Long Grandmother Poems
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living with a ghost is easy
sometimes scary
a bit hard on the nerves
at times but lovely too
I have been doing it for years now years I tell you
ever since grandma went or should I say didn't
you see I inherited all her things sadly some got sold
but I kept many including
her old favorite chair
an antique china cabinet
with her tea cups and collectibles
oh how she loved her collectibles now be gentle dear
I recall her saying to the little girl that was me
all
those
years
ago
after grandma's funeral ( I read the eulogy too)
I felt a presence in my nest my home I really did
but brushed it off . . .
then one day a friend who thought herself a physic
visited
she stood in the center of my living room eyes closed
for the longest time.... I wanted to say are you okay?
turned to me suddenly and said you have a ghost
I gulped I DO! . . . NO, she said you have TWO
she walked right over to the grandma's chair
she is right here watching you and she has a cat
A CAT? ... I said yes, a calico cat
I did not know what to say
you see... my cat patches who recently died was calico
well, I was not that shocked as me and grandma
had a special bond always
now often I will hear the china cabinet open (at night)
and in the morning the tea cups and collectibles have moved
sometimes the chair will creak and was that a ghostly meow
but I love my ghosts both of them I really do
and would have it no other way . . .
sometimes, I bring the chair a cup of tea
I even talk to it (never sit in it)
I know that sounds silly
but I swear, she is listening
NOT THE CHAIR grandma-
_____________________________________
June 5, 2016
Poetry/Narrative/Living With A Ghost
Copyright Protected, ID 16-797-557-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Any HM Ever
Sponsor, Laura Loo
Second Place
____________________
For the contest,
I Ain't Afraid Of No Ghost
Honorable Mention
Run across the fair fields, as fast as you can run, the fields your grandmother ran as a young girl,
Over long lush dark green grasses, whipping your knees, soft spongy turf springs each new step,
To stop where fast flowing streams rush and dance to the wind, a sweat breaking out on your face,
All out of breath kneeling by the bank of a brook, a stitch in your side, corn waves like a gentle sea.
By the brook with childhood friends enjoying sweet company watching spring as her beauty unfolds,
To walk across wet water mead’s, seeing glades in their finest clothes, to a meadow, in full flower,
Rolling in grass making camps sitting legs crossed as warm summer breezes temper-sweating brows,
Making sure you sit next to the one you care for most, nothing will be as good as this day ever again.
Playing in the meadows where your grandmother played, picking daisies, making very long chains,
Holding buttercups up to chins to see if they shine, then laughing, shouting out loud when they do.
Playing kiss chase, slightly slowing down, when the one you want to be kissed by is chasing you,
Under old pear blossom trees, flushed rosy red cheeks sitting next the one who is your first love.
Laying in high grass chin in cupped hands, it is so special this lovely day will be yours for all time,
Just staring at friends, full of innocence and so happy, this romantic time can never be repeated,
Unplanned moments where beautiful things just happen it’s your youth just enjoy the here and now,
Where everything is brighter has more colour, smells from the meadows become a memory for life.
Laying on your back staring at turquoise watery skies, listening to the silence, a perfect sunny day,
Heaths meeting small woods surrounded by greenest carpets only seen by a child’s pure innocence,
Give your heart and soul to this day enjoy natures gifts, your end of days will recall these moments,
Falling asleep in the December of your life, this last dream your friends will be there waiting for you.
So gather these thoughts, tie them up in a bow, put them safely in a corner of yesterday’s thoughts,
And walk again with your dear young friends in those happy times golden hair fluttering in the breeze,
Back to days of cotton dresses and turned-up jeans with baggy shirts, nobody noticed or even cared,
Hold your sweethearts hand once again and run across the fair fields where your grandmother ran.
We wanted to make a heavenly cake
But needed angelic ingredients
That were as far out of reach as can be
So we thought of other expedients
Like the famed store of unusual foods
Though it wasn’t around the corner
But then a melancholy light hit me
That we should seek a recent mourner
Who is akin to a newly deceased
Thus privy to a loved one in heaven
So I gently approached my grandfather
Hoping to make a mindful impression
I asked if he thought he could contact
The soul of my loving grandmother
To impart a glimpse of what they cook there
But he said that I should ask another
Making a heavenly cake like we planned
Was more trying than it first appeared
We needed to find some other way
Some way that may be more or less weird
I bravely entered a graveyard one night
With a shuddery moon full and blue
Hoping a spirit would come to my aid
With some heavenly food to pick through
But the creaking only got creepier
As each hour of that night crept by
And though frightened I got sleepier
With no ingredients to descry
Next day I dove deep in the library
About divine dishes present and passed
But couldn’t find one book apropos
So I went to the front desk and asked
The curator ventured to the attic
Where she recalled a very rare book
Aptly titled Eatin’ in Eden
With recipes for a heavenly cook
And on page one hundred fifty two
A recipe for heavenly cake
That purported the impossible
A trip to heaven to undertake
Yet most ways seemed too obnoxious
Even simply holding one’s breath
Which no matter how long it’s tried for
Is never enough for courting death
And if one died and went to heaven
How could they ever make the return
Back to earth to bake a divine cake
There was still much to this cake to learn
We flipped through every page of that book
To decipher somehow or some way
When we wondrously divined that the why
Was not where, but was plain as the day
The cake base is like a rich chocolate
Vastly deep as a moonless night sky
And while fudgy is light and airy
Certainly heavenly certified
Plus shrouded with fluffy cloud frosting
Of downy whiteness from pleasant dreams
That is also sweet as the sunshine
And piped with fresh rainbow hued creams
The cosmos cooks up celestial things
From the blue sky to heavenly cake
So after all that worry and work
It was in essence a breeze to make
My grandparents lived on farms – both sides of my family.
My mother’s parents and my father’s parents.
Overalls and button down shirts with pockets
Work boots for grandpas
Except my single grandpa did get dressed up fancy
For Saturday night dancing with his girlfriend.
He smelled wonderful too, wore a lariat with a turquoise stone
Shined his shoes as if he was going to church
My maternal grandmother was the only one I knew.
She wore a navy dress with large white polka dots
When we had weddings or funerals, and low heel shoes
The rest of the time I remember her wearing aprons over dresses
My mother was the first woman I saw who wore pants.
She preferred them to dresses, and took to polyester in a big way.
Remember the pantsuits of the seventies? I swear she invented those.
Matching tunics with wide legged pants.
My father wore plaid shirts or camouflage jackets
Unless he was going to work; then he wore a dark suit.
He was a salesman with a skinny tie.
He always looked crisp and clean; mom used starch on his clothes.
My style was wide bell bottom blue jeans that we called hip huggers.
When I was younger, and tops that looked maternity in the seventies.
This was the real style which horrified me in 1974, as I had to wear these blousy tops two years in a row
because I had a baby at twenty and twenty-one.
My new style is comfort. I am sixty-eight. I wear tennis shoes.
Elastic waists, soft clothes that are not tight, I love feeling free.
My husband is the same way – comfort clothes, elastic waists.
We like eating tasty foods; no blue jeans for us now.
We have three children. They dress according to their lives.
One has six children, but she dresses fancy and so do they.
Another has no children, she’s a professional. She dresses in suits.
Third child alternates between casual and fancy; working mom of three.
Our grandchildren are eclectic fashion displayers also.
Super controlled grandchildren wear traditional clothing,
Approved by mom or they do not leave the house.
The ones who are wild like our middle daughter have pink and blue hair.
I see dresses that are too short - the same as I wore in middle school.
I see pants that are too tight on boys, like we saw in the eighties.
I see boots not as cute as Nancy Sinatras or or go-go-boots.
Masks are the new fashion statement for the younger generation sadly.
The original version of this piece is too long for me
to post in its entirety, so it had to be sectioned off. Of
all that I've written, I am most proud of this work due
to its historical accuracy. I hope you enjoy it as well. It
was an honor to write this.
Lying in this shallow ditch I hear as they arrive, the
miracle of God is all that's keeping me alive,
and it is that belief in God to which each day I strive,
surprised at this much faith? Just simply gaze into
my life.
Was born in 1800, month October 2nd day, and knee
high to a hopper when my daddy ran away,
before you climb your soapbox and begin to think
that way, remember these are times when all the
black folk here are slaves.
Imagine being sold like stock, to work when cold or
hot, the overseers beatin people if they're old or not,
do not defy the owner, best believe you will be sick,
of getting 10 to 20 lashes from the master's whip.
My last name wasn't given at my birth and that's a
fact, my given name's Nathaniel but they choose to
call me Nat,
the surname of my owner Samuel is what I claim,
you put it all together yes, Nat Turner is my name.
I think about Old Bridget, that's my grandmother you
know, they snatched her out of Ghana, brought her
here to freezing cold,
she ran the Coromantee who were known for slave
revolts, she watched the seeds get planted in me
grow and take a hold.
I thought myself the lucky one for I could read and
write, it brought me to The Bible and I learned to
read it right,
then spent my childhood years admidst the Spirit up
above, it fit my needy soul just like a mitten or a glove.
I ran away at first when I was only 22, I should've
stayed away because I really wanted to,
but 1 month later, picture this it's me a black man
free, a vision told me that I should go back and that
was key.
The visions I receive I know are messages from
God, Old Bridget had religion shining deep within my
heart,
I will inform the brethren and won't stop until they're
saved, The Prophet is the name that I was called by
fellow slaves.
As 6 years pass of this I know it never is too late, the
hands of the Almighty have me primed for
something great,
I carry heavy shoulders for a man of 28, until I
worked the master's field one faithful day in May........
To Be Continued
A Man of Strength and Courage
(A Man Of Beauty And Respect)
A True Story
Who was he? He called himself the
unknown Poet, my great great great
grandmother's uncle Joe. He lived
a long exciting life, loving one woman
in time of war.
A Martin Trapper he was, an artist of fine
design, a poet in his time, a fine gentle
soul of the universe capturing each
thought writing them down in journals
and poetry.
If you should ask him what he believed
in! he would say; “I believed in God, sounds
of nature, love of mankind, love of words
anything to do with nature is where my
heart roams best.”
He was true to his own beliefs, a man
of heart, determination, a man who
would walk a mile in another man's shoes.
He was the heartbeat of the land, a
true mountain man of the wilderness.
He wore leather, long hair, beard a loving heart
for all animals including the bear, he grew
closer to as he traveled the mountains
year after year doing his Martin trapping
for food. He was a God-fearing man
of courage and strength all his own.
He was truly remarkable, who
fought with George Armstrong Custer
and the men of the 7th Cavalry where
they met their fate and the Sioux on June
25, 1886, at the Battle of the Little Big
Horn'. Uncle Joe was sent to get
reinforcements at the age of fifteen
when he returned, they found them all
mascaraed. Including (George Armstrong
Custer).
Many of his journals, poetry and
sketches were burned in a trailer
fire, but to this day, still remember
at a young age trying to read his poetry
I do remember seeing some of his sketches
he had sketched with pencil by candlelight
in his cabin in the winter in the Canadian
Mountains.
One sketch I remember well was of
a lovely lady dressed in a long gown
with hair piled high upon her head
she looked lovely.
That winter was long and cold and Joe
never returned home from his trapping
the Royal Mounted Police found him dead
next to the creek by his cabin. He died
of starvation.
This is just part of his story my great great
great grandmother told me of her uncle Joe. I
wish she would have told me more about his life.
I want to pass this on to my family so they can keep
passing it down from generation to generation.
Copyright ? DerenaBree( All Rights Reserved). Publishing ? Man of strength and Courage®( All Rights Reserved.)
woo oh, woo oh, oh oh oh
woo oh, woo oh, oh oh woooh...
I wanna be there in a better well;
I wanna go where there is happiness, still;
Forever and a day;
Where we can sing, and dance and pray;
Sing hallelujah, each and everyway, for always, for always.,..
for ALWAYS...
I wanna go to the better side;
where my spirit will be free;
and I..
won't have to ever die no more, no, no;
I'll live rejoicing in liberty and my soul will;;
sing forever praising the joys;
for my God is great
and He will constantly provide for me
forever, forever, forever;
(from Anthology "Reverence" by James E. Lee Sr. 6/ 2017
I wanna go where God resides;
I wanna go to the better side;
no need to hide, no need to cry;
I am better now, cause I'm on the better side;
Happiness is where Jesus dwells;
No more death nor sorrow wails;
I'm gonna be forever happy here;
In the arms of my Father;
I wanna be there for a better well;
I wanna go where happiness dwells, and..
For ever and a day;
We will sing, dance and pray;
Forever in eternity singing hallelujah;
I wanna go to the better side;
Where my spirit will be free;
I wanna go to the better side;
Where I will be His bride;
And forever and all eternity, I'm gonna be free;
Everlasting forever in His arms I'll be embraced
On the better side;
I wanna go where I know my great-great grandmother is;
I wanna live with Jesus and all my cousins and them;
I want to abide with the angels and my ancestry pride;
Live and be alive with my God on the better side;
My grand parents went to the sweet by N by...
I want to live where, there's no more weather....
Where there'll be nothing but God's cover...
I am talking bout' HEAVEN..
the better side Heaven
the better side, the better side
Heaven
the better side, the better side
Heaven is the better side, the better side;
I wanna go where I know my Savior is;
I wanna go where God lives;
I want to abide with my God on the better side;
Be with my grand parents on the sweet by N by...
I want to live where, there's no more weather...
I wanna be where forevermore under God's cover...
What am I talking about..
This is what I am talking about
I am talking bout' HEAVEN, HEAVEN;
I wanna go where I know my Savior is..
Where God lives....
Heaven
I wanna go to the better side;
that better side is...
Heaven;
I wanna go to the better side;
I’M ALONE BUT NOT ALONE;
oH am I
I’M ALONE BUT NOT ALONE;
oH am I
great uncle died but I still have God;
Great grandmother died but I still have God;
Great auntie died, yes I still have God;
All my people dead and gone, yet I still have God;
I’M ALONE BUT NOT ALONE;
oH am I
I’M ALONE BUT NOT ALONE;
oH am I
Second cousin died but I still have God;
Another Great uncle dies yes I still have God;
All these physical persons have left my side;
As I breathe and receive as I believe I still have God
My Dad’s mother died my grandma, but I still have God;
Mother die my mom at 39 years I was only 17, left with just dad
Was mad at God felt alone, betrayed and shun…guess what I still had
I still had God;
Father died ten years later, never sung to my father I cried yet I still…
I still had God (He’s by my side)
He’s my heart, the air that I breathe He’s in and outside of me;
Of the 5 children my mother’s mother had all dead;
Except my uncle left alone, yet not alone I still have God;
My best friend and his entire family murdered, made National News
Went to the funeral felt hurt again yet alone, but guess what I still had God;
Cousin died, two close friend died still I cried
Yeah! Yeah! I know I still got God
Death hurts, but what’s worse is to lose your soul and spin eternity in Hell
Wife died three years ago, Yeah! I know I’m alone but guess what..
I still have God
Come to me all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens I’ll give you rest;
I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be birth in you say’s the Lord;
He heals the brokenhearted and bind up the wounds
When you go through deep waters I will be with you;
Whenever you feel unloved, unimportant or insecure remember to whom you belong;
I’M ALONE BUT, NOW ALONE;
oH am I
I’M ALONE BUT NOT ALONE;
oH am I
You can be sure that I will be with you always to the very end of the age
Even if my father and mother abandon me the Lord will take care of me –
God said: I will in no way leave you, neither will I in any way forsake you. Therefore we can say: The Lord is my helper. I will not fear. What can man do to me? –
“let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”
I am alone yet not alone…
4/4/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
Your wise eyes glistened with cataracts, showing me the hazy Indian sky
The wrinkles on your face, the lines by your eyes, showed me the joys of the hills and caverns of the lands
The raised veins on your hands, bumpy yet smooth, acts like the Ganges, a life supply for you and many
The graying in your hair, shows me the struggles and triumphs, the marriages, the children,
The arthritis you have showed me the pain and determination, the years of work, the labor,
The gentle touch from your rough hands, show me your motherhood, your warmth, your love
The words you spoke, your native tongue, acted as the voice of a generation of women, a voice that’s been heard for years, but only sometimes appreciated
Your loss of hearing showed me the loudness of actions, the loudness of your people, the stories, the lessons you have heard over the years
The loss of memories for you, only showed the tremendous amount you lived, you saw, and felt
Your old passions and anger shined w the ferocity of the fiery red Indian sun
Your dry and cracked hands, showed me the deserts of Rajasthan
Your old gold, your wedding ring, your bangles, show me the beauty of our country, the traditions, that even after the years of wear, we still have value
Your old stories of your family show me the interconnectedness of us all, one large tree, supported by your roots
“Mother India, Mother India,” I call into the void,
Wishing you still were near to bring me back home
The wonders you have seen, the pain you have felt, the revolution and wars you have lived
Mother India was you
A woman older than the world, wiser than philosophers, more beautiful than the Taj
As one Mother leaves, the next generation takes her place,
Yet we never forget our ancestors
The ones who fought, clawed, and struggled for us
The ones who sacrificed their lives for us
You truly loved me
This much I know
You were a mother and grandmother
In more ways than one
You were my grandmother, but you were Mother India
You taught me to love my culture and you were my reason for going back to India
Your time had come and your daughters will take your place.
You were Mother India, I was Daughter India
My world is different from yours,
but the same values and lessons I hold
I miss you
But I know i have the same passions, the same strength, the same love running through my veins
" My mother shed her protective love around me and without knowing why, people sensed that I had value." ~Maya Angelou
" As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. " ~Kristin Hannah
“ I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind"
Born female, and upon my brow the magic mark ,
as my mother's mothers before me.
Red pigmented and shaped like a broken heart,
the very heart of my story.
From generations of wombs and bloodlines before,
I am chosen to take up these stones.
And being apart of this family,
I am yet destined to be alone.
The Amber, with whiskey color glowing within…
pumpkin tinged and power singed.
Giving its wielder healing power and
protection through the midnight hour.
The Sapphire stone, deepest indigo,
as the depths of the ocean's foaming folds.
Granting wisdom within it's warming light
and discernment of truth, of wrong and right.
And the third stone is a Ruby of red,
whose clarity muddles the mind and clouds the head.
Releasing passions once held in check,
while you see clearly, their pulsing neck.
Combined the three, passed down to me,
from maternal bloodline flows.
So now with these words and the heat of my hands,
I part the veil to long ago...
Though darkly, I see, far back through time,
this several great-great grandmother of mine.
And watch as she, undeservedly,
is made to lie in an early grave …
No knight in armour in this tale,
Herself alone she must save.
These stones that I now hold, she finds,
as in darkness they begin to shine.
All air is gone, her breathing stops
and the heart inside can beat no more.
Until the magic finds a home in a wronged woman's maternal core.
Then hearing
a weak pulse,
somehow
MISPLACED...
upon her brow I see
the red- pigmented mark,
the broken heart
Upon her brow,
BEGIN TO B E A T....
And now we know this history,
the story that began my own.
I await the rest of my family tale
from inside the stones, I'm shown.
When I know my true life's purpose,
when I am connected with all of them…
then my hearts blood will stop beating...
...but my magic heart beat will begin.