she revels in the loving embraces of the heavens
Dreams on the river of memories.
and now
it is a different sting
remembering
Grandma~
munching on green onions
No healthy humane man
of mature integrity
is a disenchanted island.
No individual is entirely orphaned.
Even an island has an associated understory,
below water's surfing surface
lie deeply rooted
anciently fertile connections.
And above water's surface
birds migrate outdoor voices
and digestive tracts
and trends
visit,
co-invest regenerativity
of ocean tides
and wind storms.
Those who celebrate only their autonomous island-ness,
are those who do not actively include
how we already live as multicultural peninsulas
leading back to mainland ancient healthy multicultures
and leading forward
to where we can once again
applaud diversely landscaped roots
fertile soil and soul migrations
visitors of nutritiously remembering curiosity
co-invested leaders in courageous fertile multi-solidarity
on this one planet island
Earth revolving within an interdependent sanctuary orbit
of synergetic understory,
Milky Way of warm wet soiled and souled
enchanting
surfing maternal womb memories
of ocean tides
as wind storms.
Jumping, running, whirling, spinning, laughing.
They are tumbling now, down, the hill, into the leaf pile.
A handful of leaves are thrown high in the air.
The child soul of you wishes that you were down there rolling in that pile,
But you know you cannot be.
Not anymore.
Not like you want to.
Your torn ACL
Your arthritis
Your equilibrium
Your sore shoulder
And your neck ache holds you hostage, watching, remembering,
The child in you wants to jump and run and whirl and twirl in that leaf pile.
Twenty years ago you would be in that leaf pile, rolling and laughing
The fear of breaking something, or reinjuring your knee holds you back for a second.
Then the ornery takes over.
Watch out! You yell! I’m coming!
You lie on the ground and roll about an inch.
The grandchildren howl with laughter.
And you do too.
Freshness,
Never Smelled So Good,
Remembering,
My Grandmother's Bed Sheets,
As,
They Dried,
On The Clothesline,
Beautiful,
Wrinkled Colors,
Waving,
At Me,
Upon,
Gentle Breezes,
Then,
Off To Bed,
Dried,
And Tucked In,
Rocking,
My Senses,
To Sleep,
Fresh Air,
Cuddled,
With Me,
Memories,
Like These,
Pinned,
In My,
Sleepy,
Little Head.
Water and sand, two God-made items that intrigue a 4-year-old like nothing else can.
I am grand parenting a happy boy who is completely mesmerized by these two items today.
He is pouring, burying, scooping, digging, piling, showing off, and laughing.
We are at the sand pile, a place I have been trying to coax him to for twenty minutes.
I should know better. He is four. Everything has to be his own idea.
Painting, coloring, play dough and toys are a much larger mess, and they rarely keep his interest
As long as I spend taking them out, and cleaning them up.
Best of all, I am sitting in God’s world, a gentle breeze lulling me with a sense of beauty and peace.
I never feel this good anywhere other than outside, among the glittering trees and gentle grass.
My shoes are off, and I am enjoying the remembering of my own summer hood, spent mostly outside.
My daughter will be along shortly, to snatch him up, and thank me, making me feel guilty.
It is me who should be doing the thanking. The wind rises, and the child laughs, bringing the best of the best to my own sweet world.
I live for these days. Pure joy.
Grandma and Grandpa were swinging on the porch swing
Remembering some of the good old days and things
Grandma said, "Remember when our dates began"
"It was so sweet how you'd casually take my hand"
Grandpa smiled and said, "I remember it my dear"
Slipping his hand over hers both aged by the years
Feeling somewhat bolder, "Remember," she said,
"Pretending to whisper, you'd nibble my ear instead?"
He said,"I remember." then let go of her hand
When he headed to the door, she could not understand
"But why are you leaving now?", she asked him wide eyed
He said, "Sorry dear, but I left my teeth inside !"
Whenever middle-age recalls youth
with its long, exciting and carefree days:
we remember that we lived them in our own ways;
our parents argued that it wasn't astute...
have they forgotten how they shamelessly lied
to get some romantic kiss before it actually died?
Before the invention of television most folks were moody...
there were only radios and vinyl records to listen to,
so the dreamy heart would sing and not be blue;
amazingly today, everything is digital due to high technology.
Even grandmother admitted of kissing her sweetheart over
a few Strega Liqueur drinks before falling face-down on the lawn;
she didn't get caught and that secret has remained with her
until now and blushing she tries to smile, remembering that frown.
Whenever middle-age recalls youth as being innocent and free of all woes...
it may surprise you how it went hand in hand with progress;
in the sixties, Rock & Roll was considered evil and scandalous,
but our frantic moms adored Elvis for his attire and gentleman's manners.
* Strega is an Italian Herbal Liqueur
Translation: The Witch's Liqueur