Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
A light came into the world,
Wearing a long dress,
The nicest smile,
Carrying the greatest heart of gold.

That light had a son:
Our best friend, father and Grandad,
The most wonderful other half
To an already lovely woman.

Together they had a family,
Joining heritages,
Crossing seas,
Found themselves in Leeds.

But that was only the beginning of the journey:
Between the weekend trips with their good friends,
The cruises where they laughed and danced,
Wearing his best bow tie;

To the sofa days,
Keeping up with the Gaelic.
A man with many loves,
And Ireland remained one.

I remember when Grandad would visit home,
And he would share stories of their travels.
He was so kind-hearted, and so accepting.
His mother's light shone on him.

Years pass us too quickly.
Thank you for being a great father to my father and his siblings, and the wives and husband they love too.
Thank you for giving Granny such a wonderful journey in this life. May her voice still linger in your ears.
And thank you for being our Grandad. Our days with you will never be forgotten.

***
Copyright © All Rights Reserved Joanne Heraghty
J J Mar 16
Your absence will be so felt I cannot picture it until it happens
and I breathe in the air of a room you will never breathe in again.
A good day often preludes the worst news. You were gone as soon
as I found out you were hospitalised.
Your sly remarks, and laughter that took so much effort to get,  I always feel so empty reading that kind of news, that was yesterday and I had things to do today and so I had to sleep and wake up and sleep again, dreaming about telling family about your passing, it's always a confusing first few minute's after waking up to face the next day after a death.

I thought you were about to die atleast ten years ago,
You were in a bad state but survived and seeked salvation in the Holy Father and I do hope you found peace in his light, I hope you were not too scared although it's a side too terrifying to empathise with until you make it there or you don't,
And I'm so glad I got to meet you again and know you again
And you will be missed, you did exist and stated your presence until old age
and you were a fine old man with your own stubborn sense of care and humour and it's hard to believe I heard your voice just weeks ago
-but it always is, isn't it? At this point I will be surrounded by death until I die myself, so it is and so be it-
You were gold washed out by sunlight and buried in sand, as you limped and trembled with every step and sat and spoke in a burnt voice with rectangular spectacles dipping the bridge of your bruised-looking nose
Papercrowns and bad jokes from cheap crackers on the last two Christmas', death always expected and life always taken for granted when living in the moment
  bored as hell and passing time that has all so clearly passed now.

I am not looking forward to seeing your empty silent chair, it all hit me today although I kept myself busy, but
I always end up alone and in agonising pain some point of the day or another
and I've had the whole day to process your death and every other death and draw all my same useless conclusions and hypothesis and rerun memories in a way to make sense of a person no longer being. So it is, so be it.

I walk through every day staring out head blank as **** and barely say a word to anyone and aslong as I'm unbothered I stay that way. I saw some traits in you that went beyond any blood-relation, perhaps that says so much more about me though, atleast, if nothing else, we could both agree: it was always a good night to stay inside.

Hysteria Hysteria Hysteria.
Written 5th March 2 0 2 4

Published today where we said our last goodbyes and lowered his coffin down and into forever. God bless.
Gabriel May 2022
I rest, as once more
my legs are crossed upon the floor;
the old armchair not looms but graces
the room, and our two listening faces.

Conversation leads the wane,
the world waxes, yet I remain,
the armchair not yet old but so;
solemn comes and solemn goes.

But long since years have passed me by,
nineteen there, twenty nigh,
and still the armchair's yet to fade;
in grace and hope, and heart pervade.

And silent sit I lend my ear
to stories told first time this year,
of decades past and my existence
just a spark, universal resistance.

Generations part the seas
like Moses, only I believe
in stories told from familiar tongues,
not sung, and yet exist in song.

The armchair rests in praise and strength,
the day shall pass, familiar length;
and that familiar person there
much to rely, and all to share.

In trust, in grace, in hearted love,
and stories from which I will carve
a narrative in which I fit;
one day this armchair, I shall sit.
I wrote this for my grandad when I was around 19. He has since passed, and in the latter months of his life I was his carer. I miss him every day, and that old armchair in which he sat and talked to me about life.
Ind Feb 2022
I wonder why it took another mans tears for your ears to open to the truth.
Years I’ve spent crying over you,
Getting drunk off the whiskey residue on your skin,
Spinning in and out of your life
Alarmed and dizzy.
A meteorite that never quite hit the mark.

How were you to know you used to be the sun,
That you’d cast us into an ice age?
We will orbit you until there is nothing,
Spinning ourselves into oblivion.

I wrote once that your hands cradled dust,
But that doesn’t do justice the worlds your hands crafted
Or the lives you lived.
A father, first and foremost.
It saddens me I will never know all your children.
I doubt you feel despair that you never knew them either.
20.09.21
Zywa Jan 2022
A glimpse of grandad,

he left immediately --


yet I still smell him.
"Außer sich" ("Beside Myself", 2017, Sasha Marianna Salzmann)

Collection "Ya, a tightrope walk"
Alan S Jeeves Apr 2020
If grandad really loved me...
(he told me so, he said)
He recited scary stories
As I lay in my bed.

He lit the fire that warmed me
And kept it burning bright,
He gave me cheer throughout the day
And comfort through the night.

He shared my weekend tea with me,
We two a jolly team;
Pouring out the ginger beer
And serving cakes and cream.

His cleverness he lent to me
And showed me what to do
He taught me how to spell my name
Keep my own council too.

But granddad never told me,
And I could ne'er perceive;
If grandad really loved me so
Why, then, did he leave?

                              ASJ
Hugo Pierce Jan 2020
the root was missing,
but paired with the grand prefix,
depicts all I need.
Next page