"grandbaby" poems
Isaiah you are such a joy. I don't think that I've ever met anyone so happy. Even when you cry you try to smile. You are so innocent and I love that.
You see only the good in everyone.
I can't believe that you belong to me and there is not one mean bone in your body. How did this happen? We can't always understand how our babies become so much better than we are. We can just thank Jehovah that it is so. Your Lovey loves you to the moon and back.
My first grandbaby and first grandson.
I love you with all of my being. You are my sun, moon and stars. Your knowledge for technology is beyond believable. My Izzy baby I look forward to seeing the amazing little person you become.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
Handprints I left on the window of the homemade bread factory
When I was thirteen years of age.
That was my time of adolescent memory,mixed with moral decay.
My father had left me, mother was sold out to *** pills, and her grave.
I was a fiber bug to the world of technology,
Just trying to escape.
The homemade bread factory was Nana's. My daddy's mother.
Me and Nana cooked real Mexicali dishes, made butterfly catches, and dream catchers to go with my teen wishes.
Nana's house was the bread factory.
The factory no longer up and runs.
How I miss Nana, her cooking, her being momma and daddy both.
I miss Nana's love the most,
How our Nana's can be daddy and mother at the same time.
Gods gift to any grandbaby.
Rest
Peacefully sweet Nana
R.I.p
Maria boudega conshito.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
The trees overlapped
overhead creating a warm
cloister.
Harvey's car cooed past
the vibrant green
and sputter-stopped
at the plastic, fishhead
mailbox.
He drove up the grey gravel drive,
hopped out of his car and
with eager stride
headed toward
the door of the widow Prine.
"Hello, Harvey," Mrs. Prine
greeted from behind the screen
in her always-sugary-hushed tone.
"Hey, Mrs--I mean hello, Margaret."
"Haha, you remembered this time.
C'mon in, sweetie."
Harvey's steps matched gentle creaks
in wooden floor.
Pictures of Mrs. Prine's
three children lined the walls.
"That's Mattie, Cindy's baby. My first grandbaby,"
Mrs. Prine beamed.
"She's a cutie."
"Well thank you," Mrs. Prine picked up
some magazines lying on the couch,
"feel free to sit here. Can I get you something to drink?
Some wine, maybe? It's a red."
"Sure, sure. Sounds good."
Mrs. Prine stepped into the kitchen,
as the evening news played at a barely
audible volume.
"Oh Lord. I forgot to put the wine in the
fridge, Harvey."
"That's okay, Mrs. Prine. I can--"
"Margaret."
"Margaret, I can drink it warm."
"How about some ice cubes?"
"That works too."
Mrs. Prine's husband died
driving an 18-wheeler,
six-miles outside of Dallas
two or three years ago.
One of the few times
a sedan won a war
against a big engine.
Her cheek bones
jutted sharply from
her face,
deep crimson lipstick
and light eyeshadow
emphasized her
few deep wrinkles,
as if she wore them
with pride.
They sat sipping lukewarm
red wine, saying nearly nothing--
touching only during commercial
breaks.
When the news ended,
Mrs. Prine grabbed Harvey's hand,
led him to the bedroom,
filled with pictures of her and her husband.
The love they made--
textbook in its precision,
light in its passion--
finished chapter,
Harvey reached for his cigarettes.
"Sweetie, please don't smoke in here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Margaret."
Harvey stared at her old life's relics,
wrapped his arm around her,
pulled her naked flesh against his,
a summer breeze crawled through
open window,
and Harvey said,
"So, tell me more about your husband."
Mrs. Prine smiled, brushed her hair
out of her eyes,
and with a retrospective sigh,
she began.
May 19, 2011
May 19, 2011 at 5:31 PM UTC
In the dark velvet lining of a humid gilded box
is a little china doll:
a delicate charm for her grandmother's gold bracelet.
She lies languid. Her sinews are chains and her bones glass.
Light swarms through her: a mess of wispy snakes.
At noon
it bounces wildly like the pinball game
she's heard so enthusiastically described
in a wildly raucous rock and roll song.
Tentatively she reaches for the stars painted through her hair
raised a bit like brail and hot to the touch.
They're made of fire billions of miles away.
They have halos radiant at midnight.
At midnight
the humid gilded box
is damp and muggy and she twists and wakes
sullen with panic and covered in stardust.
The grime of the moon coats her gingham dress,
collected as she skidded to home plate.
Precious Darling,
Bless her heart,
for unbeknownst to her the humid gilded box
is within a teapot,
upon a shelf,
within a cupboard,
beside a grandfather clock
that chimes at each curly hour and rattles the gilding
so that as the hours pass - as the days disappear:
her darling little precious box
dims like the tapestry her grandmother hung
to mourn the grandfather clock.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
I love your hands
So beautiful
So strong
The way your fingers dance
upon the fretboard
as you play a song
The tenderness in your fingers
as they caress my cheek
something you always do
before drifting off to sleep
The warmth
of your hand
as I take yours in mine
As we stroll through the bush
birds singing
the weather fine
How gentle they are
As you hold
our grandbaby in your arms
Nurturing
full of love
and always so calm
Playing the guitar
made your hands strong
I love their beautiful shape
your loving fingers long
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
You didn't even recognize
Your own ******* daughter.
After
Seven years of absence.
Seven years of change.
Seven years of silence.
Seven years of growing up without you.
And you write a ******* email
To reiterate how good life is
Now that you've abandoned your family
To pursue the life you felt
We kept you from?
Never asking how your daughter is.
Never asking if the child she held in her arms
Was your grandbaby, your ******* flesh and blood.
Never asking a single question
That would focus any shred of attention
On anyone but you.
What. The. Hell?
Sometimes the universe is gracious
And answers our theoretical questions.
Mine had been "What would you say to me?
What would you think of the woman I've become?"
Now I know the answer because
Your dead soulless eyes and selfish letter
Say everything for you:
"Frankly, I don't give a ****
Well, guess what,
Woman-I-will-no-longer-call-Mom,
I don't give a **** about you either.
You're dead to me--just a ghost.
And we all know the truth about ghosts:
They aren't real.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
I am a wailing infant swaddled in my crib,
warm with love.
I am a playful toddler lying on the pavement with scraped knees,
blind with tears.
I am a running child on the playground at noon,
breathless and free.
I am a defiant teen hunched over on the curb,
hopeless and broken.
I am a wonderstruck bride bathed with white,
full of life.
I am a lonesome wife curled up in an empty bed,
yearning for him.
I am a delighted mother watching my baby drive away,
proud beyond belief.
I am a sorrowful widow standing beside his grave,
abandoned and afraid.
I am a decaying woman holding her first great-grandbaby,
nostalgic but peaceful.
I am a dying elder slipping into the darkness beyond,
eager to rest.
I am
*crushed
love-struck
turbulent
shattered
passionate
fearful
euphoric
anguished
zealous
grief-stricken
victorious*
alive
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
As I observe my Grandbaby girl, she is never without love. Her Father is a Minister, he received his love from God above.
My youngest son cherish his love, for his precious little girl. He treats her with such kindness, cherishing her like a pearl.
He receive such enthusiasm, when he sees her smile. She walks up and down his belly, as if she's racing for a mile.
There is nothing like a love to have, for your precious one. After entertaining her all day, this Father's day is done.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
Some may want to know
why I chose to dig this hole
I'll do my best to explain
I hope this won't sound to strange
breathe
I dug this hole for myself
to shelter me from finding someone else
I already have been hurt many times before
because life is a test of both what you can love and endure
so rather than actively seek things out
I walked away from cupid's twisted speaking mouth
I try not to be bitter but it hurts to see
so many people finding who makes their heart complete.
So thanks life for ******* me over
thank you former friend I should've never gone for ya
thank you much for stripping me of
pride, confidence, and most of all ability to love
So I guess for awhile alone I'll stay
I'll probably get calls from mom "Why don't I have a grandbaby!"
Well sorry mom I keep getting stabbed
in the heart like it's a practice dummy
and I think it's funny that I was so stupid
to what people can do you'd think I wouldn't ve living proof that love is a twisted crazy old fiend that plays havoc with itself and bends on our dreams
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Life is like a camera, so,
We must capture each moment
Like a pro, with the important
Of being sweet and innocents as
We held them closer to our hearts,
the eyes of her grandmothers
The fingers of her father,
Said its all, a princess of both worlds
Our number one girl, Nyla
And old saying, if we raise our children right
And without spoil them,
We will not have to end up raising our grandbabies,
Her mother smiles when her baby smiles
A grandmother laughs out loud
When her grandbaby gurgle at her
As she coo and make eyes contact,
We just have to listen to find real poetry,
As we make any day with Nila our favorite day,
Pink looks well on her, as we capture,
The beauty of an adventure future Queen,
I saw adventure,
I saw the colors of the rainbow,
I saw Ilene smiling in heaven,
I saw prophet, prophesying,
I saw two families coming together from different world,
The cool color of pink symbolizes the joy of happiness
As I listen to the sound of real poetry
My cousin, our sweet pea, my cotton candy,
Our baby Nila..
,
Jan 8, 2023
Jan 8, 2023 at 12:22 PM UTC
Where life's headed
I'm not sure
For your illness
has no cure
I can't hide from the world
stay curled up in bed
Gonna grab the bull by its horns
and move forward instead
Fill our world with
warmth
love
cheer
Spend time with
family and friends
people we hold dear
Friends come visit
guitar in hand
to play you harmonious tunes
Afternoons filled with
fun and music
ending all to soon
Family days
stories past and present
lots of chatter
these days always pleasant
Our grandbaby
a little girl
Fills our world
with giggles and sqeals
Most days there's music and laughter
some times we sing and dance
Plus we take you driving
whenever we get the chance
Have to stay positive
make the most
of our time
Don't know what else I can do
but love you with this heart of mine
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 10:19 AM UTC