Long Grandmother Poems
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Let me set something straight -
Right here, right now!
Let me put India in the right perspective,
Let me banish some myths,
Some gross misconceptions,
And take you beyond elephants,
Sacred cows, snake charmers and yoga,
Beyond Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Taj Mahal,
To a civilization rooted for
over 5,000 years in the past
To a land rich - majestically rich -
In many cultures, customs and traditions,
In a bewildering variety of races,
Religions, languages and folk arts,
In a vibrant tradition of dance and music,
In religious festivals and traditional events,
In saints, sadhus, gurus and sages,
In gods, goddesses, munis and mahatmas,
In temples, palaces, shrines and monasteries;
I'll baby-steps you through a land
Of Vedas and Upanishads,
Of epic stories and incredible mythologies,
Of Ramayana, Mahabharata and Bhagavad Gita,
Through one of world's great spiritual sanctuaries,
Where religion is a way of life;
An overwhelming, complex land -
Its charm, its vitality and yes, its confusion,
Atonce alarming and enticing.
And that's the way India is:
Elusive, confusing, contradictory,
mysterious and exasperating!
Beyond easy description or analysis,
A phenomenal diversity of dress
and manners making one aware
of a different world -
A veritable fairyland!
No other country offers quite such
A spectacle of teeming masses that
continue to enrich the heritage of mankind,
Nowhere do the past and present
coexist in more colorful promiscuity -
An incomparable country,
Easy to love, hard to forget!
"There's only one India!" raved Mark Twain,
"A wonderland of fabulous wealth
and fabulous poverty, of splendor and rags ..."
"The cradle of the human race,
The birthplace of human speech,
The mother of history,
The grandmother of legend and
The great grandmother of tradition."
This, indeed, is my country
Where I was born -
An Indian at heart,
An American in spirit!
Namaste!
Khuda Hafiz, Jai Ramji Ki,
OM Radhe Shyam, Sat Sri Akal,
Jai Hind!!
~Love letters to the sub continent
contest by cyndi MacMillan
Why Little Red Riding Hood
Seems you're steppin' out
Dodgin' bullets and pullin' clout
And what happened to the Grandma stop
Did she want you out?
The whole forest heard her shout
So come on, what was that all about?
Ohh my hooded and cloaked babydoll
You are a vision of vixen
An icon of dazzling brilliance, beautiful and thrilling
Your hot breath on my neck is chilling
Blackness, Darkness in a jar
Your Ying with my Yang
Playin' chicken in different cars
Together we could go so far
So why then are we slammin' shots in this dive bar?
Little Red Ridin' Hood, with thigh-high red leather boots
Long red gloves, blood-red lips, and eyes of black
A David Bowie moment or a panic attack
Take it all back
Cuz diz fairy tale been cracked
And a poetic daybreak is a matter of fact
So you go girl
Little Red Ridin' Hood hit that trail, I got yer back
And the brothers Grimm - well they'll be checkin' in
Dealin' Sin and with the help of all things heinous and supernatural
Let the games begin
White horse, black heart, Little Red Ridin' Hood
Take your start
Coral and lime stones
You can take the country out of me
However, not the trace of acid lime out of my blood
Growing up on the island has its advantages
Everybody was related to each other: and everyone knew
each other real names.
My grandmother was known as Nana to every little boy or girl
We all were well mannered bare feet rug rats
It was never about sparing the rod, and spoiling the brats
It was slap and several back slaps
No bad behave child were never reward back in those days
What I cherish most was the sense of freedom
playing in the open fields; running wild in the prickly grass
and chasing rainbow butterflies in the hot sun until dinner time
I remember lot of sunshine and weeks of rain
Plenty of fresh air, and poor folks who always care
about the welfare of each other
Somehow, the earth tasted like lime,
My cousin would take chunks of square dirt
And chew on it: Nana scolds her each time
However, every other weekend
It was a dose of castor oil or cod-liver oil
This made our little bodies tremble
She called it cleansing your little souls
And building strong bone and teeth
My little Island was all coral and lime stones
acres and acreage of sugarcane fields to roam
With made the earth more sweet and rich
Tropical; rainy season
Petroleum, fish, natural gas
on the tropical island of Barbados
what more could any child asked for?
besides being happy and safe
Looking back with a warm feeling
for the love of the island winds that blew
Over the hills on windy days
How can I not give back to the Island?
My heart would always remains
On the coral and lime stones earth.
Where Pride and Industry of the little Island is our motto
"Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede
Pauperum tabernas regumque turris"
Death comes in many forms
And never counts the cost.
A brutal suicide bewilders,
Desolate are the young mother's children.
Carelessness leaves undiagnosed
The condition that kills a grandmother
And a family is left to mourn.
Death shows compassion
To take away a long-suffering
Matriarch in her sleep.
How distraught are those left behind.
Senseless is the public execution
By a disturbed assassin
She fallen in her prime
By this crime is robbed
Of her mission in life
Meaning we must weave
Into such narratives
To retain our humanity
Without which we cannot go on.
Giggles would erupt
at just her tender touch!
Then, but a babe of four, I can almost feel it still.
Grandma, will you tickle me? I’d say when she sat down.
Together, we would grace the old red sofa by the wall.
Shivers up and down my spine
would flutter as she stroked
and often she would speak of dear old friends,
whom she had lost,
“Clara”, she would say, “would always tickle me!”
The very thought of that would
have me chuckling all the more
as anything but literal could not yet come to mind.
Now, of course,
her meaning is as sweet as every memory
and every day I feel her, as she still sits by my side.
Even at this ripe old age,
with every thought of Grandma, how she still tickles me!
The excitement of going to grandma’s
I remember like it was yesterday
The smells the big windows the projects
Learning to draw sew read write
Even learning to knit with wool
And all before grade one
There was nothing I couldn’t do
I was a bundle of fiery energy
Life was one big ball of fun or more precisely
Creativity only limited by our mind
We could create anything our heart desired
Out of cardboard pencils fabric and glue
All we had to do was dream it
My grand-mother was my universe
I saw the world through her eyes
Her love her life and kindness
Her smile I’d never forget
AP: 1st place 2020
Home is not the same, it's changed since I've been there,
I go to sit under the apple tree, and recall all the memories that we shared,
Hiding away from the world where nobody could see my tears,
This place holds my heart in so many ways, and was my safe haven for years,
Where my heart resided before all the changes took place,
When I was little I would go to that spot, it was my place to pray,
The talk is soon their selling it, my heart is broken inside,
I must go back to my spot because I know there isn't much time,
Grandma and grandpa can't keep up with it, it's all too much for them,
I go to help as much as I can, but in my heart I understand,
This home is where my heart is, and where it will always be,
This is where I was raised, my heart, my family.
I matter greatly, have value, I am loved, and therefore I love. When I was a child, my grandmother made me feel special. I later learned that she loved all
of her grandchildren, but at the time I felt she loved me more than all the others. I felt so loved by her that in grandma's eyes I could do no wrong.
I believe that her love gave me a balanced perspective of love.
When I was made by God, my maker did not throw away the mold,
but He simply refused to use that same mold again on another person.
It was never His intent to make me a perfect human being, but He left no
doubt that His purpose was about Uniqueness. He fully intended that there
was to be no duplications, no cloning, no copy catting, and no imitations.
I was wonderfully made just the way He actually made me. It matters not whom I sound like, look like, or even walk like. When He's attending to me
and my needs, He's not hurried because He's too busy, or has other concerns that are distracting Him. When He's focused on me, He never looks through
me nor mistakes me for someone else. He has a plan and purpose designed
specifically for me alone and is willing to go the distance for its fulfillment.
08162018PoetrySoupContest, Pick A Theme, Viv Wigle, 3P Theme picked: 1. There is only one me
We are going to miss you dearly
I already miss you, Grandma Dee
We are going to look forward to
Brighter days and skies of blue
One and only Grandma Dee -
What a delight you are to me
What a delight you have been
What a delight that we all see
Over and over again, again, again
We are going to miss you night and day
I already miss you when you passed away
We are going to treasure your stories so
You are a blessed breeze that is ablow
We are going to miss you tremendously
I already miss you so much, Grandma Dee
I’m very sad for our great loss and many more to come
We’ll just wait until we can see each other in the Kingdom
One and only Grandma Dee -
What a delight you are to me
What a delight you have been
What a delight that we all see
Over and over again, again, again
We’ll be together once more
As long as your wings of flight soar
Above the surface of darkness and lack of grand sunlight
You will shine bright with positivity with so much might!
The Imaginative Lad
The blissful boy at the kitchen
table,delineating his Christmas list.
His Pomeranian puppy licking his cold,
growing, beautiful toes.
Hot chocolate ambiances and
wheat toast, zephyrs up his nose.
He is a prodigious child,with a
temperament, so marvelously mild.
Learning from grandmother to
write classic poetry.
"No one-liner poems from you,"
pronounced she.
"Use your heritage, our beautiful
English language!"
On Christmas Day, Grandmother
received a book of sonnets, which
he authored!
In a green velvet notebook with
a red satin ribbon outstanding upon it.
Grandmother had passed on the
glory of English!
For his Christmas,he was given books
of the Poetry Masters.
Wrapped in loving gold under the great
scented, Balsam tree.
He unwrapped them with joy.
Words to live with him.
For decades, ever after.
November 23, 2019