It all happened so suddenly.
But they never thought twice.
The custody of their son's children
Was hanging in the balance.
In the middle of their pain,
Pointed questions came.
"Are you sure you want to raise this child,
And not just keep her for a little while?
Do you realize what your decision require?
Or that tons of others wouldn't even dare?
Are you aware of the burdens you will bare?
Have you concluded that life is not fair?"
The grandfather said, "She's our grandchild".
For us to say 'No' would be cold and 'vile'.
Unfortunately, sometimes our children go astray,
and it's the price we have to pay."
I was a child with questions, no answers in sight,
Why was love absent, why was home not so bright?
A little girl stood in a storm alone,
Searching for love that she had never known.
But then two hands held me, old yet so strong,
My grandparents whispered, "Child, you belong."
They did not ask about my scars or past,
They gave me love that would forever last.
They taught me to read, to write, to dream,
To find my voice, to proudly scream.
Where mother left shadows, they gave me light,
They turned my darkness into mornings bright.
So no, I am not broken, not lost anymore,
I have found what I was looking for.
I am not the tears my childhood knew,
I am the love my grandparents grew.
She came
Filled our hearts and souls
She left ….leaving us feeling empty
In desperate need of one of her “Cuggles” to fill that empty hole!
unforgettable memories with grandparents
Old age is neither curse nor choice,
but borrowed time to rejoice.
Friends we loved, lives we knew,
have slipped away—we all do.
We think of missteps, choices made,
of roads we took and paths we strayed.
We wonder what we might have done
had wisdom come when we were young.
Of old regrets, we make our peace—
repair what we can, or let them cease.
Too little time left to spare,
but still enough to love and share.
We’re the keepers of what has been,
the stories of friends and kin.
This treasure trove of memories amassed,
We are living archives of the past.
Docents of descent, we carry on
the tales of those who now are gone.
To those who follow, we must impart
the names, the stories, and the heart.
We do not whine about our age,
the years have written every page.
We have been tested, bent, and tried—
wisdom earned with time and pride.
Who are you?
was the worst thing you'd ever said to me.
The elation I felt at hearing your voice
melting instantly away
into an icy abyss
as if a vengeful specter was choking me.
Who am I?
Who am I without you?
Imploringly I had looked into your eyes
holding onto a phantom hope
that I would be remembered
by the person who had always loved me.
But seeing your starless gaze,
I felt my inner walls crumble.
For in that moment I knew
our memories became my memories,
reduced to a shoebox of old dusty photos.
You don’t know
what you cherish,
like kissing
grandpa, two girls
against his cheeks.
He appears younger
than you thought
at the time, and I’m
in the prime of my youth,
shirt and skirt so sprightly,
my sis not her shapely-self,
still finding her way. I
recently slimmed down;
not the first time. Back when
both grams were living,
one thought I was too little;
kin don’t mean to do that.
Even now, a couple of people
have said it’s good to have meat
on the bones; rolling eyes.
I never gave thought
to the features, the blessed face,
how we must have been good
for his soul. We visited once
a year. I was a teen, my sis
a pre. She’d not come
into her own yet. Didn’t matter;
it doesn’t, to most grandparents.
They just moisten their eyes
with all the grand-love they get.
It’s not until we are around the same
age, that we understand
how much it must have mattered -
a photo masterpiece!
The ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ yellow ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ dust
across the ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ old man's ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ room ¦¦¦
came back ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ to steal
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ and ¦¦¦¦¦ change,
to open ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
to break ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
and share ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ overflowing,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
wrapped in ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ gold ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ the ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ music ¦¦¦ gone. ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ his ¦¦¦¦ voice broken
with the weight of all
those lost ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ --
"If you knew ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ That music
made ¦¦¦ each day ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
forever ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
darkening ¦¦¦¦ dusk.
The music ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ would laugh
¦¦¦ until it went ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ days began and ended
without the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ fist,
without the old truths
of blood ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ without
the loud cries ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ without song.
There are people whose lives become foundations
Not because they sought recognition
But because of their love, sacrifice and resilience
Created something far greater than themselves
A family, a legacy
Their presence becomes the very thing entire generations lean against
The shelter in storms
The keeper of stories
The bridge between where we came from and who we are becoming
Love was never spoken
But it was served at tables
Stitched like clothing into sacrifices
Carried in prayers
And poured into lives of those who needed it most
The values you planted continue to bloom
In places you may never fully see
In the courage of your children
The dreams of your grandchildren
The laughter of your great-grandchildren
Some pillars hold up houses
You have held up generations
barefoot childhood
running in grandparents' woods
picking elderberries
He was old, so old. Not just old, but archaic, ancient. In his seventies when I was born… and I remember, his face well worn. We shared a feeling, the two of us. A feeling, a family, a faith in our heart. He was old and I was young. Together, we found the wonder of love. Love built on the sharing of ice cream cones. The love built on knowing that chestnuts were best consumed after they’d been roasted in Granny’s old wood stove. A love built on knowing that Granny knew more than she should. And the time would come when we’d feel better on the porch than we could in any room. Together we shared a feeling, a family, a faith. Faith in each other and faith in God’s amazing grace. Faith in the old spring’s water. Faith in the hay God made. Faith in Granny’s garden. Faith in Jesus, the Way. He was old, older than I knew. Him and me found a purpose in planning our days and we’d agree, life would never be the same after he passed away. His light, though, would remain, to brighten the way with truth. The truth that tells me, he was my proof that there is good in this world and there is love, too.
too old to say no
he was a living legend
offering me hope
The Man Who Raised Me
They say you lose people as you grow
but I lost you before I even understood
what losing meant.
You were there from the very beginning.
Before I had memories,
before I had words,
before I knew how to be anything on my own.
You carried me when I couldn’t walk,
taught me the world in ways I didn’t even notice then.
You weren’t just my grandad—
you were everything.
The one who showed up,
every time without question,
without fail.
And then one day… you didn’t.
I was seven.
Too young to understand why the person
who had always been there suddenly wasn’t.
Too young to realise that losing you
would shape everything that came after.
I don’t remember everything—
that’s the part that hurts the most.
Just pieces.
Moments.
Feelings I can’t fully place.
But I know this:
the love you gave me never really left.
It just stayed—
quiet, unfinished,
growing with me in ways you never got to see.
And I think a part of me is still that child,
waiting for you to walk back through the door
like you always did.
I didn't cry when i heard
honestly I didn't react
I dont feel i truly understood
What was meant by that
Even now months after the news
I still don't shed a single tear
Your taking this so well im told
Yet all i crave is to talk to you
But the time for that has passed
I remember the times we had
Both the joyful and sad
My life just didn’t start when I was born
It is interwoven with those who have come before
Many people make up who I am
Some I have met but for a few short years
Others have been gone long before I am
From far-away lands they came to be
Looking for a better life for them and me
From all kinds of walks in life were they
But yet each has made an impact in some way
As my hair could be curly or straight
My eyes could be as dark as the night
Or as blue as the sky
My skin could be light or dark,
Or any shade in-between
My genes are what my ancestors gave to me
Whether it be shaping the country
Or shaping me
Their journey continues even in me
In the Land of the Dragons
my grandfather sleeps -
a place of legends, castles and keeps.
In a magical land of gentle green hills
where new-born lambs frolic still.
Under a carpet of flowers
and the Holy Spirit’s dove
a paradise on earth
mirroring the heavens above.
In the Land of the Daffodils
my grandfather rests
at the old church of St Arthens
by the river Gwynon, that flows under the bridge.
At my grandmother’s side
my grandfather sleeps
together again, united in peace.
In the land of the bards,
where giants once roamed
back in the place,
the place, that is home.
Grandparents Categories
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anniversary, appreciation, beautiful, christian, day, funny, grandchildren, great, grieving, losing
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Definition | What is Grandparents in Poetry?
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