A Farce.
Caesar thought he was out of reach
'midst weeds and grass, he ate a peach.
Pompeia, his wife, found him at last
Palms held up, she delivered a blast.
'Caesar, new lawn is coming today,
get busy, clear weeds, cut grass, don't play.'.
He said 'Stop, enough of your SNORTS AND BAWL'.
Biting ONCE MORE INTO THE PEACH, he obeyed her call.
And when he was done, found that that wasn't all.
'RAKE HAY WHILE THE SUN SHINES'
said Gran with a fag on her lip
'SEIZE THE HAY', said Pompeia,
whilst beating cream with a whip.
Caesar said 'How about help, I'd expect no less'.
'We're making a trifle for Dan's wife Ness'.
'Who? '
'you know, NESS ESSITY..........THE MOTHER OF VIN VENTION'.
Caesar stuck in his finger and licked causing tension
'Why? ', wailed Pompeia and hit him with a sieve. Ding!
'Ow! A TRIFE UNEXAMINED IS NOT WORTH GIVING'.
Gran muttered 'THE WIFE OF DAN IS SOLITARY, POOR,
NASTY, BRUTISH AND SHORT'.
'Gran! , that's not a very charitable thing to say'.
'Well someone ought'.
'Lay the topsoil, Caesar', said Pompeia, pointing to trailer in drive.
'LOAM IS WHERE THE CART IS, no more you skive'.
'How will I level, lay straight and true? '
'GRAN IS THE MEASURER OF ALL THINGS, she'll show you'.
Caesar swore when the shovel impacted his toe.
'Language', warned Gran.
'I CALL A SPADE A SPADE, you know'.
A bug lit on his nose, he focussed his sight,
too late, 'Ow! , THE MOVING WINGER BITES'.
Grumbled as he started to lay the turf,
'MESSED UP THE WEEK FOR HAY THAT INHABIT THE EARTH'.
'Keep going', urged Gran as Pompeia came to see,
'Nay, THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER SODS BEFORE TEA'.
He went to the kitchen, but before he could speak,
Pompeia threw up her arms, 'YOU REEK! , YOU REEK! '.
'For *@%$'s sake! ', he mumbled.
'Language', warned Gran.
'I STINK THEREFORE I DAMN, you old dishpan! '
Gran clasped her hands to her chest, most distraught,
moaning, 'THE LIFE OF GRAN IS SOLITARY, POOR,
NASTY, BRUTISH AND SHORT'.
At last all was finished AND SO TO BED.
'I LAME, I SORE, I BONKERED', he said.
Pompeia planned party quite pleased with herself,
'Will you mow the lawn? '
'No', he said, 'MOW THYSELF'.
They invited Dann over and Ness brought her brother.
'Gran, stop smoking, we're all going to smother'.
'Shan't', said Gran, 'ONE GOOD BURN PRESERVES A MOTHER'.
Ness and Gran just glowered at each other.
Ness said, 'My brother mows lawns, that's his van,
Caesar, meet BRUTUS, HE'S AN HONOURABLE MAN'.
poem by Diane Hine
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Related quotes
Dear Granfather
My gran father
Is...
My father...
yes...
My lovingely father...
My gran father loves for me...
At over of my father...
I am also love
My gran father a lot....
My gran father telling
Stores at my child age...
It is very happyfull...
Today my gran father
Is passaway...
I did not woory
I did not cry...
But...
Heart only think
My gran father
Golden days...
Theay all are
Olden days...
Did not come
My life that days....
My gran father also...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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But I miss you Gran
I miss you so much Gran.
You left me.
And I don't no why.
But i miss you Gran.
I thought you'd be here for ever.
But now you've gone away.
And I miss you Gran.
I wish you could come back.
I can no longer see you.
I can't touch your face or hold your hand.
I can no longer give you a hug and a kiss.
I miss you Gran.
I don't understand why you had to go.
You've gone from this world.
And I miss you Gran.
I wish you were here.
A friendly face you alwys had.
Words of wisdom you would give.
But I miss you Gran.
My heart is breaking.
I just hope you no that I loved you.
I miss you Gran I really miss you.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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The happy household
It's when the birds go piping and the daylight slowly breaks,
That, clamoring for his dinner, our precious baby wakes;
Then it's sleep no more for baby, and it's sleep no more for me,
For, when he wants his dinner, why it's dinner it must be!
And of that lacteal fluid he partakes with great ado,
While gran'ma laughs,
And gran'pa laughs,
And wife, she laughs,
And I - well, I laugh, too!
You'd think, to see us carrying on about that little tad,
That, like as not, that baby was the first we'd ever had;
But, sakes alive! he isn't, yet we people make a fuss
As if the only baby in the world had come to us!
And, morning, noon, and night-time, whatever he may do,
Gran'ma, she laughs,
Gran'pa, he laughs,
Wife, she laughs,
And I, of course, laugh, too!
But once - a likely spell ago - when that poor little chick
From teething or from some such ill of infancy fell sick,
You wouldn't know us people as the same that went about
A-feelin' good all over, just to hear him crow and shout;
And, though the doctor poohed our fears and said he'd pull him through,
Old gran'ma cried,
And gran'pa cried,
And wife, she cried,
And I - yes, I cried, too!
It makes us all feel good to have a baby on the place,
With his everlastin' crowing and his dimpling, dumpling face;
The patter of his pinky feet makes music everywhere,
And when he shakes those fists of his, good-by to every care!
No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo,
Old gran'ma laughs,
And gran'pa laughs,
Wife, she laughs,
And I - you bet, I laugh, too!
poem by Eugene Field
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Talk Over Tea.
Janice's gran
had left the room
to fetch another
pot of tea
and Janice said
Are you coming on
the day trip to the seaside?
I'm not sure
you replied
Oh please do
Janice said
Then we can be together
and I won't have to spend time
with those giggly girls
from the gospel group
you looked at her fair hair
and the way her eyes
were on you
and how precise
her lips were
when she spoke
I'm not sure my parents
can afford it
you said
Oh it's free for kids
whose parents are poor
she said
And after all
it's part of the point
of the whole thing
to show Christian values
and so on
and she smiled
and put her hand
on yours
under the table
as her gran came in
with the teapot
What are you two
talking about?
Gran asked
putting the teapot
down on the table
Janice's hand
squeezed yours
under the table
Oh just about the day trip
to the seaside
Janice said
Are you going too?
her gran asked you
you hesitated
and then said
Yes I think so
and Janice looked at you
her blue eyes bright
and she said
Isn't that good Gran?
Yes indeed
her gran said
and poured tea
into your cup
and added milk
and sugar
and Janice's hand
left yours
and the absence
of the warmth
of her hand
felt like
a dying world
in a vast galaxy
or drowning
in a deep blue sea.
poem by Terry Collett
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You and Jackson Pollock.
How's the girl
with the red beret?
your sister asked
she'd seen you
and Janice
and her gran
on the way home
from school
she probably walking
with her friend
following behind
and Janice said
I made a picture today
out of cut up
pieces of paper
and the teacher said
it was the best
she'd seen
her gran said
Now now Janice
mustn't boast
I expect
there were other pictures
equally as good
But teacher said it
not me
Janice replied
Did you make a picture?
her gran asked you
her eyes falling on you
and taking in
your look
like a rabbit caught
in headlamps of a car
in the night
Yes
you said
I made a picture
of a morning sunset
out of red and yellow
and green for the grass
and blue for the sky
Janice smiled
and touched your hand
surreptitiously
her small hand
feeling along
your skin
Did you make it
out of cut up
pieces of paper too?
her gran asked
you sensed Janice's fingers
squeezing into your hand
No
you replied
I did it with water colour paints
and what did teacher say?
her gran asked
she said it reminded her
of a Jackson Pollock
whoever he is
you said
looking at Janice's red beret
and her hair
coming from beneath
so wonderfully
unlike your
short back and sides
and unlike her hair
with its red coloured
hair slides.
poem by Terry Collett
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Growl
While Allen Ginsberg told us “Howl! ”
I do prefer Clint Eastwood’s growl,
while cherishing his Gran Torino,
spaghetti westernized the fino
he dramatizes in Detroit.
This expiatory exploit
performed by the old man who killed
Koreans in the killing field,
and sought atonement for this wrong,
grumpily befriending Hmong
whom up to then he had despised,
is hardly overdramatized
by Clint, who’s far more in accord
with life than Ginzberg, as his Ford––
the Gran Torino ’72––
proves him to be with derring-do.
That’s why I far prefer Clint’s growl
to Ginsberg’s grating hapless howl.
Inspired by Clint Eastwood’s movie “Gran Torino, ” which concludes with a song, “Gran Torino, ” composed and sung by Eastwood at the end of the movie, where we see the Gran Torino that he bequeathes Thao, his young Hmong friend, driving along the shores of the Lake Huron.
12/30/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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If I Knew Then
The funny-face kid from down the street
Always very close at hand
He was just a cowboy, I was lady gran
But I dont think I would have shot him down
If I knew then what I know now
High school days and puppy love
Learning what its all about
He was kinda akward, I was filling out
But I dont think that I would have played around
If I knew then what I know now
Too many years, too many chairs
Too many other things, too many men
Time and again I had to test my wings
No time for love, strings or wedding rings
A pretty young girl from baltimore
Got herself a real good man
Once he was a cowboy who wanted lady gran
And I know that I would have made that now
If I knew then what I know now
Once he was a cowboy who wanted lady gran
And I know that I would have made that vow
If I knew then what I know now
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uncle Fred and The Sand Dance
Your Uncle Fred
on Christmas Eve
at Gran's house
when you were a kid
did the sand dance
wearing an old fashion
man's striped nightgown
and a red fez
(he got that in Egypt
during WW2
Gran said)
and brown
open toed sandals
and Uncle Ed
turned the handle
of the windup gramophone
where an old
78rpm record
was playing
and there were
glasses of sherry
being consumed
and cigarettes being smoked
and you sat watching
clapping your hands
and Gran would get up
afterwards
and do her Can-Can
like she used to
as she young woman
on the stage
and Granddad sat there
quiet saying nothing
looking at
the people gathered
sipping his sherry
watching his wife
lifting her legs
her white fuzzy hair
going to and fro
as she moved
and you wanted
to have some sherry
but your mother said
no you have lemonade
little boys
don't have sherry
so you sat
with your lemonade
watching Uncle Fred
and his dance
and the music coming
from the old gramophone
and the smell of sherry
and beer and cigarette smoke
and Uncle telling the adults
one of his old army jokes.
poem by Terry Collett
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Young Traitor
Gran said
you can come with us
to the fair
Janice said
Provided your mum agrees
of course but Gran's
already asked your mum
so it's all right
you stood outside
the school gates
waiting for your mother
to come and pick you up
and so you said
Oh right that'll be good
but you didn't want Helen
to know you were going
to the fair with Janice
and even though
you hadn't planned it
or asked for it
you still felt guilty
about going
with Janice to the fair
and when Helen
came out of school
and stood waiting
next to you
for her mother
you hoped Janice
wouldn't say
anything about it
but Janice just stood there
smiling looking at Helen
as if to say he's going with me
to the fair and you're not
and Helen gazed at Janice
at the same time
putting her hand
near yours
and you could feel
her hand brush
against yours
and then she turned
and looked at you
through her
thick lens glasses
her eyes searching you
like a navigator
looking for a fresh route
to a new world
and Janice moved closer
on your other side
her hand seeking out
a finger to hold
and she said
Look here comes Gran
and she released
your finger and ran
and you stood with Helen
waiting
knowing her hand
was warm and feeling yours
and hoping she couldn't
read minds
or thoughts
or know about the fair
and she said suddenly
giving your hand a squeeze
Here's your mum and mine
let's go meet them
and off you ran
following behind
feeling a sense of betrayal
being a traitor to Helen
in your 7 year old mind.
poem by Terry Collett
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I miss you so
I miss you so much.
As the morning rises.
And the day comes to a close.
The pain of missing you never ceases.
When I think of you my face creases.
All I can say is I miss you so.
Life hasn't been the same,
since you webt away.
And my tears still stay.
And my heart aches for you every day.
I breath in your smell.
Oh how I wish you were here.
All I know now is that I miss you so.
You are the brightest star at night.
And your smile is in the sun.
As I remeber the fun.
I miss you so much.
I dont think my heart will ever mend.
Dedicated to my gran who passed away almost a year ago.
Love you and miss you gran
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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who Was Your Hero
'WHO WAS YOUR HERO'
Well mine was not an hero, an heroine she was to me,
She was my Grandma Ada, I loved her as much as can be,
She really was an angel I loved her with all my might.
She loved us and she kissed us she was a gentle soul,
I know she is now an Angel for that I have been told,
She cared for us when times were hard, she was a faultless Gran,
I really did love her so, and tell her when I can.
She left us in 1980 and I still miss her so,
She was a character Gran Ada and I loved her so!
So my dear granny Ada I just want you to know,
That till the day I die and we meet again I will love you so.
David Bennett.
poem by David Bennett
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Don't Listen
Don’t listen to him,
Gran said,
indicating
with a nod
of her head,
to Granddad
in the other room,
sitting by the fire
with his loose clothes
holding in bones.
You stood by the door,
peeping through
the thin crack
between door
and frame,
your young eyes
like a hawk’s,
catching the view:
Granddad lighting up
a cigarette,
to set him off
on the cough
and spit and phlegm,
and Gran’s hazel eyes
lighting up with anger
and her tongue
like a viper’s
ready to condemn.
poem by Terry Collett
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Granddad's Candy
Granddad offered candy
from a white paper bag
and you slowly took one
and put in your mouth
and the strong peppermint flavour
exploded on your tongue
as Granddad closed his eyes
and sank back
into his chair by the fire
and he said
if you go outside
to the john
be careful of the mutt
who sleeps there
and the spiders
which hang around
waiting for little boys
and look out
for the fairies
at the bottom of the garden
hidden amongst weeds
and you nodded
as you always did
and tried to swallow the candy
as fast as you could
and Granddad said
look over by the side
and pass me
the cigarettes and lighter
and don’t let
your grandmother see
or she’ll moan about me
and my breathing
and my heart
and you looked over the side
and picked up
his cigarettes and lighter
and brought them to him
and Gran said
from the kitchen
he’s not smoking
those cigarettes again is he?
And you said
looking at Granddad
hiding them behind his back
no Gran he’s just sucking
on a candy and he’s given me
one to suck and one to keep
and Granddad had his eyes
closed still
pretending to be asleep.
poem by Terry Collett
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Sarsparilla and Janice and You.
You walked with Janice
to Baldwin's the Herbalist
at the corner of Elephant
and Walworth Road
she wore her blue patterned dress
and red beret
and white socks
and red sandals
and in her small purse
she had money
her gran gave her
to buy sarsaparilla
in a half pint glass
and you
in your cowboy shirt
and jeans and plimsolls
with your holster
and six shooter
in the belt
around your waist
and clutching money
your mother'd given you
for doing a few chores
Gran would never let me
go on my own
Janice said
but when I said
you were going
Gran said all right
but no sweets
they rot your teeth
I like the liquorice sticks
you can buy there
you said
they make your teeth white
or so my mum said
Janice looked at your gun
in the holster
and said
you can protect me
from outlaws with your gun
sure
you replied
she smelt of lavender
and toothpaste from tins
and she moved nearer to you
and her arm touched yours
as you walked along
here we are
she said
and opened the door of Baldwin's
and you both went in
and went to the counter
and asked the man
for two half pints
of sarsaparilla
and when he poured them
and you each paid him
you stood by the window
with your glasses
and sipped
and looked
at the passing traffic
and people
you feeling like Wyatt Earp
in the saloon
and Janice looking out
as if she feared
outlaws would be coming
pretty soon.
poem by Terry Collett
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How Did You Rest, Last Night?
'How did you rest, last night?'--
I've heard my gran'pap say
Them words a thousand times--that's right--
Jes them words thataway!
As punctchul-like as morning dast
To ever heave in sight
Gran'pap 'ud allus haf to ast--
'How did you rest, last night?'
Us young-uns used to grin,
At breakfast, on the sly,
And mock the wobble of his chin
And eyebrows belt so high
And kind: _'How did you rest, last night?'_
We'd mumble and let on
Our voices trimbled, and our sight
Was dim, and hearin' gone.
* * * * *
Bad as I used to be,
All I'm a-wantin' is
As puore and ca'm a sleep fer me
And sweet a sleep as his!
And so I pray, on Jedgment Day
To wake, and with its light
See _his_ face dawn, and hear him say--
'How did you rest, last night?'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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My Gran Maa
nice smile
bad tooth
my gran maa..
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Do The Love
Love your
mother and father...
Love your
Brother and sister's...
Love your
Friends and relations...
Love your
Wife with children
Love your
Gran children with toys...
Love your
Love your...
All ways selfish...
Don't woory
Do love...
Do the love...
Any way do the love...
Life is move an love
Undertand too do
The love...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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No Bombs Here
Gran said it isn't safe
to walk about the bombsites
Janice said
as you walked with her
off of Meadow Row
towards the bombed out sites
of WW11
there might be
unexploded bombs
she added
holding on to your shirt sleeve
there are no
unexploded bombs here
you said
to reassure
you paused midway
and stared back
to where the coal wharf stood
and coalmen went about their work
loading trucks and horse drawn carts
how do you know?
she asked
her hand gripping
your shirt sleeve tight
don't you trust me?
you said
turning your head
seeing her eyes wide
beneath her red beret
yes but maybe there could be
hidden beneath ground
you looked around
with hand above your brow
none I can see
you said
she released your sleeve
and touched your hand
her smooth skin
like soft silk
moved over yours
you mustn't tell Gran
she said
she's forbidden me
to go on sites
you sensed her pulse
tap along your palm
of course I won't
you said
and walked across
the bricks and rubble
and weeds between
even here
amidst the bombed out ruins
a touch of green.
poem by Terry Collett
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Janice and You at Waterloo Station
At Waterloo Station
the steam engines
puffed powerful steam
reaching up
to the rooftop
and you stood there
hands in your pockets
your nose sniffing in
the white and grey smell
you can taste it
on your tongue
and Janice beside you
her eyes looked up
at the rooftop
as the steam
reached high
her hands clutching
the small bag
I want to be a train driver
when I'm older
you said
I want to smell
that smell
and breathe in
that steam and shovel
coal in the engine
maybe you will
Janice said
maybe you'll be
on a train like that
big and black
and powerful
she put her hand
under your arm
and squeezed
Gran said we can be
what we want
if we want it
bad enough
Janice added
you felt her hand
under your arm
sensed her squeeze it
we went to the seaside
on a big black train
like this last year
you said
and I put my head
out the train window
and my mum said
keep your head in
or a train
will knock it off
that'd be horrible
Janice said
she clutched
closer to you
as the steam train
puffed out more steam
and the sound was loud
and powerful
and she said
maybe
when you're an engine driver
you can take me
to the seaside
with Gran
yes
you said
and if you come
to the engine
before you take off
I can show you
the engine
and how powerful it is
and she smiled
and put her head
on your shoulder
yes
you said softly
when I grow up
and when I am older.
poem by Terry Collett
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Father
My
Child hood
Hero....
Teen age
EnYme...
Today
Best
Friend...!
Tommrow
My childrens
Gran father...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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