"gramps" poems
I remember the restaurant,
The one Grandpa
Had brought us to –
Window panes in patriotism
And pancakes atop, “America,”
The world revolved,
“America,”
And how we’d made it
“Home” –
So came the syrup, destiny
And fervor caked powder plate.
He knew of my toil, ills, and tolls
Pandered atop horizons
Hindered Mao and red
As we sat near dawn over coffee
And something south of
Conspiracy – opposite my dream
And collusion to **** said
Destiny,
But it was still, “his
America,” not mine and he’d
Sleep when I wouldn’t.
So it pained me, resonant a twitch
Within this small inch of
Remnant family, to tell him,
“We’re going back,
We’re leaving tomorrow,”
And, “I don’t know when I’ll be
Home,” gramps,
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be home,”
And he’d say prior ever’d silent –
“Good luck sleeping on that one,
Son,” I just know he would.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 9:39 AM UTC
I was called a troll today,
I really don't know if I deserved it.
I comment and like but now I feel like ****
She said I'm sure you never thought I would leave your comment up.
I'm doing so , so that every body can see you this far
the *** WIPE YOU REALLY ARE.
So sorry they didn't nominate your *** for the Grand WIZARD
BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME ***** go crawl like a lizard.
Sorry for this old troll who pay me a visit,
I know some of yall saw him...Lord Have Mercy...
Go to the activity room in the nursing home somewhere in Jersey.
Play BINGO OR SOMETHING don't know what gramps problem was
I think they did it to make you think it is someone
you don't know. Stupid *** people need a real woman
I just do not reply back.
Trolls can make themselves any age any ***
I am blessed not to be sick and homeless.
if they really want views all they have to do is ask
will I help out and share their vid...I will do just that!
depends on what they're talking about....Just dont try to combat.
My guess is Trolls are people looking for views and are bighearted
next time you should think before you sound ********
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
*how.the.simplest.of.things.swell
to
magnified.import*
1.
no more drawing lines in the sea-sand
frolicking with flirty fun-waves
(like before)
no more pure-playing in the fields
chasing magenta-and-green butterflies
(like before)
2.
Mama, come home . . . where are you?
Papa, it’s time to plant the beans
Sister …
Brother …
Gramps …
Grand-ma …
Cousin …
Uncle, aunt . . . ??
please . . . where are you all?
3.
all.not.well.on.earth
(like.never.before)
*even.this.small.voice.which.spake.wider.through.innocence
lies.silent.now
beneath.reddish.dry-mud . . .
its.melody.of.truth.heard.
only.in.a
field.of.butterflies
all gone*
no.more.butterfly
S T, 5 sept
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
I remember my old Grampa
And the way he used to look
He had so many stories
He was much better than a book
I remember on our visits
While the folks would head outside
Gramps would get us grandkids
And take us for a story ride
He'd hitch up the hay wagon
We'd get up and off we'd go
Then gramps would start to talking
And so began the show
He'd tell us all the stories
Of our folks when they were young
Some he had to censor,
And sometimes bite his tongue
Now, Grandpa told the stories
Whether we were in or out
And we'd all sit and listen
To what they were all about
When we'd gather by the fire
He'd pull up his rocking chair
He'd have his pipe and all us grandkids
And his dog, Whiskey, always there
We'd all sit in front of Grandpa
We'd want to take in every word
And he would speak up louder
To make sure that we heard
He'd tell us tales of Cowboys
Of bank robbers and the trail
Of how the west became the west
And how his horse once lost his tail
The folks would gather round too
When it was almost time to go
But, Grandpa, being Grandpa
Wasn't set to end the show
See, he'd told the tales forever
To our folks and all their friends
You could tell that some were truthful
And in some the truth....well....bends
The older ones among us
Knew deep down that most were fake
But, to see old Grandpa work the room
Man, that man just took the cake
We'd get together monthly
All us kids stayed close to home
We weren't like lots of others
Who had that built in urge to roam
The stories, we'd learn later
Were mostly from TV
He'd be talking of those cowboys
And of how things used to be
A few years back we lost him
His dog had up and died
Gramps old heart was broken
He couldn't take it, though he tried
My brother tells the stories,
Not as good as Gramps at rhyme
But, the kids all hunker round him
I'm sure that he'll be good in time
We still go on the hayrides
Tell ghost stories now instead
To all us grown up grandkids
We still hear grandpa in our head
Each month we get together
There's near a hundred now in all
The kids go with my brother
And he tells tales ten feet tall
The stories are consistent
Of old cowboys and the west
I can close my eyes and listen
And still like Grandpa's versions best
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 11:47 PM UTC
My wife's father
Never gave me acceptability for his
Grown daughter
He came to except me later
When I impregnated
His daughter
Then the father in law
Liked me
Don't understand that one.
So it took my seed
Into a wet dream
Too make him like me!
And now many grand babies
Entice me
On grandpa's knee's
They say grampy please
Please just give us one dollarino
For one toy from,
San Francisco.
I always give in
To their pocket-thief smiles
They seem to like stealing away
Gramps old farting heart.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 6:13 AM UTC
Last Christmas grandmother told anyone who would listen that she quit the wine. She said it once as my father cracked open a bottle of *** She said it again serving the ham; mentioned it in passing while gramps polished off a bottle of Malbec;
she said that last summer in the hot-tub at Laurie’s she had a bit too much Sangria and got out and fell on the pavement, cutting up her knees real bad ---
she said that she couldn’t even believe it was happening, she couldn’t believe that she drank so much. I could believe it.
Gram had always been a bit of a drinker; her sober stinging words caught you good enough even when she was on her best behavior. Imagine when she was unhinged! Talking while her teeth were all red was like getting sucker punched by a kangaroo; Gramps got all loose and loud, Gram got all hot and bothered and mean.
Don’t get me wrong. If I could, I’d drown in a pool of whiskey, choke on the amber stream from the tap.
But I don’t lie about it! I don’t talk about it; I don’t lie about it.
I’ve been sneaking sips since I was 14,
and I’ve been drinking pools of the stuff since I was 17 and if you asked anyone they might not believe you.
I wonder if punching people in the face and choke holding them into doing what you want them to do is a past-time. Most people drink to get nice.
People like her drink to get mean.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
Gramophone records play
Scratch, play, scratch, play
Soft in the background, edging into me
Slow and easy, gentle waves.
Granny, play me La Wally again
Turning, spinning, round and round
Take me away on audio-pearls
Peace whirls me on a magic dance.
Pappa, hide the ugly monsters
Keep me safe in Noddy and Pat tales
I'd rather be caught in merry tune
Than in webs of yonder folk out there.
Momma, put on Golden Slumbers
"Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby"
Yes, I find my way homeward...
Gramps, sing me a Holliday song
The kind that lifts one so high
With Mammy and Pappy blessing all of me
Yes my happiness, I've got me own!
Dear Heaven, open windows and walls
Swirling, flowing its beautiful energy
Sore needed peace and beauty
That no eye can truly see.
Star Toucher, 02 March 2013
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
Section 25, Lot 1115…Gate of Heaven Cemetery….Hawthorne New York
Number 3 in your program, number 1 in your hearts.
Gramps would tell me all the stories and what a big deal they made when he walked up to bat.
Number 3..3..3, Babe..babe…babe…, Ruth..ruth..ruth! Followed by the roar of loving fans!
Today Babe, I’m leaving you a Sabretts hotdog & a fifth of Scotch.
I know you’re out there cooling off under a shade tree with a cabbage leaf on your head.
1-2-3 who are rooting for? Well it ain’t those lousy Red Sox's!
It’s the Babe doing the walk up to “Ain’t She Sweet, See her walking down the street."
The cathedral of baseball, the Bronx Zoo,
The House that Ruth built right there at 161st and River.
You just can't beat the person who never gives up!
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
It seems like every night
I see those amazing bright lights
They are so far up in the sky
I can hardly see them
I like it like that
My mother calls them stars
While my gramps called them little bright suns
I don't really know what they are
But they give me hope
When I was 4 I found a little white book
It was full of amazing picture of them
After my friend left
It felt like the only way I could see her
Was though the little suns in the night sky
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
Kick in an amp or something
Break a couple rules
Let out all this angst at nothing
Just break down and rock
I need to cut The Punk loose
I've tied him up too long
Let me ease my ****** off loud-mouthed soul
With some nasty
******
Noisy
Rock 'n' roll
Let me yell until my voice hurts
And play til my fingertips bleed
Feel the beat that my gramps said would send me to Hell
Yeah...
That sounds sweet.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
I miss that place
Where I used to be:
My childhood land
With the lilac tree.
I miss that grass,
And those golden fields,
The times we used twigs
For our makeshift shields.
I miss that pond,
With the brand-new deck,
Where we’d use a canoe
To make our trek.
I miss that barn,
With the musty stalls,
Which I never minded,
Never minded at all.
I miss the house
On the big, tall hill
With the dark green shutters
Above the windowsills.
I miss our swings
And the climbing tree
That stained our hands
And feet and knees.
I miss the horses
And their comforting smell
With sparkling eyes that
Held my secrets well.
I miss the path running
Through the woods
Where I skipped and laughed
As lively as I could.
I miss my grandfather
and his good ol’ dogs
and doing chores
and catching frogs.
I miss my grandmother
And her sweet smile
As I sat in her kitchen
And did dishes awhile.
I miss those strays,
The cats we had,
Whose kittens we’d catch
And get scratched real bad.
I miss those days
As we lay in the sun
Soaking up all the rays
And just having our fun.
I miss those cats,
And their colorful fur,
Especially Buttercup,
My favorite, her.
I miss dear Grandma
And her warm hugs
And her talent and her laugh
And her homemade rugs.
I miss ol’ Gramps,
And his mischievous ways
and him talkin’ fast
and us balin’ the hay.
I miss that path
That meandered in the trees
Where the branches creaked
And whispered in the breeze.
I miss the horses,
And the bridle leather
And feeding them oats
In all kinds of weather.
I miss the swing,
All knotted and worn,
And the mulberry tree
Where our clothes were torn.
I miss that hill,
With our little house,
That held just us
And sometimes a mouse.
I miss that barn
With the stalls and hayloft
Where the sparrows gathered
And the hay was soft.
I miss the pond
Where my favorite horse died
And I sat next to the water
And I remember I cried.
I miss the grass
That grew thin and tall
And hid all the bugs
And stole our baseballs.
I miss that place
From my childhood,
But I’ll never forget it.
I don’t think I could.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 5:57 PM UTC
Don't judge me by my farmer's beard
Don't judge me by my farming hand's
Don't judge me when your getting that judgement back
Don't judge me when your you I'm me, that's a gramps fact.
Don't judge me if youve never worked a day in your life
Don't judge me because I'm a little younger than my wife
Don't judge me if you have never met me
Don't judge me if you wanna play poker and bet me.
Don't judge me.
I'm a farmer.
The one who grows your food.
The one who made your land.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
Someone called me a wild caveman today
Guess who that little voice was who told me that
My grand baby
What a treasure for gramps.
She is right
Im as wild as two baboons babooning in a room from a cheap
Hotel.
Im wild .
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Hiya gramps,
It's been a long time since I said hello
Not that I forgot about you though
It's just that things have been going kind of slow
I miss you, you just don't know
Honestly wish you never had to go
Life would have been so much easier wouldn't you say so
These tears wouldn't be flying like rain drops in the sky
Wouldn't be clinching this string so tight
Struggling not to say forget it all and just die
Belive me it's rather tempting but I could never bring myself to do it
Always thought about that deathly frown you'd give me
And that judgemental shake of the head
Followed by the famous "I love you, but you got to try again"
Well anyways I just wanted to say hi I'm doing fine
You'd be so proud of me if you were still alive
For you and I I'll survive
Rest in peace grandpa I love you so much
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 4:38 AM UTC
This.
Is an ode
to Hip Hop
to Bob Sop
and Rob Top.
You flop mop the back drop
And sweep the front shack shop.
"I CAN'T HEAR ****
Well.
Listen up gramps and stop licking those stamps cuz I got a bit more for ya then this sweet little dance.
Lemme tell you a story
of a few men who gotta bit more then glory.
We got 2-PAC, wutang, and snoop Dogg with a ciggie.
Eazy-E, Jay Z, Eminem and Biggie
Outkast to outlast 2000? I mean really.
Ice cube and Cool J won't keep it too hot.
Need a shot for the cold you just caught?
il throw you a deal- 50 Cent,
and dr. Dre?
He's yours, all yours
but just for the day.
Run Dmc, busta rhymes, slick rick, and tech nine
Oh! And a tribe called quest.
Alright. Ok.
Il give it a rest.
Dear gramps. Dear grams.
Just want you to know
these men- they're the best.
Now let's go to the show!
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 5:54 PM UTC
it’s so simple
I just have to cry. for a while.
I know heaven is the only perfect place for you to rest now
and met up again with your beloved one
my Granny
hope God do take care of you two in his place.
I do missing the smell of your black coffee
mix with your high nic ciggar
I do missing your deep voice calling out my name
the way you talk
the way you see the world and just try to fix it a little.
you have an awesome kids
my father just as tough as you
and hope that also running in my blood
Sorry gramps I always being a little late in everything
if only I could have a chance to spend another day with you
even just for an hour I’ll be sitted next to you just to watch
and listen carefully to the story of your life.
and I do hate the part of being grow up
I dont have any spare time to spend with my old man
with you gramps
Now I have come to understand
the way it is, the way of life.
you’ve got this look I can’t describe
without a doubt you’re on my side
and it always gonna be my biggest mistake
not being there to give my last honor to you Gramps..
in your honor
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 10:47 PM UTC
Hey!
you!
yeah you!
you big fat bus!
with your big fat yellow bootay!
i'm just trying to get to the park,
when out of the dark,
of the trees,
there you be.
Four
FOUR
FOUR stops in four steps
no more
i swear.
sitting in my car
the minutes of my life
little grains of sand
sifting away.
little feet
and little legs
can you possibly
move any slower
across that street?
heavy with packs.
when did kids start
carryin' full backpacks
for a day a school?
where is that school?
top of Mt Everest?
Hurry up!
GET ON that bus!
get on that big fat bus!
with the big fat yellow bootay!
mama and papa
and gramps and grandma and all
kiss and hug you
like you are really setting off to sea.
gimme a break they'll be back at three!
i say,
now go on,
go on now,
GET ON that bus,
that big fat bus
with the big fat yellow bootay!
and *** your big fat yellow bootay
OUTTA MY WAY!
i say,
hey,
go on now,
get outta my way.
fat bootay
outta my way...
hey hey hey
get outta my way
you big bootay.
you big fat bus
with your big fat yellow bootay.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
With grandpa's avocado farts
As in the days of moses
The red sea parts.
When grandpa gets a chuckle
I'm contagious
Pretty outrageous
Your naughty sincere uncle.
When gramps takes off his pants
Let's dance.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
How can I get my woman's clothes off
When I can't even manage
To get off my own
I feel as if I need a store dresser to undress me"
But who cares
Clothes or not
Gramps still does
What gramps has to do,
Even with his clothes
Still on.
Now that
Is accomplishing,
A task!
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
The night he died he sat on the bed amid
my drum museum and thought about that time
at Christmas, how we hiked up Vincent’s Peak
to Leo Hightower’s log cabin with a box
of cornflakes and pancake batter all ready-made,
but with no knives or forks to eat them with.
He thought about that patch of pumpkins we
found frozen in the snow up there, a whole field full
of hued orange snow, once bright, now half eaten
by skunks and ***** Eau’ de parfum de melon.
Memory, Gramps, your new pied-á-terre. He smiled and
took out his teeth. He tapped my tin drum one
last time—my mother heard—to signal earth,
her mist, his wish, their presence, ours.
He died amid what pumpkins’ say when cut
apart, for it was Halloween that night, and all the timpani…
well, the timpani try to talk come Halloween,
you know , just as the pumpkins try to die.
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 20, 2011 at 5:42 PM UTC
had to
give a speech
at a funeral,
tried to leave them laughing,
happy to be sad.
but i done it.
whipped those rivulets
back up and into
those emptying tear ducts.
bring on the next act,
be prepared, scouts,
to exercise your
laughs lines.
you see,
when the deceased
and me,
walked twenty paces
behind you,
close enough that y'all
could not hear,
we cackled and cracked jokes,
in joyous wonderment
of our own foibles,
drunk silly on our silliness.
the jokes went from
bad to worse,
the worse it got,
the harder
we laughed.
so i ask you this?
did you're hear the one about
the grandpa
who asked his grandchild,
could he possibly source
a little yellow pill,
in return for
twenty bucks
under his pillow?
Sure, said the grandchild,
he knew where
his dad kept,
hid his stash,
free cash.
Next morning,
the child found
$120 bucks
underneath his pillow.
asked his grandpa,
what's the story, gramps?
the twenty was from me,
as agreed.
the hundred dollar bill, well,
that was from Grandma.
a true story, maybe.
so long grandpa,
thanks for the good advice,
always leave 'em laughing!
then he broke down,
weeping inconsolable.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC
Been gone for a while
Lost my knack for words
The poet pipe used to be my crack
And I'd splice it with some herb.
But I lost the good vibration
That made me tic the keyboard tac
But some reason now I'm writing again
The youngin age is coming back.
I missed all my fellow typer's,
Penner's, grinners, Weirdo's
Writer's. Dont take ****** word wrong
Because trust me I'm a ****** to,
Hello out there my fellow poet
That's right, Gramps did miss you.
I've been enjoying the sun
Not trapped inside the hellopoetics cube
We all need some getaway time
To come back like a fresh flower
Renewed and refined. So for today
I inscribe my bloodlines time,
Because in time we record our being's,
Today I'm back to make fancy words
And tell you fanciful thing's.
Glad to see you, hello Mr and Mrs
Poetry, hope your doing well\
Gramps missed your typing keys.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 8:52 AM UTC
"This is called the fisherman's hook"
That was my best friend alongside me fishing
Author of life turned the page of the book
Heart bigger than a heart itself
Hunting on Christmas was the only presence I wanted
He was my Santa and I his elf
Trapped in my mind with no release
Sitting under the lights crying "I need you please"
A figure appears
"You are becoming a great fisher of men"
Here I am talking to gramps all over again
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
I recall the man. Sweet, always smiling as in that oak-framed photo above the fire, with that solid stance of a marbled statue and the elevated dignity to match. Now, far beyond his prime, he sits. Still. A frail prisoner to the television, the only sweetness left in the last amber drops at end of the glass – the beginning of the next? – a man delirious from drink and all the rust of long life. Still. Waiting for the sleep.
How the passions go slack, subtly, with passing days.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC