Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
My sweet little gran-mire is 94 Years old.
She still works, as the chairwoman of the family trust
- you can call her “Godfather.”

The “frail old lady” is a humorous disguise she dons
to bamboozle the unwitting - think tiger stripes.

Don’t be fooled, or lulled and don’t ever try to BS her.
The business cosmos wheels behind those eyes.
Her heart was replaced with an abacus, centuries ago.
She’s met everyone in the world who matters.
She has body guards and minions.

Tonight there’s a small birthday party
at the Musée Marmottan Monet (museum) in Paris.

When she comes in, the 40 or so guests formed
an impromptu receiving line - so I queued up too.

Stewards regularly pass and I manage to gulp down
two flûtes of champagne while on line (I LOVE Paris).
This has the makings of a great party.

Finally, it was my turn. we cheek kissed.
I took her small, gloved hand in mine
and it struck me that little white gloves are genius.

“Thank you for inviting me,” I said
inching closer because the music was loud,
“Nothing tops a big-budget party.” I said.
“We agree.” she said with a nod.
“Happy Birthday.” I mouthe.
We cheek kissed again and I moved on so the conga-line could progress.

Ooo! Another steward!
Imagine what all you could experience in 94 years.
Shwetha sb Jul 13
Old woman lying warm on her bed,
never knowed, her life would be so good

Old man holding hands of hers,
reminded her about their past years of love and trust

Children standing next to her bed,
looking at her eyes, smiling with raining eyes

Grand children appreciating grandmama's recepe,
and shared with her,their funny old tales

Her eyes searched for someone more,
there stood at the door with a warm smile,her old good bestie...
S R Mats Jun 22
My granny loved Banny hens.
They are small but they can be feisty.
Just as was she.
I’m in the dream again:                not the one I had while awake in
the catacombs of St. Callixtus in Rome.  Where the darkness was
so impenetrable that it began to echo.  To look like the mixture of colors
that burst when you rub your eyes too hard for too long.  Like the
neuron rupture before death.  To shape and morph and become liquid.
Where the darkness cobbled itself into a physical form.

Not the dream where                    I kept seeing
flits of my mother out of the corner of my eye.  Behind
                                                                ­                               every street corner.
                                                                ­                   Every turn.  Every tunnel.  
      Reflected in the casts of the bodies in Pompeii.
Mirrored in the waves of the Trevi Fountain.

I’m in the dream where          the soil churned from the bottom to the top.  
                               where          the hand outstretched from the grave.  
                               where          my grandfather clawed his way out and returned to my grandmother﹘sopping wet, covered in thick mud, socks torn, skin sallow and jaundiced, spitting out the wire the embalmers put in his mouth, melting makeup, and ravenously hungry.  And it’s been so
                                                                ­                   long since he was hungry.  

“He came back to me, Taylor,” my grandmother tells me. 
“He came back to me.”
                                        I don’t have the heart to tell her that he’s undead.  
                                        I’m physically unable to spit out those words.
And it’s a dream and it’s a dream and it’s a dream,                   but
it just fits so perfectly.  That he would come back to her.  
That death would not be a barrier.  I can’t explain it.                It just is.  
My grandmother is a shell without him.  
The body that’s missing the limb.  
The body that keeps score.
write your grief prompt 10: amorphous prompt
Anna May 14
pink
a light shade of rose
they said it's what you liked
what you would've chose

but how could anyone know?
how could they tell?
once your memory began slipping
and your motivation fell

hell, you didn't know my name anymore
for that, i will never be mad
at you at least
and I'll forever be sad
that i couldn't know who you were

because i know that message
didn't do you justice

they should've said more
how you fought
how you were
before

because in my mind
i like to think
you weren't that silent pretty pink
but perhaps bolder
perhaps a red
daring and loving
more than we could ever express

and now i say goodbye
to you, shrouded in pink
and in my head, i think
"Is this what you have wanted?"
for us to laugh, to drink?
to talk with you in the room, holding a permanent blink?

and i wonder
where you are
they say heaven
and i reckon
it's true; you were an angel on Earth
at least that's what i heard
because i don't remember much
but i loved you and i want you to know
i'm thinking of you now and hope you're happy
wherever now you call home.
Night falls like a heavy blanket
As the smell of rain wafts off the pavement,
Wheels of my father’s truck carrying us homeward.
The mountains stand like shadowed specters,
Black against a cloud covered sky,
Moon too shy to peak out from behind
The curtains of leftover moisture.
I hum a choked-up rendition of
Stairway to Heaven that plays across the radio waves.
Tonight, we are driving home from celebrating my grandmother’s
90th birthday.
My soul aches with the joy of sharing this occasion with her
And the sadness of watching as age catches her in life’s race.
I count my blessings that I have been gifted this moment,
For one never knows how many lie around the corner.
She is the most amazing person I’ve had the opportunity to meet.
If I could be granted the rest of my life be spent in her company,
It would still be too short.
Love reminds me that sometimes the best things in life
Are the ones that hurt the most to lose,
Yet I would not trade a moment’s loving her
For an ounce less pain.
It is worth it to love her so completely
For as long as time will let me.
Diesel Feb 25
the strongest woman in the world
encased in body of four-feet:
and tiny hands that stretch alone-
how they've made my everything.
ShininGale Jan 29
ℑ'𝔪 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔞𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔭𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢,
𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔩𝔦𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔡𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢.

𝔄𝔰𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔭 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔞𝔡, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥.
𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞 𝔡𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔥 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔞𝔡, 𝔞𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔞𝔶.

𝔇𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤 ℑ 𝔞𝔦𝔫'𝔱 𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲, ℑ 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔤𝔞𝔩 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞 𝔣𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔤𝔲𝔶𝔰...𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶, 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔨𝔢𝔭𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔡𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔶, 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔤𝔲𝔶𝔰 𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔯.

𝔗𝔬 𝔪𝔶 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔥𝔬 ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔬 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔶,
       ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔫, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔰𝔬 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 ℑ 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝐼𝒩𝒟𝐸𝒫𝐸𝒩𝒟𝐸𝒩𝒯𝐿𝒴... 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔪𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔢𝔯.
010290202104023PM
It's my sisters birthday and my grandmother was eating with us she told us she's happy and I am too, my immediate family isn't the ones written in my letter/poetry. in fact, we are the ones who dreamed to have a better life away from all the chaos, my lola doesn't deserve being USE/D. I will be a better person now and in the near future.

THAT IS ALL FOR NOW, HAVE A GREAT DAY!!! I JUST FELT WRITING THIS TO MAKE YOU GUYS KNOW  THAT IT'S NOT ABOUT BEING SMART NOR RICH, IT'S BEING WISE AND HUMBLE.

"What is a smart person without a good heart??".

                                                                                                                 ~Good Day!~
Kara Shirlene Jan 22
Though you are both gone
From this Earth;
There's a gift you gave me
At my birth.

It fills a place
In my heart.
I felt it there
From the start.

You passed to me
Your wisdom, kindness, honesty.
And the passion
For writing poetry.
I cannot tell you
Just what that means.

The flutter of a Butterfly
Will always be
A beautiful sight
And the symbol of your memory
In my soul and in my mind.

In my heart
I will always feel you there,
Because a Grandmother's Love
Is the everlasting gift you shared.

Thank you for your examples & legacy.
Thank you for inspiring me.
Thank you both for sharing your life
Through written words and poetry.
And thank you both for your
Grandmother's Love you left with me.

🦋💜🦋
©KSS 1/22/2021
{written in memory of my grandmothers: The two beautiful women who inspired me to begin writing poetry at a very young age. You are in my heart, always.}
Next page