Long Grandpa Poems
Long Grandpa Poems. Below are the most popular long Grandpa by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grandpa poems by poem length and keyword.
the annual fluffy Christmas dance is about to begin
We sat ourselves down next to my cousin Finn
Shhh! He said, pointing to the Christmas tree.
Be quiet if you are going to sit next to me.
So I moved away next to my Aunt Jennie.
Hey! She said. Tonight’s cat’s name is Winnie.
Winnie came out and took a bow.
We all clapped marvelously, even Uncle Pow.
The cat curtsied, twirled, and did a flip in the air.
Landing in Grandma’s tree. Grandpa said “we don’t care”.
She came out wearing a string of lights all over her bod.
She is so much fun! Yelled my silly Auntie Maud.
“Be quiet! “ Finn yelled. “All of you!”
He is always in a bad mood, determined to be blue.
I felt sorry for Winnie having to live with him.
He is never any fun, my mean cousin, Finn.
Shotgun shells, fireworks, an empty casing,
Burnt gunpowder sensed with imagined smell,
Bring a smile as the mind begins onward racing,
Of times past and grand stories to retell,
Hunts to remember; 4th of Julys raising hell.
Even the repugnant is remembered with glee,
Fresh swine manure upon beds of loose straw,
Time on the farm, a boy’s life lived carefree,
Fishing, hunting, and building with grandpa,
Learning gun safety and how to hammer and saw.
A favorite to this day is corn cut fresh,
Dust in the air with stalked rows piled,
Behind the red tractor and an 8 row thresh.
Memories overflow of that innocent child
Of the fun that was had, a boy in the wild.
I shoulda seen it coming, but blind I had to be.
Otherwise, how did I end up here
looking down. I’m looking down at ME
and everybody in my life so dear.
I shoulda seen it coming. I shoulda heard it too.
How the heck did I wind up like this?
There must have been the sound of choo choo choo.
And vibrations – however could I miss?
I shoulda seen it coming while on that track I stood,
ear buds in while I was listening
to loud music, feeling oh so good.
Now it feels like on my face tears are glistening.
Wow! I still can cry because my soul
has a face and eyes to see from where
I’m looking down at my closed coffin. Wish I could console
my sobbing loved ones (glad to see they care!)
Wish that they could see me now up here
though my body down on earth got hit
so hard! But I’m brand new in this new sphere!
If I could, I’d tell them also – Grandpa hasn’t even changed a bit!
Jan. 31, 2023
For the I Shoulda Seen It Comin' Poetry Contest of John Lawless
If you are 50 and you are naked
Please
Make it a poem and not a photo
A poem we see your inner beauty
A photo we see out of warranty
A poem we see you’re giving spirit
A photo we see your sagging dreams
A wilting flower is majestical poetry
On paper is part of a suicide note
A naked mind will melt hearts young and old
A naked old man will scare away the scare crows
No one wants to see grandma naked
Not even poor old grandpa
But we will love her all the more
For chocolate chip cookies and loving hugs
You however my princess
At fifty x three, lovely and naked just for me
And I will love you to the very bone
Small town hospital in Chariton, Iowa, USA
1952
Dr. Yocum had a recurring dream every night for weeks
God was telling him that he had to buy an incubator.
In 1952
An incubator cost $100,000!
He finally broke down and bought it.
My identical twin and I were born at three pounds each.
We were five weeks early
That incubator saved our lives.
Dr. Yocum’s wife felt invested in us.
She bought us tiny pink going home outfits with matching hats and booties.
We were in the hospital for two months!
Our mother's blood would not clot, so we almost lost her.
She was in the hospital a month or two longer than us.
We went home to grandma and grandpa with seven aunts and uncles
They fought over who was going to carry us around.
Mom told us we were TERRIBLY spoiled by the time she got us.
Written 5-20-2022
Poetry Contest: Divine Intervention
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
I haven’t been here for many many years. Finally I took the plunge to revisit my childhood haunts. I approach your deserted dilapidated old house where I'd spent so many happy hours with you and Grandpa – all I have left are precious memories. I can almost smell the aroma of freshly baked bread, which wafted from your kitchen.
overgrown jungle
where once red roses blossomed
faded memories
As we walk down the garden path, my young son looks up at me and squeezes my hand tightly.
emerald velvet
covering the cracked pathway
time taking its toll
Years have passed so quickly, but now I have returned to visit as I promised. Slowly my son and I walk to the churchyard where we find your gravestone. The only thing my son has is your photograph and my memories - he never got to meet his great grandmother.
carved in black marble
your name is all that remains
river of tears flow
07~11~15
*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*
Hi grandpa, it's me again!
Your dentures sit in an open glass above the nightstand
Remember the tears grandma sang before she pass?
The way she looked into your eyes,
Moments before she said goodbye
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma,
She will always wait for you.
Hi grandpa, it’s me again!
The rocking chair is old and dusty
Remember the way grandma sat me on her lap?
Read many stories before I took a nap
How she enjoyed stroking my hair with her hands
I miss the way she rocked me to sleep every night
Hello, grandpa!
I stored your hearing aid away
Remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer?
I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina soar
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma loved
I hope you don’t mind, I’m keeping grandma's favorite scarf
Hello, Grandpa!
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Remember the way she looked in the yellow pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
Like the walking cane she handcrafted before she left
Hello, grandpa, it's me again!
My tears have soften now,
knowing you will soon see her again
Take your place with her in the sky
Please, say hi and give her a kiss
Tell her I miss her so much
I love you grandpa
~*~
He is a Benscar, a burly, beastly, bellowing, befitting ugly bug troll.
This was said by my older cousin who fibs, his name is mean mole.
I do not believe you, I said, because I was aware cousin Ruth.
I think for once in his life, Grandma said “He might be telling the truth”.
We all tromped down to the river to meet this troll named Benscar.
He was taking the carburetor out of grandpa’s 1972 red and white car.
What are you doing? Grandma asked, “To Leroy’s Four Four Two?”
I thought I would clean it up and give it as a gift to the two of you.
Not so mean I told Mole, who looked sheepish and sick.
He had been hoping that his relatives would be a little more thick.
Neither grandma, grandpa or I ever believed Mole after that.
Neither did Benscar, who stayed around to play with our farm cat.
It was quite a party at the old Spooks house,
to a spooktactular Samba they bobbed and bounced.
with skeletons banging their big ox-bone drums,
and the pumpkins all sang as the witches hummed.
Black cats did dine on tuna eyeball stew;
wicked Wilma brought her green bat-wing brew.
In the attic was held a wondrous broom race
and out back was a terrifying zombie maze.
Pirates and scarecrows arrived well dressed;
judges couldn’t decide whose costume was best.
Pumpkin ghouls climbed and played in the trees;
giant spiders spun silk and swung there with ease.
Greedy young goblins stuffed pockets with snacks
as children came by trick-or-treating with sacks.
The ghosts did a tango beneath a bright moon
and everyone knew it would all end too soon.
Just as the moon bid them all nighty-nite,
the sun it ascended giving vampires a fright.
Home they all flew to their dark coffin beds
‘cause you know, sunlight’s fatal to the undead.
Then the party disbanded with bellies all full
as among eerie nimbus pranced Taurus the bull.
Wilma flew off to the Witches Head nebula;
a scarecrow hitched a ride on the broom of Bella.
As little Spooks bedded down for the day,
hungry skeletons finished off the pumpkin flambé.
The bats all fluttered to their bat boxes, high
as grandpa Spook waved saying, “Next year, black tie!”
My grandpa is a jolly fisherman,
early in the morn' we set out with worms in a can.
Across the lake we row singing a happy song,
finding our spot we wait for fish to come along.
For hours grandpa tells me funny fishing tales,
of the fish that got away 'cause of slippery tails.
We dip our rods in the lake again and again,
but nothing- even when we say a prayer, amen.
But, it is still a delightful day on the lake,
and at the end we take one fish home to bake .
____________________
August 26, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/A Jolly Fisherman
Copyright Protected, ID 08-1483-547-26
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, A Jolly Fisherman
sponsor, Julia Ward, Judged 09/13/2022
Third Place