the back of my hands are spotted
with brownish red splotches and dashes
they are as wrinkly as a Chinese dog
blue veins are popping up in ugliness
so this is why old women wear gloves!
the same reason they wear scarves around their turkey necks
I was never prepared to get this old
did not realize it was a possibility
until I began wearing my grandmother’s hands
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
Inspired by previous contest (women in my family)
Women in my family
Were unique in every way
Though miles and years apart
There’s very much to say
Women in my family
Have left a legacy
Filled with pain and strife
But, also, honesty
Women in my family
Weren’t perfectly petite
But have you met a nice girl
Who didn’t like to eat!?
Women in my family
Have gotten in to pickles
They’ve made a mess of things
At times they’ve been quite fickle
Women in my family
Have paved a way for me
If it weren’t for these ladies
Well.. I would never be
Women in my family
Kissed their young at night
Though trauma weighed them down
They shed relentless light
Women in my family
We’re never very close
They hid their scars
Wished on stars
And now, they all, are ghosts
Grandmother sits in her rocking chair
Views of the World, much clearer from there
Eyes so dim, wiser still in times gone by
Thinking of her marriage challenges
All in the past no sense in worrying
Children left home, marriages of their own
Decisions made, Family visits start
Manners taught have lasted the tests of time
Younger one's at her feet
Grandmother, watching from afar
All around her listen as wise words spoken
Advice cast aside not paying attention
Visits become less frequent, lives of their own
This rocking chair resembles a throne
Days have been plentiful; love abounded each day
Prepared to be on her way, when her name is called
She shall rise on her own, will she be missed?
For a short time, her memory will exist
The rocking chair empty with a life of its own
If you watch carefully, it moves for sure.
When I was just a small tot
I remember lying on my Grandmother’s lap
Face down in her apron of old sack cloth
Scents of her cooking ingrained in its depth
I was carried off to a peaceful slumber
Those are times I fondly remember.
She rocked babies from her children of seven
On an old straight back chair we thought was heaven
All the while still sweetly singing
An old lullaby song that’s still ringing
In my memories yet
Sundays we gathered around our grandparent’s table
Watching her use that old apron
To take hot pans from a cast iron stove
To us, no better food could be served
Than what Grandmothers’ hands made with love.
She gathered eggs, and vegetables from her garden
Feeding the chickens with the corn gathered
Up in the folds, and the bottom
Of that old sackcloth apron she wore .
Grandmothers over the years have done the same
Though memories fade over time it seems
This memory for me is one clear and sweet
I look forward to that time we’ll meet
In Heaven’s kitchen with loved ones we know
Eager to see Grandmother in that old apron she wore.
©?Deborah M Kelly
Aug 2021
A grandmother always loves you for who you
are
She'll shed every tear
For each and every fear
She'll try to take away the sadness
And replace it with happiness.
\Grandmothers carry a uniqueness
With no weakness
She'll will be your shield
Through all your wars and
when your outdoors.
Her inner beauty shines so bright
With so much delight
My smile is cherished in her soul
For each and every goal
I have completed
and defeated.
KLD 2002
As a child I would place my closed eyes
in them
while she hummed Gaelic melodies
neither she nor I had words for.
Her apron, it was brown
like a butchers smock
but with not a speck of blood upon it
only daubs of fruit dumplings
and the savor of rose-hip
and elderberry flowers.
Her hands were upon her lap
and in them I placed my lips
and upon those lips
the four seasons came together
melded there.
At times, by candle light
I would read her old hands
the lines upon them
were paths of wisdom
I now but partly understand.
Grandmother had large hands
large enough for my heart
and hers.
When they closed
It was as if a flower had closed
at the end of day.
There is a truth we don’t think about when we’re young
It’s just too easy to ignore…
how youth will win the early battles in life…
but age will, eventually, win the war.
It’s inherent in our destiny…because every night we turn a page
and our youth, felt only moments ago, cedes another day to age.
It seems life is a constant struggle between age and youth…until…
age proves itself triumphant…as age forever will.
But there are moments as we grow older…as yet another page we turn…
when age consents to step aside and allow youth to return…
Like every time a Grandma holds her Grandson…
even for a little while
for as she sees him fall asleep in her arms…
it is her youth that smiles.
Her youth that causes her to reminisce …
her youth that brings her happiness and joy…
a youth transferred to the Grandma…
from the heart of a little boy.
And in this quiet moment shared together
all grandmas recognizes this truth…
and are happy age has stepped aside
and ceded this moment back to youth.
The bride was sweet, the groom was an unknown entity.
Not old enough to be married, she was barely twenty.
I protested all the way to the church, my cries unheard.
My husband told me to settle down, not be a nerd.
But she’s a baby, I protested. She cannot bake or cook.
Time to teach her, he told me, and gave me that look.
She was my granddaughter, a beauty, and not educated yet.
She had no pots or pans, just some posters, and a spoiled pet.
What does he see in her? I asked. She’s not grown, not ready.
His name was Frederick, but his side called him Freddy.
He’s a baby! His grandma protested from the row beside me.
I pretended not to hear, but snorted, secretly laughing in glee.
We met at the reception, and got along great, two old ladies fair.
She’s adorable she said. I especially love her gorgeous blonde hair.
He’s a prince, I told her in a reciprocally wonderful way.
Two fast friends finding each other on their wedding day.
Now we share great-grandchildren, and we are extremely happy.
To give them back to their parents. We have both become sappy.
Date: Feb 24, 2020
Contest: Occasional Poetry
Sponsor: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
acrostic, three quatrains
G - Great women of the Bible I will share,
R - Ruth and Rahab, two women who would wear
A - ancestry in King David’s lowly birth,
N - never daring to think they had much worth.
D - Dauntless Rahab gave spies a helping hand;
M - Modest Ruth was unaware of God’s plan.
O - Old Jericho fell, Rahab was kept safe;
T - Trusting Ruth left Moab on paths of faith.
H - Holy God blessed them both with his good grace.
E - Each of these trusting women could now trace
R - record of their worth in Messiah’s tree.
S – Surely, it’s faith that counts, not what we see.
8-13-18
Savannah Brown's contest: CONTEST NUMBER 1 - AN ACROSTIC INCORPORATING A QUATRAIN
Dear God
as i kneel hear and pray
help me lead them in a way
though there expectations may fall
let there hearts stand tall
for that is their connection
to go in the right direction
though the path may seem troubled
they will always find their way
Amen
The sweetest things I've ever known
Is both of my grandmothers' love
I'm still their baby though I'm grown
To hear their voice would be enough
To count the times I think of you
Would be seventy times seven
When it is my dream come true
I'm seeing you both in Heaven
My Grandmothers Hands
Grandmother Pearl,
the Ozark mountain girl,
picking flowers and
singing down the valley,
in the sun and the rain.
Her hands, older than her age, they were,
already a woman’s touch.
You were such a little girl, when your hands
took on the cares of this world, the mountains
ringing with the silent sound of your toil.
The clap of prayerful thunder it was, hands that never stopped,
and never asked why, why me?
The rough hands,
full of so much tender love,
folded in devotion,
and then after, always in motion,
sweeping a wooden floor, or knocking at heaven’s door,
stretched out hands of service through all infinity,
beckons me onward to all eternity.
GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE ,
IS FUN TO HAVE
GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE ,
IS SPENDING ALOT OF TIME
GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE ,
IS PRAYING TOGETHER
GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE ,
IS LEARNING TOGETHER
GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE ,
IS TEACHING THE YOUNG
GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE ,
IS THE SMALL MOMENTS
GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE ,
IS A GIFT
GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE ,
SPEACIAL TO HAVE
GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE ,
IS A LOVE YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE
eap-GRANDMOTHERS
A grandmother loves grandsons:
in the womb, at childbirth
and the times sad or with mirth
by the soul without girth
in the love, with no dearth
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
January 12, 2010
Inspired by Poetry Soup member contest: RHYME TIME
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Sub Categories
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