Dads, Lads, And Granddads
Lads, Dads, and Granddads Free verse
My grandson,
skipping along, an eight year young kid
Behind his Dad, his hero, his idol,
his bright shining model
Sees him tall, straight, tough and confident
Sees a McMuffin buyer, a baseball coach and a dad
My grandson
sees not…. a loser, a slacker
Mostly absentee father,
lazy and irresponsible
Two days a week of being a dad
Providing little or nothing to ex-wife or son
My grandson,
I see in myself, skipping along
Following behind my dad
Who is tall, straight and confident
Giving me comfort, making me feel strong
My Dad
Taught me fishing and hunting
Not to lie, to attempt all manly things
and try not to fail or fall
he feared absolutely nothing and
could absolutely do it all
My Dad
was brave and made me proud
I skipped along behind him as well,
My bright shining model
Embarrassed by him? Never!
Proud of him always and ever
My Dad,
To others, a different man perhaps, than the man I knew.
likely so….Yes, most probably so
My grandson
in his memories I hope, forever sees
his dad, not as he really was,
but In the same way that I see mine.
Perfect! ….Yes, most probably so.
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
What Grandy Told Me
My grandson,
Rush not to women
They smile
Their teeth are white
They have bitter intestines
Get a go-between
From her lands.
My grandson
If you wed
At her back, be not.
In the pot,
Count not meat,
Patience is divine
Or you miss a grandson
To tell my story.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My grandson sees me as Lois on TV every Christmas, and that scores me points.
quote by Margot Kidder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Place of Forgotten Memories
For years I’ve put odds and sods up into the roof space,
like old books, photographs, and the odd vase.
When my parents died I also put their memorabilia up there,
and now my loft holds many memories from over the years.
My grandson ventured up there and came down with a photograph,
he asked me why his picture was not in colour, and I began to laugh.
Of course it wasn’t him in the photograph it was his great granddad,
the resemblance was uncanny, which made me kind of sad.
The picture of my granddad was taken at the age of nine,
the same age as my grandson at this particular time.
I remember my granddad well especially in his later years,
and seeing him in my grandson fills me with tears.
poem by Orlando Belo
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My Grandfather – I
Oh how I miss him
A man of wisdom
His stories I heard
With the mind of a child
And the love of a grandson
Our fishing trips
Vacations in Boston
Baseball in the backyard
Football on the weekends
When I was older we talked
Spoke of his younger days
Spoke of my days to come
From grandfather to grandson
Yet days he did not speak of
Days of death and days of war
Battles on the beaches of the pacific
Battles of the Second World War
Fighting for our freedom
Fighting for those who live today
Not for honor or glory or power
But for the blessings of liberty
A man of wisdom
A man of honor
Oh how I miss him
My Grandfather
poem by Robert Crook
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Father's mother's love
She loves her grandson
Wherein she finds her son.
She loves her grandson
By which she charms her son.
Yet her love is not wholesome
For the child’s mother
Is her rival for her son.
17.07.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Passenger
Pop/gardner
I am the passenger
And I ride and I ride
I ride through the citys backside
I see the stars come out of the sky
Yeah, theyre bright in a hollow sky
You know it looks so good tonight
I am the passenger
I stay under glass
I look through my window so bright
I see the stars come out tonight
I see the bright and hollow sky
Over the citys a rip in the sky
And everything looks good tonight
Singin la la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la la-la
Get into the car
Well be the passenger
Well ride through the city tonight
See the citys ripped insides
Well see the bright and hollow sky
Well see the stars that shine so bright
The sky was made for us tonight
Oh the passenger
How how he rides
Oh the passenger
He rides and he rides
He looks through his window
What does he see?
He sees the bright and hollow sky
He see the stars come out tonight
He sees the citys ripped backsides
He sees the winding ocean drive
And everything was made for you and me
All of it was made for you and me
cause it just belongs to you and me
So lets take a ride and see whats mine
Singing...
Oh, the passenger
He rides and he rides
He sees things from under glass
He looks through his windows eye
He sees the things he knows are his
He sees the bright and hollow sky
He sees the city asleep at night
He sees the stars are out tonight
And all of it is yours and mine
And all of it is yours and mine
Oh, lets ride and ride and ride and ride...
Singing...
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Teach Them Well
Wealth never guarantees
Good character is bred
It takes much time for these
Where Discipline is led.
The young don't grow up Good
Respect implanted there
We teach them as we should
What's honest and what's fair.
We teach them Gratitude
And how to say 'thank you'
We teach them attitudes
That bless in all they do.
The young can never gain
Whatever is not taught
At Home and so attain
The virtues that we sought.
'Train a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will depart from it.'
PROVERBS 22: 6
A friend of mine gave his rich grandson a birthday gift in cash, the grandson did not bother to say thank you and kept watching his hockey game. Such are the young people we dread will be the adults of tomorrow.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The latest lesson of my grandson
Four year old
Daughter's son
Just started talking
In some kind of comprehension
Returned from school
The other day
And there were some guests at home
Some of who were to
See our grandson first time
And it was my daughter's role
To introduce each
Of the guests
To her son
She is your aunty
Say 'Hi' to her
Which my grandson did
He is your 'Anna'
(Anna in Tamil means elder brother, it can be cousin too)
Say 'Hi' to him
Which my grandson did
This your grandma
Say 'Hi' to her
Which my grandson did
This went on
Till the time
All the guests were introduced
It is our practice
To give the child
A handwash immediately after
His retrun back home from school
And I took that charge
While I was helping him
In getting a wash
The fellow asked me
In a low voice like whisper
Are there no good person
Among our guests
Startled I asked him why
And he replied
Just today
School miss said
That all of us should
Grow to become a good person
Mom said these people are
Either grandpas, grandmas,
Uncles, Aunties, Annas or Akkas
But she said none
To be a good person
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A Sunday Prayer of Thanks
Dear Father in Heaven, today I'm not going to ask anything of you.
I want to praise you Lord and give thanks for all that you do.
As of late Father I've asked you for many blessings and you have granted many of them Father. You helped my daughter find her way and open a wonderful art shop, oh Lord I thank you. You kept my children out of harms way Lord and showed my grandson the error of his ways bringing him back on track Lord, I thank you. You granted my grandson, my daughter and myself a trip to Nova Scotia this year Lord, I thank you Father. You made sure my mother isn't suffering with her leg Father. You saw to it that David Harris came home from the hospital and is recovering nicely, I thank you Father. You took care of some issues for my friends Shelley and her new husband Michael Lord, I thank you.
Father God, I'm sure I've missed some, but you know what they are and that I want to thank you on their behalf.
Father God, thankyou for all the wonderful things you do and most of all Father, thankyou for your precious son 'Jesus'.
poem by Melvina Germain
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Mildew on Milestone!
The old Sailor makes knots with his shoestring
And he hears the last year's rattling sound of fallen leaves
in the Autumnal breeze!
He collects the scattered pastels on the floor
that belongs to his grandson
And he sketches a drawing while he sees the wet nappies
of the next door new born baby's cloth line.
Hot Sun still looks young in the midday
And he smiles looking at the calendar and whispers;
'O the month of May how soon it's going to be finished?
And the June comes his beloved wife's birthday
with a big numeral and he counts the copper sulphate pennies
in his antique wallet!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Good
The old man comes out on the hill
and looks down to recall earlier days
in the valley. He sees the stream shine,
the church stand, hears the litter of
children's voices. A chill in the flesh
tells him that death is not far off
now: it is the shadow under the great boughs
of life. His garden has herbs growing.
The kestrel goes by with fresh prey
in its claws. The wind scatters the scent
of wild beans. The tractor operates
on the earth's body. His grandson is there
ploughing; his young wife fetches him
cakes and tea and a dark smile. It is well.
poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas
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Loss of Loved One's
Where has your shadow gone
My son, so tall and straight
Not dancing round you in the sun
Nor cast upon my gate.
Where has your shadow gone
My mother, frail and small
Reflected by your lamps warm glow
Not now on your bedroom wall.
Where has your shadown gone
My grandson, strong and fine
Not reflected in the water
As you cast your fishing line.
Where you are now - no shadows dwell
You live in a glow of love
From me, more love than words can tell
And unconditional love from above.
poem by Colleen Woods
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Passenger
I am the passenger and I ride and I ride
I ride through the city's backsides
I see the stars come out of the sky
Yeah, the bright and hollow sky
You know it looks so good tonight
I am the passenger
I stay under glass
I look through my window so bright
I see the stars come out tonight
I see the bright and hollow sky
Over the city's ripped backsides
And everything looks good tonight
Singing la la la la la.. lala la la, la la la la.. lala la la etc
Get into the car
We'll be the passenger
We'll ride through the city tonight
We'll see the city's ripped backsides
We'll see the bright and hollow sky
We'll see the stars that shine so bright
Stars made for us tonight
Oh, the passenger
How, how he rides
Oh, the passenger
He rides and he rides
He looks through his window
What does he see?
He sees the sign and hollow sky
He sees the stars come out tonight
He sees the city's ripped backsides
He sees the winding ocean drive
And everything was made for you and me
All of it was made for you and me
'Cause it just belongs to you and me
So let's take a ride and see what's mine
Singing la la la la.. lala la la [x3]
Oh the passenger
He rides and he rides
He sees things from under glass
He looks through his window side
He sees the things that he knows are his
He sees the bright and hollow sky
He sees the city sleep at night
He sees the stars are out tonight
And all of it is yours and mine
And all of it is yours and mine
So let's ride and ride and ride and ride
Oh, oh, Singing la la la la lalalala
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Native American grandfather was talking to his grandson about how he felt. He said, "I feel as if I have two wolves fighting in my heart. One wolf is the vengeful, angry, violent one. The other wolf is the loving, compassionate one. The grandson asked him, Which wolf will win the fight in your heart? The grandfather answered, The one I feed.
The Portrait Of A Child
That brow, that smile, that cheek so fair,
Beseem my child, who weeps and plays:
A heavenly spirit guards her ways,
From whom she stole that mixture rare.
Through all her features shining mild,
The poet sees an angel there,
The father sees a child.
And by their flame so pure and bright,
We see how lately those sweet eyes
Have wandered down from Paradise,
And still are lingering in its light.
All earthly things are but a shade
Through which she looks at things above,
And sees the holy Mother-maid,
Athwart her mother's glance of love.
She seems celestial songs to hear,
And virgin souls are whispering near.
Till by her radiant smile deceived,
I say, 'Young angel, lately given,
When was thy martyrdom achieved?
And what name lost thou bear in heaven?'
poem by Victor Hugo
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The man who sees both sides of a question is a man who sees absolutely nothing.
quote by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rote Lippen Soll Man Kssen
Lately all you can feel is the rain falling
Maybe you feel this world is to blame
you've been crying.
Only
only inside will you know
but still you wonder sometimes:
Where can
where can you go? - Can you go
can you go? -
Remember me
- oh
when you feel this way
And you need someone to lean on.
And if you're ever
- ever too far away
Remember me
- I am the one
- remember me
- I am the one.
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes.
Remember me
- I am yqur guardian angel
and I'll never let you fall.
And if you'Fe ever
ever In fear of danger
-
Remember me
- I am the one
- remember me
- I am the one
-
Who will turn
turn all your darkness to light in the morning.
You'll learn when yov're too hard on yovrself yov can call me.
Remember me
- oh
when you feel this way
. . .
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes.
I can see you
yeah!
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Conversations That I Hear
i am into conversations
i do not speak much i listen well
like an absorbing sponge
and people suspect what i am
up to, but i keep on listening
to people who still have
the vigor to speak and
brag and expose what is
inside their guts
what they feel foremost
is important for i like to dwell
more on feelings rather than
logic and directions and
useful advices on how to live
and die perhaps,
and so this time i am inside
a bus bound to a far place
a hundred fifty kilometers
from where i live
an old man, i am surprised
talks much, complains and
scolds his grandson who is
there born to tolerate him
beyond the threshold of his
incompetence,
as he talks and sometimes
subside into murmur,
the grandson keeps on
listening to his apple ipod,
not minding what the old
grandpa is up to,
i smile and fall silent again.
the bus speeds its way to
the winding road climbing
a mountain,
the wind on my face is strong
and my eyes seem hurtful
to the flashes of trees
and bushes
along this road to another
city
the old man is asleep now
his grandson still busy
with his own
music
night is approaching
the headlights of the bus
pierces the road
like what a conscience does
to my heart
this time i hear myself
in a last ditch of conversation
to myself
before i also get a dose of
my own sleep
inside the bus now
silence reigns like a boa
who just swallowed
a whole pig.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old Barnard -- A Monkish Tale
OLD BARNARD was still a lusty hind,
Though his age was full fourscore;
And he us'd to go
Thro' hail and snow,
To a neighb'ring town,
With his old coat brown,
To beg, at his GRANDSON'S door!
OLD BARNARD briskly jogg'd along,
When the hail and snow did fall;
And, whatever the day,
He was always gay,
Did the broad Sun glow,
Or the keen wind blow,
While he begg'd in his GRANDSON'S Hall.
His GRANDSON was a Squire, and he
Had houses, and lands, and gold;
And a coach beside,
And horses to ride,
And a downy bed
To repose his head,
And he felt not the winter's cold.
Old BARNARD had neither house nor lands,
Nor gold to buy warm array;
Nor a coach to carry,
His old bones weary
Nor beds of feather
In freezing weather,
To sleep the long nights away.
But BARNARD a quiet conscience had,
No guile did his bosom know;
And when Ev'ning clos'd,
His old bones repos'd,
Tho' the wintry blast
O'er his hovel past,
And he slept, while the winds did blow!
But his GRANDSON, he could never sleep
'Till the Sun began to rise;
For a fev'rish pain
Oppress'd his brain,
And he fear'd some evil
And dream'd of the Devil,
Whenever he clos'd his eyes!
And whenever he feasted the rich and gay,
The Devil still had his joke;
For however rare
The sumptuous fare,
When the sparkling glass
Was seen to pass,--
He was fearful the draught would choke!
And whenever, in fine and costly geer,
The Squire went forth to ride:
The owl would cry,
And the raven fly
Across his road,
While the sluggish toad
Would crawl by his Palfry's side.
And he could not command the Sunny day,
For the rain would wet him through;
And the wind would blow
Where his nag did go,
And the thunder roar,
And the torrents pour,
And he felt the chill Evening dew.
And the cramp would wring his youthful bones,
And would make him groan aloud;
And the doctor's art
Could not cure the heart,
While the conscience still
Was o'ercharg'd with ill;
And he dream'd of the pick-axe and shroud.
And why could Old BARNARD sweetly sleep,
Since so poor, and so old was he?
Because he could say
At the close of day,
"I have done no wrong
"To the weak or strong,
"And so, Heaven look kind on me!"
One night, the GRANDSON hied him forth,
To a MONK, that liv'd hard by;
"O ! Father !" said he,
"I am come to thee,
"For I'm sick of sin,
"And would fain begin
"To repent me, before I die!"
"I must pray for your Soul; the MONK replied,
"But will see you to-morrow, ere noon:
Then the MONK flew straight
To Old BARNARD'S gate,
And he bade him haste
O'er the dewy waste,
By the light of the waning Moon.
In the Monkish cell did old BARNARD wait,
And his GRANDSON went thither soon;
In a habit of grey
Ere the dawn of day,
With a cowl and cross,
On the sill of moss,
He knelt by the light of the Moon.
"O! shrive me, Father!" the GRANDSON cried,
"For the Devil is waiting for me!
"I have robb'd the poor,
"I have shut my door,
"And kept out the good
"When they wanted food,--
"And I come for my pardon, to Thee."
"Get home young Sinner," Old BARNARD said,
And your GRANDSIRE quickly see;
"Give him half your store ,
"For he's old, and poor,
"And avert each evil
"And cheat the Devil,--
By making him rich as thee ."
The SQUIRE obey'd; and Old BARNARD now
Is rescued from every evil:
For he fears no wrong,
From the weak or strong,
And the Squire can snore,
When the loud winds roar,
For he dreams no more of THE DEVIL!
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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The artist should not only paint what he sees before him, but also what he sees in himself. If, however, he sees nothing within him, then he should also refrain from painting what he sees before him. Otherwise his pictures will be like those folding screens behind which one expects to find only the sick or the dead.
quote by Caspar David Friedrich
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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