Long Grandson Poems
Long Grandson Poems. Below are the most popular long Grandson by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grandson poems by poem length and keyword.
Little one, you may never have known me,
but I’ve loved you since the day you were born.Though time and distance keep us apart, my heart was always with you,
in every step, in every tomorrow.
I was a woman who lived with love,
and my greatest joy was my family.
Your smile, your laughter, your future
were dreams I carried long before you arrived. Even though I couldn’t hold you in my arms, I held you in my heart — always.
I may be gone from this world,
but my love for you will never fade.
I watch over you from Heaven,
with a heart full of pride, as you grow, learn, and become the man
you are meant to be.
Be kind, be strong, be true,
and never forget how loved you are.
You carry a piece of my soul,
and I’ll always be your biggest cheerleader, from above.
Life may have taken me from your side,
but it could never take the love I have for you. You are my grandson, my forever joy,
and I will always be with you —
in every moment, in every dream, in every heartbeat.
Love always,
Your Nana ??
By Shawn Muñoz
Today’s the day that Henry’s 8.
He’s growing fast; we’ll celebrate
And though I love each stretch and stride,
A little pang can’t be denied.
The baby in my arms I rocked
As lullabies my mind unlocked;
The pudgy toddler on my lap,
Preferring stories to a nap.
The music classes and the gym;
(Though climbing high was not for him.)
The times when we would say goodbye
And he would follow us and cry.
Before the tablet and the Switch,
Together times were sweet and rich.
To be with Henry, sharp and bright,
Was absolute and pure delight.
Of course, he’s still the greatest boy
Who brings me lots of deep-felt joy
But as the years add up, I see
There’s much less time and need for me.
It should be thus; I can’t complain
And our connection will remain.
Yet as I glimpse back to the past,
I feel like it’s gone by too fast.
My back upon the bed, night's thickening dissolves. Awake, eyes open.
I see him lying high, the silhouette of head, glint eye, arched back,
tail hangs down black- tipped, black-striped, pale background,
dawn revealing furry, fire-tipped orange.
Perfectly still. He does not move. He has not moved since fading of last year,
and now January is here, soon gone, and though the night's are long,
summer sun's long march is strong, the shadow of his tail will shorten.
I see a wound.
Three stripes up, above tail tip, a small but bursting seam, entrail revealed,
white and clean, showing clear what must have been.
Ferocious battle with precocious cub who sudden leapt upon his back
and cuffed and sank milk teeth into his neck, and roared and clubbed with fearsome paw.
And tail was caught between the fray, and pulled and ripped and left this way,
perhaps to fight just one more day.
For now he waits, tiger lying high upon the wardrobe, beneath the ceiling.
No thought, not feeling, not counting nights for cub's return.
Yet eye below does long and yearn to see young cub again,
his muscle grown, with longer leg and thicker hair. Not long, not long.
The days will soon be flown in passing of the year.
Conversation with my four-year-old grandson Max.
“I cannot throw the ball one more time, Max. I am old.”
He glares at me. “No, you’re not.”
“I am. I really am.”
I throw the ball ten more times.
“I mean it Max, I have to stop. I am tired. I have a cough.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, I really do.”
He comes closer and looks at me hard.
I try to cough, putting myself into an explosive coughing fit.
He gives a couple of fake coughs.
We stare at each other.
“I’ve had my cough for three whole weeks, “ I tell him.
“How long have you had your cough?”
Brown eyes look at me closely. “Sixty-eight weeks,” he says smoothly.
I keep throwing the ball.
My pen is mourning the agonies and the sufferings
Of my people, who are drowning in the sea of misery.
My keyboard' strokes are shadowing the slow rhythms
Of the wandering beggar, who's lost in the sanctuary.
My voice denounces the filthy cholera and the injustices,
Which are punishing the weakest souls of the valley.
A tiny oligarchy is meagerly being rewarded;
What a shame for a man-made world corrupted with vices!
My daring pen defaces the inequality and the imbalance,
Which fool the image of a so called free world.
My laser beams burn the iris of the blind peasants,
Who can now see clearly the mini-sketch of my people.
I am the brother-in law of the cowardly executed poet
And the great-grandson of the poorest assassinated emperor.
I abhor the vanity and the lowliness of mankind in horror,
Oh! Lord, I'm going to read aloud twelve psalms, from my seat.
My pen is mourning my beloved people,
Who are innocently digesting the giant toxic apple.
My voice is seduced by the wind of liberty,
Which echoes the piercing screams of the starving babies of Haiti.
P.S. Translation of 'Ma Plume Pleure Du Sang' by Hebert Logerie.
Copyright© November 2010, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of four books of poems.
My grandchildren are growing up faster than dandelions on a summer’s day.
One second they are pulling themselves up on couches,
and falling on their diapered bottoms.
The next minute they are going to the mall with friends.
They grow startlingly quickly.
You drink a sip of coffee, and they are graduating from high school.
Cherish every single moment with your children.
Apologize for every infraction even if it is not your fault.
Grovel, debase yourself, ask for forgiveness no matter how crazy this sounds.
Throw your ego to the wolves.
Do whatever you have to do to spend every second you can
with your grandchildren.
So they will know you.
So they can love you, and you can lavish them with grandparent love.
They will get married and move away before you drink that lemonade.
They grow like dandelions on a summer’s day.
Joseph Robinette Biden
now commander in chief yay
manning ship of state
tossing anchors aweigh
heavily pierced tattooed
donning sheepish pirate(s)
at heady roiling waterway
fending off trolling rapscallion
much more thrilling
than watching cabaret
January twenty first two thousand
twenty one marks his first full day
wherein Oval Office finally
flushed, ousted, and zapped,
whose paternal ancestry
begat genealogical linkedin émigré
name unknown, nevertheless
one Johann Trump born within
Bobenheim am Berg, a village
in Palatinate, Germany circa 1789
moved to nearby village of Kallstadt
where his grandson, Friedrich Trump,
the grandfather of Donald Trump,
born in 1869 gamboled
upon grassy fairway
whereby grandson notorious
to grandstand and gainsay,
but especially renowned
windblown coiffure
kept intact courtesy "fake" hairspray
said product he did fulminate
against and inveigh,
cuz he envied (as does yours truly)
the trademark thatch sported by J.F.K.
At long last, a stalwart adept candidate
unwittingly saddled
with onerous figurative freight
COVID-19, homelessness, joblessness
sober statistics impossible mission to inflate,
whose physique slender and lightweight
boot pulleys and levers of power
he quite savvily can operate
personable and suave demeanor doth resonate
allowing, enabling, and providing
law and order to materialize,
and accomplishments downplayed
(unlike previous commander in chief)
whose braggadocio would never underrate.
Concern still prevails
regarding that woman user
egging fascistic paramilitary
white supremacist ilk
twittering as a digital schmoozer
hell bent on sowing anarchy,
cuz other Democratic contestant
did not defeat
soured at prospect their man beat
(him - who shall not be named again
ranks as a sore loser)
nevertheless, an oafish shill bruiser.
If prognostications allowed me,
at bedtime, when a supine American,
one garden variety and generic
sleepy Joe among madding crowd
will experience glee
at prospective buoyancy, decency,
fraternity, harmony, jollity, levity,
nobility, prosperity, serenity, tranquility...
wishing no ill will toward
former forty sixth president.
How I pine for those carefree days when I was seventeen!
I weighed a mere hundred twenty pounds and was rather lean!
I thought I could mount an Arab steed and conquer the world!
Before me bold adventures beyond the horizon lay unfurled!
In my precarious youth I never dreamed of growing old.
I assumed I'd be seventeen forever, truth be told!
But suddenly in the blink of an eye I was thirty-five,
Then I reached fifty, so stealthily did it arrive!
I hardly turned around and suddenly I was sixty-five.
Grandson Zach exclaimed, "But Grandpa, you're still alive!"
A reward upon reaching that exalted rung of maturity,
Was that I became eligible for medicare and social security!
So quickly did I reach the age of seventy, a septuagenarian.
I might as well hang around and become an octogenarian!
Though I enjoy the privileges of the golden years, forsooth,
I'd much prefer the unpretentious days of my youth!
Oh, feckless youth, how hastily thou wast spent.
I clasped thee to my bosom and was so content.
But anon you abandoned me much too soon.
I really think that was so inopportune!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
A LEAF WITH A WINDOW TO THE PAST
After lunch, I took a leisurely walk.
I came across a giant leaf, that
whispered, as only a leaf can do,
" Pick me up gently and take me
home with you!"
I did precisly as he requested, such
an autumnal treat, he was, so very
soft and colorful!
But then when in my kitchen, he
made a request,quite mournful.
"Get your scissors, and cut a heart-shaped
hole in the center of me."
I did as he requested, but was more than
sorrowful.
I washed him off with some gentle
soap from Crete.
He thanked me efficaciously and said he
had in mind for me, a special treat.
He ordered that we go on the deck, place
him on the wood and to hold my breath.
"Look in the heart,"I heard him say.
And you will see your love dancing in
San Francisco also known as 'Baghdad by the Bay."
"He will dancing in his Foustenella
and Greek costume complete.
When you first saw him performing
on Eddy Street!"
The leaf was not lying! I watched
my love jump and twirl!
As young as the day, I first saw him.
My heart was all a whirl.
The wonderful part for which I was
not ready!
Is that the street I met him on, as
well, as his grandson, are both
named EDDY!
The wind then blew and took my
leaf-friend with it.
I was so glad I befriended this leaf.
He reminded me that though we
get older, we need not let time of
our memories be a thief.
November 1, 2019
Entered in Chantelle Anne Cook's Contest. ."Anything You Want"
You stand now on the threshold;
It shouldn't be too long.
Till you're a man, my Grandson;
Valiant, tall and strong.
But there are many choices;
In our country brave and free.
We wait and watch and wonder
Who you will decide to be.
Will you find that you are happy?
Will others think you're kind?
When you look into your heart
Just what is it will you to find?
Will you help feed those who are hungry?
Will you help those who are weak?
With a heart full of compassion?
Is it Christ that you will seek?
You are loved my dear sweet Grandson;
You are far more than you know;
But you must decide;
The way you will go.
There choices that are yours alone;
And soon we shall see;
It's up to you in manhood;
To decide who you will be.