Grandfather Squeers
'My grandfather Squeers,' said The Raggedy Man,
As he solemnly lighted his pipe and began--
'The most indestructible man, for his years,
And the grandest on earth, was my grandfather Squeers!
'He said, when he rounded his three-score-and-ten,
'I've the hang of it now and can do it again!'
'He had frozen his heels so repeatedly, he
Could tell by them just what the weather would be;
'And would laugh and declare, 'while the _Almanac_ would
Most falsely prognosticate, _he_ never could!'
'Such a hale constitution had grandfather Squeers
That, 'though he'd used '_navy_' for sixty odd years,
'He still chewed a dime's-worth six days of the week,
While the seventh he passed with a chew in each cheek:
'Then my grandfather Squeers had a singular knack
Of sitting around on the small of his back,
'With his legs like a letter Y stretched o'er the grate
Wherein 'twas his custom to ex-pec-tor-ate.
'He was fond of tobacco in _manifold_ ways,
And would sit on the door-step, of sunshiny days,
'And smoke leaf-tobacco he'd raised strictly for
The pipe he'd used all through The Mexican War.'
And The Raggedy Man said, refilling the bowl
Of his own pipe and leisurely picking a coal
From the stove with his finger and thumb, 'You can see
What a tee-nacious habit he's fastened on me!
'And my grandfather Squeers took a special delight
In pruning his corns every Saturday night
'With a horn-handled razor, whose edge he excused
By saying 'twas one that his grandfather used;
'And, though deeply etched in the haft of the same
Was the ever-euphonious Wostenholm's name,
''Twas my grandfather's custom to boast of the blade
As 'A Seth Thomas razor--the best ever made!'
'No Old Settlers' Meeting, or Pioneers' Fair,
Was complete without grandfather Squeers in the chair
'To lead off the programme by telling folks how
'He used to shoot deer where the Court-House stands now'--
'How 'he felt, of a truth, to live over the past,
When the country was wild and unbroken and vast,
''That the little log cabin was just plenty fine
For himself, his companion, and fambly of nine!--
''When they didn't have even a pump, or a tin,
But drunk surface-water, year out and year in,
''From the old-fashioned gourd that was sweeter, by odds,
Than the goblets of gold at the lips of the gods!''
Then The Raggedy Man paused to plaintively say
It was clockin' along to'rds the close of the day--
And he'd _ought_ to get back to his work on the lawn,--
Then dreamily blubbered his pipe and went on:
'His teeth were imperfect--my grandfather owned
That he couldn't eat oysters unless they were 'boned';
'And his eyes were so weak, and so feeble of sight,
He couldn't sleep with them unless, every night,
'He put on his spectacles--all he possessed,--
Three pairs--with his goggles on top of the rest.
'And my grandfather always, retiring at night,
Blew down the lamp-chimney to put out the light;
'Then he'd curl up on edge like a shaving, in bed,
And puff and smoke pipes in his sleep, it is said:
'And would snore oftentimes as the legends relate,
Till his folks were wrought up to a terrible state,--
'Then he'd snort, and rear up, and roll over; and there,
In the subsequent hush they could hear him chew air.
'And so glaringly bald was the top of his head
That many's the time he has musingly said,
'As his eyes journeyed o'er its reflex in the glass,--
'I must set out a few signs of _Keep Off the Grass!_'
'So remarkably deaf was my grandfather Squeers
That he had to wear lightning-rods over his ears
'To even hear thunder--and oftentimes then
He was forced to request it to thunder again.'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Related quotes
If You Only Knew
By my grandfather's bed, my mother is reading,
Psalm 62, God is our refuge,
My grandfather stirs, could it be,
he is waking, one final time,
he has something to say,
If you only knew what lies awaiting
If you could only see what I can see
If you could only hear the music playing
The angels singing sweet victory
Oh, if you only knew, if you only knew,
How much he loves you
By my grandfather's bed, my mother is broken,
Psalm 17, O God I call on you,
She doesn't want to hear
Any words about leaving
My grandfather says
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mean Hunter
my grandfather still bend in his mattress
when we wake up
we as his grandchilds
have to leave the job
because with the job
live to become more having a meaning
my grandfather remain
to do not want to wake up
when evening
when we come home the
grandfather gived a smile and enquire to us
Have you grasp that meaning
we at a time reply
not yet
grandfather kept quiet, but at his hearts
remain to hunt the meaning
what he not yet earn also
by himself, in the corner of silent
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Grandfather, Grandfather
Grandfather, Grandfather,
what do pandas say?
Grandfather, Grandfather,
as among the rocks they roll
and rather sadly play
a game that seems
to do with dreams
of places far away.
Grandfather, Grandfather,
what do pandas say?
Grand-daughter, Grand-daughter,
when the pandas play
rather sadly in the rocks
this is what they say
to one another as they seem
to remember in a dream
those places far away:
'Let us tell no one
the word that we say
softly to one another
as we roll and play.
For if they ever heard it,
the tall two-legged Understanders
who always want to know what pandas
like us love to say,
yes, if they ever heard it
they would take it away.'
poem by George Barker
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Jesse James
(neil morris)
I'll tell you about jesse and frank james
My grandfather was personally acquainted with them
My grandfather lived in the southern edge of baxter county, arkansas
And they stayed all night with him lots of nights
And my grandfather told me there was a lot of those robberies that was layed to jesse and frank james
And he knew they didn't do it 'cause they was at his place when it happened
But you couldn't tell the public that
When they get their minds made up that somebody's done something
Why the public's gonna stick to it anyway
My grandfather, he knew them as boys
And they could come to his place and go without anybody paying attention 'cause nobody expected them
Down in arkansas, see, 'cause they was from missouri
Now that's the story that my grandfather told me when i was just a boy
And he said that frank james, at that world's fair,
I think it was 1901 in st. louis him and jesse were both there
My grandfather and frank james were together there
And that frank james offered to bring jesse there alive
He said that the man that the ford boys killed wasn't jesse james at all
But the fellow they killed was just about the size of jesse and he was red headed
And he wasn't any relation to the fords
See, jesse james was a known cousin to charles and bob ford
That's what my grandfather said
He said jesse and frank were not even in that part of the country when that fellow was killed
And the ford boys, why, they collected a thousand dollars for killing jesse james!
Now the song says that the ford boys killed jesse
None of us up here in the mountains believe that, no sir!
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Family Picture
In the old
black-and-white
family picture,
I see
great grandfather
dead drunk
with his hat
slightly skewed.
In the same old
black-and-white
family picture,
I see
grandfather
as drunk as
his father is
with his hat
also slightly skewed.
Father fools
great grandfather
and grandfather
with his rice-washed-water
as the good old home-made
Makoli.
They all believe him.
1996
poem by Sangnam Nam
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My Grandfather
The grandfather liked to watch the broadcast football
In the TV channel every night
In the morning he still sleep
When I departed for work
And his granddaughter departed for campus
When evening we the struggle channel
The grandfather liked to watch a football
His granddaughter liked to watch sinetron
While I liked the broadcast that funny-things
I have been tired worked
Was not again that attract attention in the TV agenda
Apart from laughing to release nerves that strict
Now the grandfather of temples sleeps
poem by Prasetya Utama
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What is a Grandfather?
What is a Grandfather?
A Friend, a confidant, and a mentor
That is what a Grandfather is.
Call him Grandfather, Grandpa, or even Pappy.
Just a thought of him and your heart is happy
A kindly face and snow-white hair
In his gentle eyes there is no disappointment
There is no despair
A whisper, a smile and secrets to share
A bond that is beyond compare
Fishing poles and bedtime stories.
Dressing as Santa, or even the Easter bunny
Hidden pockets full of money
JPM 1/21/2008
Dads Bad News
Dont believe a word your grandfather says
Hes been classified grade a psycotik
You can see it from the hole in his head
A saner man would have used a bigger gun
Degeneration ah ah ah ah ah
The lunatic clause was written for you
The story spoken is a story unheard
By you so listen cause its unbelievable
A certain trait has passed while while centuries turned
This certain trait has been a family tradition
No simple way to tell you son
We share the same red tainted blood
Im gonna kill me, youre gonna kill you
Killing you
Dont believe a word your grandfather says
Dont believe a word your grandfather says
Dont believe a word your grandfather says
Hes a psycotik, grade a psycotic
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If the grandfather of the grandfather of Jesus had known what was hidden within him, he would have stood humble and awe-struck before his soul.
quote by Kahlil Gibran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My grandfather on my mother's side was a professor of mechanical engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology; my other grandfather was a lawyer, and one time Speaker of the Tennessee House of Representatives.
quote by Kenneth G. Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I guess one of the funniest memories of my grandfather was the time I was at his house and that tied-up man with the gag in his mouth came hopping out of the closet and started yelling that HE was really my grandfather and the other guy was an imposter and to run for help. Who was that guy Oh, well, never saw HIM again.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They Are Tearing Down My Grandfather's House
(An NLP Editor's Choice Award Winner in Verdant Lands of Spring) They are tearing down my Grandfather's house,
it's made of wood and brick and stone.
The windows they've removed. To them it's real
estate, to me it's my heart being ripped in two.
The realtors, the bankers, the moneymen don't understand.
A house is more than made of wood, a house is made of man. My Grandfather's house is a memory that will
endure after it's torn down.
He's been gone for near thirty years, but his
house had lived on.
I know the world is made of change, and change
is all that's real. But one thing I cannot change,
that is the way I feel. I wipe a tear in the falling rain,
because they are tearing down my Grandfather's
house, and it gives me pain.
I love him as if it were yesteryear,
his wit and smile as warm as the sun.
The house once stood to remind me, but that too
is gone. They are tearing down my Grandfather's house,
it's made of wood and brick and stone.
Yet a house if more than made of wood,
a house is made of love.
poem by David A. Webb
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My Version Of T'was The Night Before Christmas
So...
While the children were sleeping,
Snug in their beds...
A fat man dressed in a red suit,
Trimmed in white fur...
Began to sneak around the house.
And your very protective grandfather,
Got his favorite baseball bat...
And began to beating that fat man in the head.
The policemen arrived,
And took your grandfather away.
When the children awakened,
Not a toy was in sight.
And all the children living in the ghetto,
Got a reality check.
Learning to go to sleep...
Without believing they will hear reindeer,
On the roof...
The night before Christmas.
'Honey?
Why are our grandchildren crying? '
~I read them my version,
Of T'was The Night Before Christmas.
They are too old to be thinking,
They will be getting something for free.
When we have spent our retirement money,
To keep them fantasized.~
'Couldn't you have found a better way,
To break the news to them? '
~No! ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Pastoral
Just as the sun was setting
Back of the Western hills
Grandfather stood by the window
Eating the last of his pills.
And Grandmother, by the cupboard,
Knitting, heard him say:
'I ought to have went to the village
To fetch some more pills today.'
Then Grandmother snuffled a teardrop
And said. 'It is jest like I suz
T’ th’ parson—Grandfather’s liver
Ain’t what it used to was:
'It’s gittin’ torpid and dormant,
It don’t function like of old,
And even them pills he swallers
Don’t seem no more t’ catch hold;
'They used to grab it and shake it
And joggle it up and down
And turn dear Grandfather yaller
Except when they turned him brown;
'I remember when we was married
His liver was lively and gay,
A kickin’ an’ rippin’ an’ givin’
Dear Ezry new pains ev’ry day;
'It used to turn clear over backwards
An’ palpitate wuss’n a pump
An’ give him the janders and yallers
An’ bounce around thumpty-thump;
'But now it is torpid and dormant
And painless and quiet and cold;
Ah, me! all’s so peaceful an’ quiet
Since Grandfather’s liver ’s grown old!
Then Grandmother wiped a new teardrop
And sighed: 'It is just like I suz
T’ th’ parson: Grandfather’s liver
Ain’t what it used to was.'
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Aftermath
'The Tree Still Stands! '
Exclaimed the boy clasping his hands
To his Father who was walking the rear,
And to his Grandfather who was nowhere near.
For happy was He.
For standing there so straight and tall
Was the tree whose limbs He crawled
And the branches from which He played,
And the root where His head once laid.
And the many leaves.
Now the Father whom hearing His Son
Came to his side in a moment run
Then He stopped; for the tree He saw
Then the Father just stood in awe,
And uttered; 'my old friend'.
For standing there was His friend
From which before His youth was spent
By climbing and playing games,
And hiding under, from the cold and rain.
And the wind.
Then the Grandfather came strolling up
And He paused, in a moment hush
To reflect to a different year
When He was a Child, and He cried a tear.
And He clasped His hands.
For he was then again a Child
And then again He cried and smiled,
For He remembered His Father and He,
And how together they planted a tree.
And it still stands.
'Thank GOD the tree still stands! '
Cried the Grandfather clasping His hands.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Can Can Dancer Gran.
I used to be a dancer
during World War 1
your paternal grandmother said
as she sat next to you
on the seat in her
back garden in London
and your grandfather
would come and watch
with his army friends
and afterwards
he'd come
to the stage door
with flowers or chocolates
or just stand there
with that awestruck look
on his face
and she looked
at the flowers
that your grandfather grew
along both sides
of the garden
and she smiled and said
Look at him now
sits in the same room
and says nothing
or moans about the bills
or how the country is run
or the noise of the traffic
by the front gate
and you sat there
on the seat
in the back garden
in your new suit
and with your hair
cropped short
and that fifteen year old
I'm bored as hell look
on your face and you said
Why did you give up dancing
you must have been good at it?
and as you looked
at your grandmother
with her white frizzy hair
and stocky build
you couldn't imagine her
as a dancer on a stage
with men gawping at her
especially not your soft spoken
quiet grandfather
who sat in his armchair
by the fireside
in a silent mood
occasionally reading a book
or giving that
I've seen too much
of mankind's foolery
kind of look
and your grandmother said
Well after we got married
I fell for your uncle Fred
and beside I wasn't that good
a dancer and your
grandfather didn't want
a wife of his
to be peered at
or have her legs
gawked at
by other men
and then she was silent
and watched
a white butterfly
go by
fluttering its wings
but
she said softly
getting up
from the seat
and doing a small
Can Can dance
the shows not over
until the fat lady sings.
poem by Terry Collett
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Elena (Twice Raped)
Born 1830 'Elena De Magdalena' in Mexico
Was kidnapped by Comanches at age nine or ten
At 13 she married a war chief named Ebi Pui
She was seen by Comanchero traders now n' then
At age 18 Elena was rescued by Mexican soldiers
Who had surprised her captors one early morn
She was taken back to her Mexican family
Where she was met with disdain n' with scorn
'Why did you not fight them or kill yourself'
Elena's grandfather said in a loud cry
She answered;
'Grandfather sometimes it takes,
More courage to live than to die'
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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My awareness
I know when the Taj Mahal was built.
When did my grandfather build my house?
I know when King Asoka was born.
When was my grandfather born?
I know the world history, not my family history.
21.10.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My grandfather was Catholic; my grandmother, Jewish. Crossing over from Bavaria, as immigrants to the United States, the ship started to sink. My grandmother jumped overboard. My grandfather followed, to save this girl he had never met.
quote by Emanuel Celler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Manners
For a Child of 1918
My grandfather said to me
as we sat on the wagon seat,
"Be sure to remember to always
speak to everyone you meet."
We met a stranger on foot.
My grandfather's whip tapped his hat.
"Good day, sir. Good day. A fine day."
And I said it and bowed where I sat.
Then we overtook a boy we knew
with his big pet crow on his shoulder.
"Always offer everyone a ride;
don't forget that when you get older,"
my grandfather said. So Willy
climbed up with us, but the crow
gave a "Caw!" and flew off. I was worried.
How would he know where to go?
But he flew a little way at a time
from fence post to fence post, ahead;
and when Willy whistled he answered.
"A fine bird," my grandfather said,
"and he's well brought up. See, he answers
nicely when he's spoken to.
Man or beast, that's good manners.
Be sure that you both always do."
When automobiles went by,
the dust hid the people's faces,
but we shouted "Good day! Good day!
Fine day!" at the top of our voices.
When we came to Hustler Hill,
he said that the mare was tired,
so we all got down and walked,
as our good manners required.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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