"grandpas" poems
Every couple 'a years or so
Our family reunites
It takes a couple 'a years or so
To recover from the fights
A family like our'n
Doesn't party like most do
Ours gets a little out of hand
That's why we have so few
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's daisy dukes and forty Lukes
They're racing trucks and burning rubber
There's jugs of moonshine everywhere
And at least a hundred bubbas
There's a smoker fired for the food
the size of two large trucks
It hold 4 cows, and fourteen pigs
And at least a hundred ducks
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's pickled this and pickled that
And things you just can't swallow
That used to live down in the swamp
Way back there in the hollow
There's at least ten shotgun weddings there
And the groom might be rail roaded
But, the wedding isn't legal
If the shotgun isn't loaded
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's greased up pigs and muddy runts
And at least ten bobby sues
and when they all get greased up
You can't tell which is who
There's horseshoe pits for tossing shoes
And games of every sort
Most of them aren't legal
And would get you into court
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
But, it's the way we like it
Drinking shine and acting out
Tossing things that aren't tied down
And wrassling about
There's music there of just one kind
It's country and that matters
Any other sort of sound
Sets the crowd off like mad hatters
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's always someone who's so drunk
And it's normally the preacher
Last year we married him off
To the back up first grade teacher
There's Chevy trucks of every kind
And one covered in sod
Mary Lou showed her tattoo
"Jeff Foxworthy is my God"
It's the best time of the year for us
And it's sad when it must end
but, you gotta haul your *** away
When the cops come round that bend
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
I’m an apricot , ripe on the tree - ready for picking
I am a cherry , offering to be popped
3 tequila shots or the equivalent of a blurred memory inside me
my heart is bleeding a little at the acts my body is moving through
i am bleeding a little at the acts my body is moving through
i bleed for 4 days , 5 days.
i am amazed that he pulled out. i find that incredible -
as if a man is wild in the act of mergence and unable to control himself ,
ideas of male/female roles imprinted on me
from parents , **** and public school - where girls are made into women
at 13 ,
we discuss when we will “lose our virginity” i say 15 if i’m ready (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
i should expect him to *** inside me , because i am the subservient woman and he should do as he pleases
i think it magical his heightened awareness -
i see his majestic beauty on his well formed muscles
and the hotel room his family owns , or the kick *** motorbike he drives and the supply of beachfront joints.
and still it is now 1 year later that i am in pain.
a fire on my heart and a sick feeling in my stomach
i am sick because i swallowed the lies and hated myself , i truly believed i was worth that level of respect. the fire burns swiftly in my heart because i am enraged and sorrowful at my ignorance. I am partly ashamed at my lack of empathy
for myself and partly in awe at my magnificence.
We look at virginity as pure , unsoiled.
Pure. Unsoiled.
**** Subconsciously telling our mothers , sisters , aunties and grandma’s that they are ***** for exercising their basic ****** function. Shaming us for feeling pleasure.....the connotations are different for brothers , fathers , uncles and grandpas. A pat of well done on the back , you are now a “man”.............well .. i’ll be ****** it amazes me how these sly , low blows are hidden right in plain sight.
well fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk that !
I know i love myself now
with the respect i would rain down upon any other fellow being .
i wish : for them and me to be able to love without fear, disgust and shame.
i wish to allow my energy from that moment to feed others who need help along their path of self-love.
Now my cosmic womb is treated with respect and reverence
enjoying myself freely.
Oh but , i will say thank you , and a sensi bow , for the lesson learnt.
Never again will i put others on a pedestal they have not earnt.
Especially if it has anything to do with my *****
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
"Has it not never occurred to you," he said, eyes rolling like dice,
"The grab to bake cannot be left undone?
The neck to slip will save the top of leg?
When they lift we ****** the rotten *****
Six trots can win the flat softball netting?
Lost rocks find tabs undone by the grandpas?
It's like unbecomingphilomancy!"
You know what I mean?
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
A few states away, tubes hooked to his veins
Why haven't they told me it's cancer?
"He's getting a couple tests done"
"Don't worry it's nothing ***
Why haven't they told me it's cancer?
I hear the late night phone calls
The "how's he doing" phone calls
I got a little curious
Looked at some of your messages
They said he has cancer
You said pack your bags
We are going to visit
I know he's in the hospital
But you never told me it was cancer
I heard he started the chemo
But I didn't hear it from you
I read dad's email
I just wanted to know
What's wrong with him
What the hell's going on
Never thought it'd be cancer
Last night we got in that fight
I called you a liar
You didn't know why
You don't know that I know
My grandpas got cancer
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
An age old chair, in seasoned teak wood
carved, a perfect work of art, nothing less than
a masterpiece, and a reminder of so much past,
sat regally before our wondering eyes, tempting
on the central court yard of my ancestral home,
where generations lived.
Wanting to sit like my grandpas of yore
I found a carpenter, perhaps the last one for this work
who understands the air that surrounds the chair.
We discussed the concept,
design and the kind of wood
it has to be made,to create a replica
to bring back the grandeur of times past.
But then, found not an easy task it is
"Do you deserve it ?" the bearded
carpenter, was so blunt in his skeptic stance!
He puzzled me with his questions
Yet we were keen to give it a try.
The adamant carpenter relented
after many sessions of questions
and answers, perhaps my passion
did the trick, his eyes made me believe.
He promised to make me a chair
(The kind none would dream in this age)
as if it's a mission divinely assigned,
"You need to change a lot to deserve it"
he insisted, suggests a series of
purification rights "for your confused soul"
"To fit in to a chair like this , fulfill
all it's demands"in my ear he whispered
as if I am the chosen one for an ancient throne.
An antique chair shaped by the imagination
of my distant ancestors, now changes me
and without slightest resistance I submit;
would I ever know what is happening?
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
where is my indian
is it in the way i don't use my palms as a medium to transport rice into the back of my mouth
is it in the way my face turns gloomy at the sight of spice and curry
is it in my skin color that isn't as brown as you need it to be
is it in my eyebrows which aren't as bushy as per your requirements
is it in the way my tongue twists awkwardly as i say happy diwali
is it in the way amma is the most fluent piece of tamil i speak
is it in the way i didn't know how to recite the words at my grandpas funeral
is it in the way i cannot, for the life of me, name you another tamil movie besides chandramukhi?
or
is it in the religious classes i took up until age 12
is it in the ramayana epic that i learnt, age 8
is it in the sanskrit bhajans i was made to sing, not knowing what they meant, age 10
is it in knowing that ganesh is the remover of obstacles,
brahma, vishnu, shiva - the creator, the preserver, the destroyer
is it in the eyeliner drawing a bindi in between my eyes when i
head to the temple, to present myself as indian
where is my indian
is it on a checklist, is there a passing mark?
where is my indian
please tell me,
because i am tired of feeling like a foreigner in my own skin
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
Once there was a carnival.
It was exuberant and joyful,
With elephants and lions befriending the penguins and sea otters,
And little fairy-like acrobats leaping and zooming across tightropes,
As if they were walking on solid ground.
There was a faint smell of funnel cake and cotton candy and popcorn,
And the sound of people chatting animatedly about,
"Wasn't that act precious" or "oh, darling, look at that penguin! Isn't he cute?"
And then I got a little older.
And the carnival was still joyful, but something had changed.
The carnival had this joyful facade but it was hiding a darker exterior.
The elephants and lions were growing old, and the ringmaster,
Displeased with their best efforts,
Had started to hurt them.
The fairy-like acrobats had gotten injured over the years,
And wobbled a little bit here and there, with hints of hesitation
Perspiring on their foreheads.
The funnel cake and cotton candy and popcorn smell lingered still,
But it was almost as if people had grown tired of the taste,
And in the heat of the summer day,
The food had started to grow stale.
And then I got old.
The carnival had closed now.
Overgrown with weeds,
Stalls and tents covered in graffiti and muck,
It was now a gathering spot for children to make believe,
That they were the fairy acrobats who had once been so agile and captivating,
Or the animals that had struck terror and awe into toddler's hearts.
The carnival was gone,
but the children would run home to their grandmas and grandpas,
and they would tell them the story of how the lion was this close to biting off their nose,
and how one time the acrobat honestly did a front flip from a horse on to a bear onto a lion, and they were honest to God telling the absolute truth no matter what their spouse would say in the room next door.
The carnival was gone, but the stories would go on in a bittersweet never ending circle of intrigue and mystery and magic.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 1:22 AM UTC
So its the weekend ...the deep end
time for chillin ...beerin and feeding our souls
room for sleeping ...wantin and needin time out
watch some footy eat me breaky and drink lots of tea
grab me hangover ...drink some oj ..eat me eggy on toast
sunday dinner ...roasty tattys and beef on the bone
Hovis ...salmon sarnies or leftovers me boast
time of argues ..family values and shoutin each out
time for reason ,time for grandpas and cousins to visit afar
So the weekend ..what a weekend
time for monday morning blues
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 6:54 AM UTC
Peace! God’s Peace upon you all! The Bishop blessed
The dyed-young congregation: dyed fathers ‘n mothers,
Grandpas ‘n grannies, great-grandpas and great-grannies.
The demons of decadence--Hair dye, ****** and Spirits –
Chuckled and giggled, crouching well under the pulpit.
Dyed gurus ‘n financiers, dyed lawyers, doctors n’ nurses,
****** entrepreneurs and ****** entertainers, dyed judges
Dyed ‘n spirited evangelists, priests and vergers on ******
Peace be upon thee all! Blessed the Bishop from the pulpit.
Now, the demons in the hiding iterated and reiterated it.
A Sunday spirited chat—all smiles! -- in the church portico:
The Viagra-dyed banker in later life smiled a dyed smile
At the elderly dyed mother of three; and she said: they say,
In spite of my age, you know, I look so young and pretty!
And the thick flanks under her chin jiggled in approbation.
The ****** great-grandpa said to the dyed Justice of spirits:
Milord, they say: “The stuff brings cancer;” Fools! Idiots!
“The gloves—the condom-like device—that’s our safety!”
“Milord! This trinity wizard, they bring a million crores
To the exchequer of this famished democracy, milord!”
“Milord! The nature lovers say, we wash billions of bottles
Of these magic stuffs into their rivers and the seas, milord!”
“They say we all-- dyed ****** men-- are sissies and doofuses!”
“Milord! Our tubby women dye young, lest they’d be labelled
Mammy, Granny, Grandma, Old Granny, the decrepit ‘n that!
Now, the dyed media reported: father mated with his daughter,
Mother with a teenager, grandpa with an infant; and Ministers,
MLAs, MPs—all spirits-Viagra-dyed-- are in a ******* spree!
Now the Dark Trinity cried “Wow! In this world of ******
The Kingdom, the Power and the Glory--all are ours! Amen!
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
Life is like a random array of perfectly sculpted moments.
I stood in a moment of silence reminiscing to the tune of the wind, in the glimmer of the lights in the distance.
My life, is like a photo album of assorted moments :
The first time I met my best friend ; the half afraid,lost baby gazelle look she gave me.
The first time she cried, that big eyed girl.... Tear and kohl stained cheeks, embarrassed eyes and my hushed tone : this too shall pass.
The unexpected confession of a shy person in a soft voice : I had to stalk you a bit for this, she sketched a portrait of me for my birthday.
The awkward hug and we will see you soon, I can still remember my grandpas face red and holding back tears.
The bear-like side hug and a kiss on my forehead, it was an understanding from the older brother that I never had, thank you for meeting me.
The drunken slurry "you know more than most do" from the friend who isn't a friend anymore.
The feeble hug, lingering soft fingers and a goodbye promise to meet soon, from the grandmother I miss a lot.
Those wide eyes,the feeling of respect from the sister who means the world to me.
The all-too-soft goodnight kiss from a mother on a particularly bad night, she stroked my hair an said that she loved me.
And the pat on the back and a tearstained hug , the words "I am proud of you" from the father who is the centre of my world.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
the osprey flys overhead, but the baby rabbit trembles not
~for any grandparent-poet lurking about~
the osprey overflies, a regularity scheduled patrol over
our backyard emporium and all its hors d’oeuvre creatures,
***** has parental responsibilities, beaks to feed, PTA conferences,
the pilot, a wary watchful animal-his-rights guy, catalogues their still living existentialism, for though they are not fish, his diet of preference, but in a pinch a rodent or rabbit stew will do, if the fish are running too deep for no warming sun beckoning them to the surface.
Motel^ the baby rabbit, who lives with his parents,
(who doesn’t these days?) beneath the deck,
chews the clover overnight sprung, blissfully i g n o r a n t,
unawares or ignoring the poet be-laureating (him-her) but a mere
few feet above and away, pays no attention to the Poppy’s (grandfather) lecture about the rules of the animal kingdom,
who, eats whom, and to be more attentive to flying raptors.
thunderstorms forecast for the afternoon, severe say
the textured textual phone-netical all green messages, which
of course is a signal signal to the sun his job is done and can
leave the untanned poet in his state of original sin, soooo deliciously
white that he earns an appraising glance from eyes of the osprey,
a privilege he would happily tan away to promote equality ‘n stuff like peace on earth.
Motel, with his thermometer-humidity nasal instrumentation twitcher, decides, after chewing it over most carefully, time to go underneath where the white half naked people domicile, in order to avoid bathing, not his fav pastime, but making the osprey quitter le ciel, which is French for get out of Dodge, they got babies of their own to shelter and protect, even feed.
The Poppy, contented, thinks to himself, god couldn’t be everywhere,
so he invented grandpas to be “En Loco Parentis” which
Does Not Mean Instead of Crazy Parents,
but easily could,
for who else writes
poems like this?
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 1:08 PM UTC
When I was younger my babysitter was my sister
I would call her my baby sister but she was older than me five and a half years
A mother figure figuring out what to do
Telling me when to boil the water
Or when to change the laundry and
Put it in the dryer and
Always still having time to beat the **** out of me when she was frustrated
But I get it it's ok
It's alright we had to fight
The battles within ourselves externally and verbally
I remember when I called you fat
I didn't really know what it meant
I didn't know it would hurt you like that and
I felt so bad
I remember when grandma died
When you cried and cried and cried and so did I
Only because you were
I know I was always an annoying little kid
I remember at fourteen you fled to grandpas house and
I would soon follow because the pain became too much
I faltered and fell away slowly at first
But eventually my clarity was few and far between and
You became mean
'We don't want you here leave'
So at eighteen I put on my shoes and walked away into the distance
No more armed resistance to your pleas for abandonment
If you would've told me what to say or who to tell it to maybe I would've told somebody
Now we bounce off each other like transferred energy
A steel ball see saw pendulum
But we get along
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC
get away from me all you fools
store owners
underpaid store clerks
delivery people
disgruntled factory workers
bosses
know it alls
child molesting priests
rabbis
loud mouthed reverends
strippers
track armed hookers
pimps
johns who's wife won't give it up
teachers
shady lawyers
pill poppin' doctors
nurses
kids with colds
old people with dementia
***** dogs
feral cats
evil grandmas
perverted grandpas
street sweepers
***** garbage men
slick bartenders
waitresses
drunk people
people high on life
dope heads
meat heads
sober judges
all of you
go to hell in a handbasket
and let me live my life
in peace.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
Little Bird – (Forever and Always)
When I read to Tony at bed time, there are times his little sister Lucy is there for our nightly ritual. When all is read and eyes are closing, I say to Tony, “Good night Tony Boy. Love you forever and always. See you in the morning.”
One afternoon Lucy (2) climbed up into my big chair and positioned herself just so. When all was snuggled in, she looked up at me and said, “My love you grandpa.” Of course I do what all thinking grandpas do… I said, “I love you too Lucy.” A moment goes by, a little shifting in the nest occurs, and I hear, “My love you grandpa!” Now the reasonable thinking grandpa would say, “I love you too Lucy Girl.” Which I did. But that was not the end of this conversational delight. Then she looked up into my face with some consternation on her’s and said, “How come you don’t say ‘forever and always’ grandpa?” “Oh Lucy Girl. Grandpa does love you forever and always. Yes I do.” With that affirmation of love she settled in with a smile on her face and snuggled up tighter.
What may seem to be a small thing to big people is a really BIG thing to the small.
I have reached the pinnacle of joy when Tony Boy and Lucy Girl are snuggled in… one on each side. “All is well.” At least in my world it is.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 4:14 PM UTC
Soft scuffling of grandpas boots on the wet dirt
As he kicks a rock down the path
A soft sigh escapes his lips
And the rock falls into a small mud bath
The sun slowly rising
The new warmth spread across my face
As i close my eyes
I hear grandpa soothing voice
we’ll be there soon he says
I open my eyes to
The dew covering the fresh cut green grass
In the wide open field
The daffodils and tulips ready to bloom
Forming a shield around the new stone
That has been placed in the middle
The place grandma always loved
Her favorite spot for lunch
We’d share the pies she’d baked
And grandpas ham sandwiches
My nose filled with the smell of fresh soil
Grandpa pulls me in my little red wagon
Down the small hill
Its squeaky wheels and long black handle
A handful of daisies
And me in my white sandals
Grandpa pulls up to the stone
And a soft tears escapes his eyes
down his wrinkled cheeks
As he pulls a single **** that had grown
I squeeze his firm hand
The tears fade
And a smile appears
As he kisses my head
And looks up to the sky
Sometimes,
You can smell grandmas perfume
And pies in the field
She sits and waits
As grandpa returns
Day after day
For lunch.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
The stars are prettiest
From the spot on the porch
The one that looks out at the snow covered tress
The light above the door
Swings in the Wisconsin breeze
Silent and cool
I sit in nothing but my grandpas oversized sweat shirt draped over my shoulders
It smells of whiskey and cigarettes
But for some reason I close my eyes
And draw in a deep breath
The door creaks open
And a rough ragged voice calls my name
Asking me if I was going to stargaze like a love struck ***** all night
Only a little longer
Tell my heart feels somber
And I can get on my feet again
I say smiling
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
I had a great, great, grandmother
still alive when I was a child
She was my grandpas, grandmother
even then she was a bit wild
Born in eighteen seventy eight
on a buckboard in Missouri
She had come a long way by then
she was fit and full of fury
We played cards everyday with her
beating her nearly made her weep
"Poopie, kacky, nanny" she'd say
"looks like it's time for you to sleep"
She'd wake me nearly every night
she returned from playing bingo
I'd play with her, games of euchre
sports of chance and foreign lingo
She would walk wherever she went
eat apples, including the core
Cuss and drink, then give me a wink
as she pulled the cards from her drawer
At times she would regress somewhat
"grandpa quit me in thirty four
Thought me uptight, he wasn't right
wouldn't run *** with me no more"
Her first picture was a tin type
"I was a looker in my day
I turned heads in the finest spreads
back then, I always got my way"
She witnessed many inventions
electric, lights to cars and trains
the first to own, a telephone
where she'd talk through the morning rains
At ninety she and I would watch
as three men circled round the moon
"We'll be on Mars, and then the stars
if I don't kick off pretty soon"
She lived to see her kids away
making sure they were buried right
"Yep" she'd say "I put them away
tucked em in for the winters night"
Once when we were playing football
and the game was getting quite tense
She'd sauntered by, looking quite spry
I knocked her down, along the fence
She got up and kicked me senseless
too many bananas and beer
"Now you know, how to take a blow
don't ever show them any fear"
Granny was an institution
a relic of our bygone days
Laughter and tears, poured from her years
her sometimes odd and senile ways
She had outlived all her children
and a couple of grand-kids too
War nor drought, could put her light out
the toughest broad I ever knew
Tate
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
it made him feel old
beyond even the years
he was managing to carry
as he judged the children
storming the carriage
raucous in hi-vis
ever-ebullient despite
their chaperon's plea
to showcase successfully
their inimitable behaviour
only to be scuppered by
a locomotive
lack of momentum
which did nothing to quell
their impatient effervescence
as the stationary train
held by an unexplained
flashing of red signals
awaited its onward journey
through yet another
outbound rush hour
not one single person
elected to sit next to
or even near by
that solitary man
wrapped tightly in coat
bedecked in hood and hat
hands deeply pocketed
and eyes half-closed
blind against his fatigue
and the low-slung sun
unseen by the children
until after their calming
the man appeared to them
as one of those adults
not to be disturbed
like their grandpas
deeply snoring on
those rainy Sundays
or their parents
finally at peace
after one of those
wanton days
steering clear of limbs
and personal space
they are careful to avoid
any proximity to this
slumbering stranger
fearful of the wrath
of such an awakening
appreciating their caution
unnecessary as it may be
through his squinted
obstructing view
unexpectant and unexpected
he found himself smiling
at what he could see
at what he remembered
and stirred playfully
settling deeper into
his feigned slumber
careful to avoid
confounding
any of those
childish preconceptions
Jan 25, 2024
Jan 25, 2024 at 11:09 AM UTC
there was this one time
that my family and I were
on food-stamps because my
wife was pregnant, and on Medicaid
because I got laid off,
because I was trying
to go back to college,
so that I could get a
piece of paper
that said I was smart
even though I used
crutches to walk.
because a piece
of paper is more
believable than
your eyes or
my mouth.
and, we were starving
so I used my mouth
to convince someone
in a tie that I really had
a disability, and a need
to eat.
that person, and his tie
asked me how long I’d
been disabled, so I
told ‘em…since 1975
is that long enough?
there was this one time
that my wife was pregnant,
and on Medicaid, and I bet
we were on food-stamps too,
and the babies that were alive
in her belly died.
so, I did the only thing
I could think of to do,
I got a tattoo, because
I wanted to carry some
part of them with me
forever, and have some
part of something that I
could show you too.
there was this one time
that I worked a job
that was stuffed and
funded by grandmas
and grandpas, by
mommas and daddies;
by people that had done
the best that they knew
how to do.
and I would go see them,
check on them, making
sure that they were safe,
warm, and away from harm.
that job is the best job I ever had,
and we’re fighting funding cuts
because people think that these
folks somehow aren’t worth it;
that they somehow are facilitating
a drug or alcohol problem, or a
********* new tattoo.
there was this one time
that I was disgusted by all
the hate-mongering, lion-killing
veteran-suicideing, poor man hating,
cop-killing, killer-copping, Jesus-weaponizing
and just wanted to be a human
surrounded by other humans
and have those other humans
care about me while I promised
to care about them.
there was this one time.
and, it was a long ****
time ago.
***
©P&ZPublications; 2015
-JBClaywell
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
I'm not ready to say goodbye
I'm not ready to watch him die
I'm not ready to hear I surrender and amazing grace flood my ears and fill my eyes
I'm not ready to go buy a black dress, wear to church, look my best
I need to add waterproof makeup to my list
I don't want to stain grandpas cheek with one last kiss
I'm scared, I'm crying
I'm loosing you, but a part of me is dying
I'm having flashbacks from when we played "the claw"
I see me and Allie hiding behind our door as you lurk in the hall
I see you thumbs up me every time I leave
I don't want you to go yet I'm not ready to grieve
I'm losing my best bud, "big fat moose", "your not so bright "
It's okay grandpa, you've fought your fight
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
Sun rays roll down the green grass & ochre weeds
Yellow, bitter, flowers, litter the hillside
Long red rays turning pink as split figs
Orange as hot coals, blue as the ocean
Then the bustle of twilight, such noise
Streaking headlights fade into receding redness
Carrying their sound with them, down the road
Figures, sillouhetes, wander by me, quiet conversations
Wind stirs their outlines, rustles their clothing, their hair
Bringing me the scent of dust, of split juniper
Darkness descends, but it cannot ***** out street lights
Or the flourescent floodlights, glaring artifical brightness
Or the blinking red eyes of radio masts
I'll peddle back now, chased by headlights
Down black asphalt roads, black as the night
Radiated heat, gathered from this boiling day
Sweat pouring down my face, into my eyes
Breath tearing at my chest, blood racing through veins
I have to outrun the night, to make it on time
To that quiet destination, a little room on the second story
With a chair, a desk, a shelf full of unread books
A yellow notepad, a pen that doesn't work so well
Arrowheads and unshaped stones, a bullet on the dresser
My grandpas old knife, a symbol of the ****** Mary
Your charms that you carelessly left behind
A small tiled room with a shower to stand under
Watch it drain away, dirt & soap, all of it
A face stares back at me, changed, distorted
A reflection in the mirror, a reflection that was me
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 5:09 AM UTC
Skin pinkish red
A sparse covering of dark hair
Dark little eyes
Tender lips that turn upright in a smile
Little fingers that can barely wrap around the tip of grandpas
Cheeks as soft as a cottonball
A face of indescribable beauty
Spending the day sleeping in peaceful rest
This is Callie .
Born at 4:07 PM
Jan 12,2016
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
Discovered I forgot to post this on HP
Mar 25. 2010
Tony Boy – Chapter 2
A few weeks ago Tony was standing in the door way and said, “Grandpa?: Yes. “Grandpas need grandkids so they won’t get bored.” He is correct in that assumption since there is not a day that some surprise doesn’t pop up. I won’t be dying from boredom any time soon. I have been retired three years now and boredom is not a problem.
We were checking out at Target the other day and the checker and Tony was having a great conversation. As we were leaving, he turned around and said to the checker, “You are missing a tooth. You know that if you put it under your pillow, you can get some money for it from the tooth fairy.” The checker and the people in line were having a chuckle. Me, I laughed all the way to the car. When we got in the car he was questioning me as to why I was laughing. Oh, I just saw something funny.
Today (03/17/2010) we were in Costco foraging about 2:30. It is a great way to pass some time together. The food tables were set up and we had hit the ravioli stuff a couple of times already. The lady running it said one time she had noticed us coming in since he was in a stroller. Anyway, Tony headed back to get another sample and she was talking to a friend. As I rounded the corner Tony was talking to the friend. She was asking him how old he was. “Four.” At which she said, “You are smarter than my 15 year old.”
Tony is 5 today (3/24) A lot of people know his name. Me? Oh I am just Tony’s grandpa. A few weeks back we were in Sears to visit one of his many “friends”. Tammie was not available at the moment and we were wandering around looking at TVs. A fellow was down on his knees putting together a new display. Tony walked up to him and ask, “Do you know what you are doing?” The guy looked rather surprised and then the two got into a discussion of what tools to use. Tony told him about all the tools he has and what should be used on the job. Along came the usual question people ask Tony. “How old are you?” “I am four.” I heard the guy telling some of his fellow workers about being ask if he know what he was doing. They all had a good laugh together. We found Tammie and Tony got picked up and a BIG hug. Most of the people working in the electronics and appliance department know all about the little boy named Tony Boy. It is interesting to see their faces light up when Tony comes around the corner.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
Appeared to be a normal day,
At our University of the Third Age,
Grannies and grandads writing epic lit.,
Forgot our hearing aids and blankets...
We walked away from the class,
Drank our coffees on the grass....
One old moll began this thing,
We cast off inhibitions and wedding rings,
Decided to have a greys' love-in,
One last winter's love fling,
Before hearses the morticians bring,
We were all senile, obese and ga-ga,
Our grey scrawny ***** made us ha-ha,
We gave those grandpas some thrills,
We all forgot our cardiac pills,
The old boys were gasping for breath,
Moribundi, close to death....
So, appeared to be a normal day,
On the grass, after class, at U3A,
Love-in amongst the greys,
It was grey liberation day!!!!
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
pass me grandpas,
old cough syrup,
strap into these stirups,
I'll ride this horse till dawn,
hope the sherrif shows soon,
cuz my six guns ready to shoot,
with the words that were written,
drawn in the sand,
a grave dug deep,
lye in your filth,
I walk this desert,
all by myself,
sand all around,
in this hell,
horse died,
about a half mile back,
got no bullets,
for this six gun,
empty retribution,
was I ready,
to **** this man,
a father and husband,
to daughter and consort,
lost his life,
to agony,
hatred,
Im just a man,
set ready defend,
what I believe in,
call me antagonist,
better than fascist,
should have shot first,
then you wouldnt be dead,
play the hero,
you thought you were super man,
your arms to slow,
so now I sulk,
why'd you want me dead,
I walk this desert,
all by myself,
sand all around,
in this hell,
horse died,
about a half mile back,
got no bullets,
for this six gun,
empty retribution,
wish I could **** myself,
to end this hell,
if this was your plan,
I wish i was dead,
me on the ground,
my blood runs out,
but i trudge on,
instead,
wishing i could **** you again.
Apr 21, 2010
Apr 21, 2010 at 8:00 PM UTC