Long Gramps Poems
Long Gramps Poems. Below are the most popular long Gramps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gramps poems by poem length and keyword.
Gramps had a Sunday rite,
It was quiet, perhaps trite.
In his chalice a Bloody Mary,
As solemn as a seminary.
Took the goblet and a crank,
To his great Big Ben clock.
Slowly wound as he drank,
When done, he’d close the lock.
A hundred years of perfect time,
With a soft, not muffled chime.
On the hour, brass bells peal,
Then a strike, the hour to reveal.
From its grand and lofty tower,
Only time did the clock devour.
Telling time is how it played,
For only this, was it made.
The pendulum’s eternal swing,
Akin to ocean, time was king.
Like endless waves of the sea,
That hit the beach, to rise and spree.
The old clock stopped
when Gramps died,
The crank too hard,
still Granny tried.
The case too tall
for her new abode,
Became gift to grandson,
down the road.
The clock from Gramps, to enshrine,
One day to pass it down the line.
‘Til then to crank it every week,
Its old wood to groan and creak.
The grand old clock no mere shell,
A soft ticking, then sudden knell.
Like ocean waves, gave quiet peace,
Its pulleys and cables never cease.
The sounds of eternal tick,
Westminster chant be its lick.
All derived from weekly crank,
For this and love, Gramps we thank.
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What is it? What could it be?
something special in the recipe
Is it from Gramps or Grandma
dear Mom or sneaky from Pa
That unique taste special blend
did you get it online or from a friend
Not quite vanilla or cinnamon
just a pinch of flavor a smidgen
Not to sweet or even sour
but boy oh boy does it have power
Did it come from the orient or France
so good makes your tongue dance
Almond extract just a touch
nutmeg but don't use much
Brown sugar with cayenne
lemon peel or soy sauce from Japan
What is this special spice
should I ask Alexia for advice
Whatever it is makes eating good
happy taste buds are understood
Gather around now don't shove
the secret ingredient it's made with love...
of course.
Today we went to the zoo,
clouds scud high and the sky was blue.
Mum,sis and me filed in the queue,
Gran and Gramps waited too.
Giant giraffes,six metres tall,
looked over a stable stall.
Short sighted rhinos with a keen sense of smell,
hippos wallowing in a mud-filled well.
Asian elephants lifting logs,
leaving the crowd all agog.
Gorillas foraging fancy free,
penguins 'catching' fish for tea.
Free to roam,bok and antelope,
sea lions leaping over a rope.
Amazing scenes to recall and digest,
picnic places to eat and rest.
Gift shop,ices and more besides,
entertainment diverse and wide.
“Within a room, all wrapped in a comforter of cobwebs and dust, a vacuum full of memories.” Quote by _Poet
Her grandmother's attic she walks into,
Full of cobwebs, dust, and boxes in her view.
Excited of the treasures that have been stored.
Her imagination wanders as she went toward.
Thrilling look, to unexpected findings.
Valuables amid dusty boxes bindings.
Forgotten belongings, waiting to be discovered.
Nostalgic memories what laid inside to be recovered.
She sits in front of a cardboard box with layers of dust.
The word, pictures, written on the side, open she must.
A photo of an old 1939 coupe, grandma
In grandpas embrace, looking at each other in awe.
Another of gramps holding my dad's small hands
As he takes his first steps, watching or his fans.
A spirit of memories that have been lost for years.
Old family photos and love letters brought tears.
When Grandpa died and his clock still ticked,
he fell from a ladder by a tree -
nor could that clock on the wall predict
when I died at age twenty-three.
A traveling artist, who, out of luck,
implored gramps (...how'd he know his name?)
My grandpa was kind. A deal was struck.
Soon his picture was in a frame.
The parlor portrait's eyes would follow
me, conveying every feeling.
Kindness and cheer, I could swallow,
but remonstration sent me reeling.
A frisbee stuck in a tree, so high,
Grandpa said he'd retrieve it for me.
Just hold the ladder, please, small fry?
and that's all that he asked of me.
Nobody knows that story but me.
I sway gently as the wind does blow,
from a branch on that sycamore tree,
but the eyes on the portrait know.
Lollipop, Lollipop, Lollipop
Remember way back when?
Gummy bears and peppermint sticks
Such treats when we were ten
Teenage years weren't far behind
Raging hormones and pimply skin
And puppy love so intense
It sent our heads in a spin
Soon we made it to almost twenty
Really couldn't imagine how
Our first job is a cashier at Walmart
Making real money, holy cow
We meet that sweet special someone
Our world is twirling around
Before we can say Jackie Robinson
We two are parenthood bound
We're blessed with a couple of kiddies
Relieved when they finally mature
They grow up to be a doctor and lawyer
We're peacock proud for sure
Never thought I'd see the day
When someone would call me Gramps
It all started with ice cream and lollipops
When we were a couple of scamps
© Jack Ellison 2012
I take my hat off for the flag
I stand up straight; let others sag
I get all weepy for Old Glory
thinking of my family's story
They came from Russia with naught but hope
with just their wits to help them cope
No language skills or education either
Money or living quarters, they had neither
But they scraped and scrimped, and just kept going
Gramps peddled junk, grams did the sewing
And with the help of God, it all worked out
Hard work and faith -- their kids did sprout
My father an attorney, my uncle a physician
All due to gram and gramps' prescient intuition
To emigrate alone, part of no community
to an unknown land of opportunity
My Grandpa was inimitable… uncommon.
He could make a story out of a passing wind
and have me crying, giggling like an imp--
this God-given knack could spin yarns of myth
that even my siblings rasp with bulging eyes ,
mouths wide as a crater, entranced from
delicate plots soaked in mystery.
Every trail was one step away from anticipation,
but a story was a story, the larger the better…
how could a pirate turn into a lizard
or a starlight emerge as a queen?
It didn’t matter what the tale was about,
for between, “And then” and “Later on,”
my gasp was sucked deep into
another world beyond my own knowing.
Oh Gramps would pull out his violin
while we both serenaded the clouds,
unmindful of Granny’s holler
from the kitchen. Somehow, no one
had the power to wheel us back to reality –
not yet: Not until he passed on in his sleep
at 68--- my young adult-heart ravaged, minced.
I wipe these vintage books he left for me,
a scent of faint cigar drifting among earmarks
which likely mesmerized, invigorated
those he entertained around his theater-stage…
and I , a dear audience, was the special one of all.
Broken Wing’s Contest: Old jewelry or Just old things,
or Old, Old Poems
10/31/2016
With the roar of that motorcycle
You got one more ride ahead
An asphalt highway The wind in your hair
A younger man with eyes of an older soul
That gate is waiting for you to round that bend
Hold on tight for a great beginning
Lite by love and heart
You cruise right on in with that purr of those two cylinders
Freedom from pain and freedom from strain
You are on your way Uncle Rich
Heaven's gate wide open like a throttle
Welcoming a kind and gentle man
Who was loved for his toughness
As well as his tenderness
We will miss you down here
Give gramps a great big hug for us all
We love you so god speed to you
Keep on admiring the view
We will make you proud and We will see you again someday soon.
What's happened to modern day families
They once were a tight little group
The kids would visit Granny and Gramps
Someone would bring homemade soup
Folks arrived bearing goodies and sweets
And put all their stuff in the fridge
The kids would play their hide and seek games
While the old folks played Euchre or Bridge
Granny didn't mind that the house was askew
Afterwards we sat down for a chat
It sure looked like a big bomb had gone off
It was weeks before they located the cat
Today they email to say they can't make it
It's their time to scrub out the bath
And Susan broke a finger nail last night
She's sulking but I'm sure it won't last
Maybe in June we will find time to visit
We'll slot you into our journal
Between Tommie's first ever baseball game
And Susan's play, "Love Eternal"
©Jack Ellison 2012