Quick and Quiet Pee
Grandpa trapped me with gas that he passed.
The children from the playground saw me gasp for air,
And laughed.
Grandpa didn't bat an eye at me,
When I covered up my nose and pretended to sneeze!
He offered to extend to me an apology...
By saying he tried to hold the gas in,
But if he did there was nowhere around...
He could take a quick and quiet pee!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Grandpa Told Me So
(mark alan springer/james dean hicks)
If you dont get in the water youre never gonna learn to swim
He said a snake is just as scared of you as you are of him
He could tell by the moon when the fish would bite
Seems there was nothing that he didnt know
And as a kid I believed cause grandpa told me so
He talked daddy into letting me have my first car
I thought I was really something til becky thompson broke my heart
That first taste of love really did me in
Getting over her slow
And I knew someday I would cause grandpa told me so
He said life is made for you to live
The best love is the love that you give
Therell be times when you wanna hold on but you gotta let go
And I live by those words cause grandpa told me so
I promised him I wouldnt cry when it was his time to leave
Thats the only promise I made him I couldnt keep
He smiled from his bed and said well meet again
Somewhere down the road
And I believe cause grandpa told me so
He said life is made for you to live
The best love is the love that you give
Therell be times when you wanna hold on but you gotta let go
And I live by those words cause grandpa told me so
He said life is made for you to live
The best love is the love that you give
Therell be times when you wanna hold on but you gotta let go
And I live by those words cause grandpa told me so
Yeah and I still believe
Grandpa told me so
Grandpa told me so
I still believe
Grandpa told me so
I still believe...
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wish I Could
I wish I could tell you I love you
I wish I could take back those times I did not
But I can't and I never can
I wish I could take back those times that I was mean
That I had an attitude
But I can't and I never can
I realized to late what you mean to me
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you….I'm sorry for my tears
You saved me from the orphanage where you were forced to go
You saved my baby brother's life but I never said thank you
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you…..I'm sorry for my tears
I can never again hug you
I can only see your smile in your pictures
I can never ask about the wars you fought in
I can never hear your stories again
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you…….I'm sorry for my tears
I wish I could tell you I love you
But I can never do it again
poem by Rachel Dowd
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You 'Were' Looking For Your Shoes
I can not find my socks.
Who misplaced them?
And why are they not in my sight?
'Grandpa? '
WHAT IS IT! ?
'I've spotted your socks.'
Okay.
Then where are they?
'Grandpa...
They are on your feet.'
Oh.
Well...
Who put them there?
'You did grandpa.
Just before you said,
You 'were' looking for your shoes.'
What are you trying to say?
You know where they are too?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Magic Music Box
That music box on Grandpa's wall
Was magic to my eyes
I loved to hold and try to play
that guitar, twice my size
One day, I thought of nothing else
So, when the school bell rang
I was off to Grandpa's house
To strum those strings again
I waded thru two babbling brooks
Loving every step I took
Then paused to smell the sweet incense
Of honeysuckles on the fence
They'll miss me home at suppertime
But I think dad knows he can find
His little girl at Grandpa's house
with that guitar across her lap
Then found a guitar, all her own
Would keep his little girl at home
And Happy too!, for I play well
Tho' years have passed, I love it still.
poem by Nita S. Balma
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I'm My Own Grandpa
It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she's as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life:
My daughter was my mother 'cause she was my father's wife.
And then to complicate the matter, though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.
This bouncing baby then became a brother-in-law to dad,
and so became my uncle, though it made me very sad,
for if he was my uncle then he also was the brother
of the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my step-mother.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
Father's wife then had a son who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother, and it makes me blue,
because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too.
Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
Husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Thankless Scions
Grandma was in isolation
She was in an isle of distress
The children whom she fed
With the blood turned milk
In her breasts
Have all flown and vanished
And she left abandoned
With the linings all over
In mind and skin
Heralding the arrival
Of the frail old December
Of the life, the end of the span!
The marvelous culture
Of a house- hold adorned
With grandma and grandpa
With children and grand children
Went into oblivion!
The grandma and grandpa
Is a hindrance to their children
Is a bad omen to scions
And an inconvenience
To the young and dynamic!
Grandma and grandpa
Are ignored and caged
As of a dog or parrot
And fed like a slave
Tied to a pole in chains!
The thankless sons and daughters
Never care the sufferings
And sacrifices of Ma and Papa
And they want to be alone
As being youthful in spirit
And are eager to enjoy
The spring of life
Where they hate the face of autumn!
Grandma, Grandpa, Ma and Papa
Are omen of autumn
That they never wish to sight!
The young whose blood
Rushes with the fuel of Ma's milk
Forget that the green leaves
Will turn yellow
And wither away
And an autumn is is hibernation
To embrace them tomorrow!
poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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Warm Milk And Toast
Warmed milk sweetened with honey
toast buttered with a thin spread of jam.
A bedtime story told by my Grandpa
times of Castles and Giants, living in some Fairy Tale land.
The warmed milk would make me sleepy
the toast would fill that nightime hunger need.
Sounds of Grandpa's soft loving voice
as he would sit on my bed and read.
My Grandpa's gone so many years ago
now I am one myself.
I warm and sweeten my Granddaughters milk
and take that same book down off her shelf.
Her eyes are wide open, as she chomps away
at the toast with butter and jam.
She tells me how much she loves me so
and just how neat of a Grandpa that I am.
I see her eyes growing heavy now
as I continue to read the story.
And am proud that I'm a Grandpa
and now can read, my Grandpa's Fairy Tale Story.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Where all your teeth?
"Grandpa, where all your teeth have done"
I was taken a back for query taken
She was my grand daughter asking where about
Of teeth that had fallen or faced route
I regained some confidence
Took to courage and faced
All her questions
And started to speak with clear mention
May be they are all shunted out
I told with clear voice for their fall out
"They were shaking and causing me pain"
So I did away with their whole chain
"Your eyes too look so big in glass"
Why do I find it enlarged with typical class?
I had kept ready made answer
She was not convinced but did not push further
"Your vision gets blurred"
"So new sets of glasses are offered"
I tried to make it look simple
She kept quiet and did not put me in trouble
Grandpa, you are kind and generous
Everybody respects as you seem to be famous
I was little bit elated with her innocence
She was altogether perfect in her brilliance
I could see happiness rush on my face
The children were around for all such grace
I have complete control over my utterances
As I take no exception to any occasion for such chances
Children are eager to know about our past
How did we spend our youth and last?
What was the situation at that time?
And so on for their eagerness sometimes
You may be trapped for your ignorance
If you slip your tongue even at once
They may quote you with same sentence
Such is the child's mind with unique presence
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Bouncing Pony
Joey is an adventurous little boy
A bouncing pony is his birthday present
Grandpa Joe’s heart is filled with joy.
Let me help you into the saddle to enjoy
Youthful squeals eagerly express intent
Joey is an adventurous little boy
Into the stirrups Joey’s feet are employed
Energy is engaged one hundred percent
Grandpa Joe’s heart is filled with joy.
Reins are grasped by a miniature cowboy…
The eager steed bolts and away they went
Joey is an adventurous little boy.
The spirits of two generations join as one…
Their smiles and laughter are frequent
Grandpa Joe’s heart is filled with joy.
Motion slows as Joey dismounts and runs
Bouncing onto Grandpa’s lap and giving a hug
Joey is an adventurous little boy
Grandpa Joe’s heart is filled with joy.
(9/10/07)
poem by Theresa Ann Moore
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Bedtime Story
I'm going to tell you a bed time story
it's the one my Grandpa told long ago to me.
But the bed time story I will tell you tonight
will become a part of, now your families history!
It will tell of the days of covered wagons
that once rolled across the prairies green!
And tales of hunting and fishing
you will invision all of my story telling scenes.
Of indians and cowboys!
around the camp fires and hunting buffalo!
And homes built from the lands trees
and those fields, that the farmers plows tilled to grow.
I will tell you a bed time story
that you will tell your own children one day!
I will tell it the way my Grandpa told it to me
then you can tell your story, in your way one day!
poem by Linda Winchell
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Grandpas Rocking Chair for M lady Chitra
On the front porch a rocking chair
nobody uses no one dare
Nor dare they move it anywhere.
Grandpa decreed it must stay there
What grandpa said was what he meant
he left no room for argument.
He simply stated his intent
Though other folk felt different
When Grandpa died the family tried
to set his iron rule aside
You’ll rue this day their Grandma cried
Your Grandpa will not be defied.
They moved the chair to show they could
though grandma did not think they should
She warned them all that nothing good
would come of this. She understood
although she knew Grandpa was dead.
She knew he’d rise in wrathful pride
to reinforce what he has said.
His last command before he died.
The chair was moved despite her pleas.
Her warnings were not listened to.
From that day on they knew no peace
Til grandma told them what to do
The rocking chair must be restored
to where Grandpa said it should be.
They all agreed of one accord
the chair replaced immediately.
Sometimes at night it seems to be
moving gently slowly rocking
Although there’s nothing they can see
they know that Grandpas visiting.
To see his word is still obeyed.
That no one moves his rocking chair.
Nobody will they’re too afraid.
They know sometimes he still sits there.
27-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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from A Fallen Tree All Make Kindling' (dutch Proverb)
Whenever I sit under a tree I’m in my grandpas arms
My grandpa was like a tree with his strong and silent charm
He would shelter the world under his shade
And in the harshest storm he just merely swayed
He was like a tree but not the ones with big flowers
For his beauty was endurance it lasted more than mere hours
My grandpa was a tree the kind with big leaves
The kind that when cut down the whole forest grieves
He was like a tree big and gentle
He sat there and listened kind and parental
And though he was the tallest tree all around
He never looked down on the ones on the ground
My grandpa was a tree his love ran deep like roots
So even when cut down we still have loves fruits
Got Chocolate?
Snowflakes the size of marshmallows fall to the earth;
Frosty icy winds play havoc with her red curly hair.
She delights in frolicking in snow so deep;
Bundled up in bright green coat and leggings,
pink hat, scarf and gloves
she brightens up the gray day.
Grandpa dons his own snow gear, dark brown coat,
black ear muffs, gloves and red Santa hat;
shovel in hand he begins to clear the path
when 'she' playfully jumps into it re-snowing it
to Grandpa's chagrin as he grins
pretending to be annoyed.
but he re-shovels again with great patience.
The worst of the storm has passed. The white stuff
is the perfect setting this day, this Christmas Eve.
Cold, wet and tired Grandpa and granddaughter
come in to warm up to hot chocolate with marshmallows
and it reminds curly head of the snow fall today.
Grandpa's white mustache is chocolate dyed.
Curly Head's mouth says: 'Got chocolate? '
Bedtime has evolved, Santa's on his way.
Curly head has left him a treat in a cup.
Santa arrived;
he put Curly Head's presents under the tree
Santa's white mustache gave him away;
he looked at himself in the mantle mirror
and laughed a hearty, 'HO, HO, HO'
His white mustache was chocolate dyed
and he cried aloud:
'GOT CHOCOLATE?
'HO, HO, HO! '
© Mel Patterson,11-2011
poem by Mel Patterson
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I remember we were all horrified to see Grandpa up on the roof with his Superman cape on. 'Get down' yelled Uncle Lou. 'Don't move' screamed Grandma. But Grandpa wouldn't listen. He walked to the edge of the roof and stuck out his arms, like he was going to fly. I forget what happened after that.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandpa's Lake
He was sitting by himself all alone,
Down in a little corner.
Looking out of place, in the funeral home,
And away from all the mourners.
His dad walked up, and I heard him say,
Daddy can I go home?
I don't know why grandpa went away,
But he might be home alone.
I want to be there, when he gets back,
We were going fishing today.
He'll need his hooks and rods, and that burlap sack,
Where he puts the fish away.
His dad looked up, a tear in his eye,
And said 'grandpa's fishing now.'
But it's a great big lake, up in the sky,
And you can't go there right now.
He's fishing with his dad today,
They'll be fishing for some time.
They have a lot to do and say,
Cause to that lake it's a long steep climb.
They haven't seen each other,
In oh, so many years.
And grandpa's glad to see his father,
And both their eyes have tears.
And grandpa's a little boy again,
Just a fishing with his dad.
And on his face there's no more pain,
I hope for him your'e glad.
The little boy just smiled and said,
I guess I'm happy about that.
Yes for grampa I'm very glad,
But for me, I guess I'm sad.
I wanted to go fishing, with my grampa today.
But if you can take me,
To the lake, maybe the bay,
I'll go, my time is free.
I guess I'll wait to fish with grampa,
Till I can make it to his lake.
Maybe he'll find some secret spots,
I sure hope so, for my sake.
1/4/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Adventure
My grandfather, Charlie
Began that family trait!
He had a moving company...
The first of its kind,
In a city that draped its hate!
They didn't say it openly,
But it was known to segregate.
And Charlie did the best he could,
To see his family didn't suffer and ate!
And the family grew to be much more than eight!
By the time I was eight my grandma and pop...
Had popped out eighteen!
My uncle Gay Hall and aunt Virginia,
Were the last to dropp on this scene!
And Charlie saw it well,
That grandma never worked...
She had raised Twenty-one of her own.
And it was always an adventure then,
To see who would love...and to see who love would hurt!
To watch mama and papa take care of their kin!
Nothing what I've done has ever been
That adventurous to be driven
To protect AND defend!
Not to us who didn't know
What we know now but not back then.
Not back in those days!
Nothing what I've done
Has been that adventurous on my plate!
I'm glad my grandpa gave me a little taste of my fate.
I guess my grandpa left me something,
I could easily neglect...no matter what the debate.
Easily if not injected with a bit adventure in my blood...
And 'gifts' he left me I will always respect!
And much appreciate!
Because of my grandpa,
Any adventure from a kindred center,
Growing with it and letting it create!
I've always wanted that next adventure....
One
To be the very best...and giving me the shakes!
Thinking of adventure as something to expect!
Wanting more each time its done.
Wanting it just like sex! I guess.
Nothing what I've done of late...
Has made me want adventure less!
Nothing I can remember in September.
Maybe
When it begins to become cool and shady!
And just 'maybe'...
I'll suspect and seize the adventure in October,
If it presents and these attached
Grandpa family tied 'adventurements'
Don't drive me crazy!
Sometimes we have to give time just to be lazy!
To rest and refresh!
Special thanks:
Diane Violet
For the closing line in this poem!
AND I've since 'added' onto 'that line'!
Thanks again, Dee...
~for 'refresh'~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Grandpa Orange Garden
From my grandpa Orange Garden
You can saw green orange leaf
all over the place
it fruits had started ripening
He frequently late going home
My grandma hit “Kentongan ”)
For going home soonly
But my grandpa workinghard
Forgotten to eat and drink, and going home
When he going home he saw the roof falling down
And black cloud seen in the sky
Quickly my grandfather took the ladder
Up to the roof and care the roof
For bettering their room
The rain fall from the sky
My grandpa walking down from teh roof
sleppy, and never wake up again
my grandma cried till morning
forgotten the orange fruit harvest
she embrace her husband slept strectched on the ground
in the meeting room
where children and grandchildren are gathering
to day you couldn’t seen the green leaf orange
the fresh orange leave the smeel in my reminiscences
the garden leave high and dry
no grandpa touch down at
the leafs through,
it stalks to let dryness
dryness and to wither
the dush fly everywhere
the house and garden is empty
only ghosts dwell in that house
I still remember
I fomerly run there
Among the orange stem trees
Under the orange leaf shady
His Only one message:
Don’t pick those oranges before ripe
Jakarta,6/29/2005
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Old Upright Piano
For as long as I remember, when friday night came round
The family would gather out at grandpas house.
With supper over and the dishes done
It was then the best time came
At an old upright piano that only grandma played.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
Grandpa was a stubborn man, they said it was his style.
Grandma called him ornery, but she said it with a smile.
Even he could not disguise the love he felt so strong;
We all could see it in his eyes when she played his favorite song.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
I was almost 17 when my grandma died;
I stayed all night with grandpa; the old man never cried.
He sat at her piano, there was nothing we could say
It was the first time in my life I ever heard my grandpa play.
It wasnt beautiful dreamer or my wild irish rose
It was a song he played from memory & he never missed a note
I sat right there beside him until the morning came
What a friend we have in jesus was the only song he played.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Evergreen State
'No, little Johnny, raindrops are really just
the tears of sweet angels, who cry. Cry
because of sins that people commit,
and that is why, my smart and curious boy,
we get rain so often in Washington State'.
'Oh, so we have a lot of sinners here, then
and that is why it is called the Evergreen State? '
'Well, yes. I have lived here all my life,
all my friends live here and, as to being sinners,
I think it is more because of the tears, salty they are,
they bring down moisture and salt, my boy,
that, in the end, creates the salt of the earth,
and your grandpa is part of that. No sinner.
So, when the angels cry, you can watch the grass grow.'
'But grandpa, that means the more I sin the greener
and faster the grass grows, that feeds our cows,
makes more milk, steaks for the BBQ and, of course,
more salt of the earth. Right, old man, or not? '
'Smart boy you are, if I do say so myself. Smart.
So, how are you doing in school, behaving yourself? '
'Salt of the earth, grandpa, salt of the earth.'
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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That's How We Met!
I once met a woman from Nantucket.
Who wanted me to add fluid in her bucket...
'GRANDPA? ? ? '
You asked me to recite a poem!
You kids don't know what you want.
'Yeah,
But grandpa...
Comeon.
You've got to have more on your mind,
Besides sex! '
SEX?
You kids are sumthin' else!
Who in the hell's talking about sex?
That woman just happens to have been your grandmother.
She sucked some gasoline out of my car,
To get her own started.
Using a hose.
I had never seen that before.
That's how we met!
And sex was the furthest thing from our minds.
'Oh yeah?
Well...
How did my mother get here? '
On a TRAIN!
How many times do I have to tell you that! ?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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