Poems about grandmother



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№ 1207428

Grandmother

Boisterous applause
On the black of the pan,
Bubbling eager
For bayou born hands.

Dark dusty skin
Like the soil of homelands,
Spiced with the method
Of mother of mother.

White men on crosses,
Black faces in photos,
Of family from graveyards
Or just beyond grasp.

Exhausted linoleum,
Faded by traffic,
Of church shoes,
And paw pads,
By ambles
And drawls.


grandmother.

Author: Kai Joy
+0-
Date: 04/04/2020


№ 1201802

GREAT Grandmother

My great grandmother is gone
But when I speak
She lives once more
And when my mother tells her tales
It is as though I was present for every moment

Every moment when she spoke when she meant to be a "silent woman"
Every room she was in when she was meant to be an "absent woman"

She was vast,
Always more than expected
And always enough for herself


grandmother,  great.

Author: A
+0-
Date: 30/03/2020

№ 1175003

My Great-Grandmother in "Bellevue Asylum for the Insane"

My great-grandmother lived in a time when if you sang too loudly in a public place
Such as on the bus
With no audible music anyone else could hear
You were thrown away
Reported by the sanest of citizens
Locked away in the mental ward of Bellevue Asylum
By your own family

She was an alcoholic
Well, she was Italian
As was that whole part of my family
And Italians like wine
And she liked her wine
Maybe a little bit too much
My grandfather said that by six o'clock
Everyone in the house was screaming
Throwing things
Alcohol-tinged, infant-like fits
The lot of them
Drunk
Every night of the year

But my great-grandmother
She was the only one who carried her drink
In a little metal flask
Tucked in her ragged coat
Took it with her on the bus
On the way to work at a hotel
Where people with enough money
To boost the world's economy
Slept, ate and yelled at her
For forgetting to put a mint on their pillow once
But she just hummed away
Took the flack with a smile
Sipped her poison
And rode the bus back to work
The next day
Drunk
Singing
La Donna e' Mobile

One day though
Her brothers caught up to her
As she was boarding that bus
She was singing again
And smiled
Asked them what they were doing there
And they looked at her
Smiled
And smacked her

They threw her in their car
And took her to Bellvue
In 1947
When the idea of mental health
Was shrouded in ignorance
And scrutiny
And the word "medicine"
Meant electric-shocks to the brain
Submerging in below freezing
Ice-tanks
And
Fiddling around
In people's brains
Through their eye-sockets
With screwdrivers
"Lobotomies"

My grandfather was born in 1945
He was only two when they took his mother away
And only three
When they told him she died
Rotting in the asylum
Experiments done to her
That my family will never know the nature of
Never know how much pain
She sucked up
Never know if the cause of death
Was actually "cirrhosis of the liver"
Or
An officially administered
Botched
Brain-fuck


asylum,  grandmother,  great,  insane.

Author: John
+0-
Date: 06/03/2020

№ 1168235

America Is a Grandmother Named Jones

America is

America is a fern
And we all cultivate it.

America is germinating
And we can't control it.

America is in terms
That I can come to terms with.

America is a way
With words, America is
What it takes to describe
An urban landscape,
America is a blending of voices,
America is a sophisticated
Form of art.
America is a day old
Railroad of the new world
Where the waters have never
Been tested, where our trust
Lies in the ones best at
Acting their part.
America is what we make
Out of a broken home, and
America will be the first to
Cast a stone.
America sees us off, with
Tears, and roses chosen
For us in a dim lit florist.
America already knows
Where to find you,
And that the worst is
Behind you,
America is a Grandmother
Named Jones.


america,  grandmother,  jones,  named.

Author: Shashank Virkud
+0-
Date: 29/02/2020


№ 1128713

"Grandmothers" - I wrote this for my grandmother

There's something special about Grandmothers
That nobody knows
A sweet little kept secret
Like kisses to your nose.

Her heart is made of gold
And filled with honey to the brim
Her eyes were specially picked
From fallen stars that never go dim.

Her spirit comes from rain
That fell from the sky
Caught in God's bucket
And poured to make her alive.

Her legs were made for dancing
And propping when she gets old
They were made from strong tree trunks
Chopped by God's axe made of gold.

Her hands were made from leather
Polished with God's tears
And become soft and papery
After so many years.

Her hair is like the finest silk
Whether it curly or straight
Pulled from God's head himself
And sewn into her scalp on her birthday.

Grandmother's are beautiful
Fashioned after the Lord
Loving, kind, and strong
Trustworthy, intelligent, and adored.

They always know right from wrong
And mend things when they break
Their words like band-aids
Healing up your emotional scrapes.

There's something special about Grandmother's
That nobody knows
A sweet little kept secret
Like kisses to your nose.


grandmother,  grandmothers,  wrote.

Author: Valerie
+0-
Date: 24/01/2020

№ 1126450

Goodbye Grandmother

And then I heard those words of a thousand sorrows.
She won't be back again, and I can't follow.
Her voice will fade, but memories sustain.
Don't let the happy memories disappear in vain.
I can still hear your slippers clicking against the floor.
I can still hear you slowly close that door,
Behind you and leave us without any fear.
You say God has you near,
And there's nothing left to say.
But we all know you're gone and far away.
You saw me dressed up in all black,
Told me I was beautiful...
Those last words you said echo in my heart.
Now the rest of my life is about to start.
I'll grow and learn and you'll be missing.
But you made me promise, so I'll keep going.
Do well in life, and treat your woman right.
Finish school and never lose a fight.
Since then I've fallen and gotten up so many times.
I've filled my head up with so many lies.
So I won't forget the power that you gave me.
I miss you and love you.
You saved me.


goodbye,  grandmother.

Author: Josef Wilhelm
+0-
Date: 22/01/2020


№ 1098950

Grandmother's genius of piss

Ivan's grandmother is a leather hipster who
Once claimed to have bedded John Lennon
& Andy Warhol in a threesome; she was that
Type of teenager; how she got to be so old on
LSD & heroin in a miracle in itself; she
Smokes many packs a day & drinks bottles
Of vodka; she breastfed Ivan despite his protests
& taught him all he knows about communist
Poetry; Ivan is a socialist realist although his
Grandmother is a dye-hard psychedelic who'll
Believe in free love til her grave; to Ivan
She's a weird old witch & he catches her piss
In a jar staying up all night sniffing the piquant
Urine possessed of ancient ancient Russian
Spirits & he sees sprites & faeries dancing
About the feild he's sitting in; old Russian
Moon sable cloaked Princess daughter of
Czarina Sun & Czar Sky; as the beautiful
Hands of dead Russian maidens reach up
From the ground & grab him as they rise up
Naked & dancing; unable to write by mere
Moonlight after guzzling his grandmother's
Piss Ivan lays back & let's the poem's words
Fill his dreams w/ the fires of Muscovy where
The princesses died & were burned w/ poems
In their folded hands written in golden ink


genius,  grandmother.

Author: Johnny NoiПЂ
+0-
Date: 28/12/2019

№ 1097194

Sinister Condiments of a Spiritual Grandmother

I have heard the haunted whispers of screaming and necrophliac anguish from the depths of the eerie crypts of ancient mausoleums.
There is a damp smell in disused railway tunnels which generates a fearful sense of grateful awareness.
Flying down the streets in astral projections of nocturnal liberation reminds me of the warmth of hateful urinary incontinences.
Does a Gold Star adequately represent a brand of brown sauce, or does it represent something else? Please enlighten me, as the guise of Rabatak inscriptions unravel phallic dismay.


grandmother,  sinister,  spiritual.

Author: David Barr
+0-
Date: 26/12/2019

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