About Grandmother...
at 90
grandma was left alone
sometime in
1970
she lost her mind
walked down the stairs of the house
and fell
on the big rattan basket fit
for the
coconuts
when she died there was
a grand funeral
her niche was covered by
daisies
her picture when she was young
was best
the neighborhood was so
impressed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Silver
Nirvana- Silver
Mom and dad went to a show
They dropped me off at Grandpa Joe's
I kicked and screamed, said please don't go
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Had to eat my dinner there
Mashed potatoes and stuff like that
I couldn't chew my meats too good
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
She said, well, don't you start your crying
Go outside and ride your bike
That's what I did, I killed my toe
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
After dinner, I had ice cream
I fell asleep and watched TV
I woke up in my mother's arms
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
I wanna be alone
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death of an author
The Death of an Author
John Updike is dead, can’t say I know much about him
I may have read one or two of his books but he didn’t
leave a lasting impression as Hemingway did.
One of my neighbours has died too, I saw him every
day walking past my house with his old dog and a basket
in his left arm, with wine and a bit to eat.
He was going to his little field, doing some weeding but
mostly just drinking looking at the way birds flew, patting
his dog’s head and snoring gently under of a tree.
There was something about his eyes, like some inner
suffering had made him look holy, say, as an idealized
picture of Jesus on the cross.
I’m going to his funeral tomorrow morning, at 67 he was
bit young for death I thought, a new face will come and
take his place; but who is going to look after his old dog?
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The rattan basket criticizes the palm leaf basket, still both are full of holes.
The Great 'Grandma
The fussy Grandma
was on her last moments.
Sensing that she was knocking
at the doors of 'Death',
her grand children were
brought one by one before her.
Memories stinging
of momentous years
began to come into her mind.
How with tricks she drove out
her aged mother-in-law
just a week after her
coming into that house
as the first daughter-in-law!
The eldest grandchild
trickled down sugary water
into her mouth.
Her henpecked husband
reared his head in her mind.
Her eyes got wet
when her mind recalled
how her husband hanged himself
believing her feigning torrid looks
at some neighbours, as true.
The next grand child
dripped water into her mouth.
When she remembered
how her first daughter-in-law
sought herself divorce
being afraid of her torture,
her lips moved a bit
and the third grand child
rained sweetened water.
When she thought of her
second techie-daughter-in-law
who escaped her ill-treatment
by settling down abroad
and refused to take her there,
she tried to gnash her teeth.
Her upper jaw lowered a little.
The foreign-settled in-law
came by flight and entered
at her mother-in-law's last minute.
She poured pure honey down
into the gaped mouth of her in-law.
The great grandma lost her breath
and was lost for ever.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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From A 9-year Old Child To His Mama...
I was the one who
uprooted your
blooming red African daisies
that morning when
you walked to attend the
funeral of
Uncle Aldong
when you arrived that afternoon
from the silent city
all the African daisies
have already wilted
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bazonka
Say Bazonka every day
That's what my grandma used to say
It keeps at bay the Asian Flu'
And both your elbows free from glue.
So say Bazonka every day
(That's what my grandma used to say)
Don't say it if your socks are dry!
Or when the sun is in your eye!
Never say it in the dark
(The word you see emits a spark)
Only say it in the day
(That's what my grandma used to say)
Young Tiny Tim took her advice
He said it once, he said it twice
he said it till the day he died
And even after that he tried
To say Bazonka! every day
Just like my grandma used to say.
Now folks around declare it's true
That every night at half past two
If you'll stand upon your head
And shout Bazonka! from your bed
You'll hear the word as clear as day
Just like my grandma used to say!
poem by Spike Milligan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0200 Dementia
Now what did I come upstairs for?
Of course I haven’t forgotten your name,
young lady, it’s just that I can’t remember it
Why am I going upstairs?
I only just got up
No dear, you’re wrong,
I always pay on account
Where’s my bed?
Isn’t this upstairs?
Take the paper back
to the newsagent, someone’s
already done the crossword
Of course I’m undressed,
I just came upstairs
Of course you can sign my name dear,
they know me at the post office
Why is it so dark downstairs,
I’ve only just got up
Why should I give you money for the gas,
Young man? I don’t even know you
I’m sure there are more stairs
than there used to be
Stop being so insulting, young man,
it’s only money
No of course I don’t need help with the stairs,
I know my own house
No dear, you sign for it, I’m sure
your boss will understand
Somebody changed the stairs
when I was out, they
aren’t the same
Why are people so rude about
money these days?
Ask my father to speak
to that young man
The stairs are steeper than they were,
somebody’s changed them
Who are you, I didn’t
ask you to come in…
Of course it’s my house,
it’s just that you changed the stairs
Tell the bank manager to
come and see me in the morning.
Why does that man upstairs
move the stairs at night?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Like Cockatoos
She walked out of her house
And looked around
At all the gardens that looked
Back at her house
(like all the faces
That quiz when you smile...)
And he was standing
At the corner
Where the road turned dark
A part of shiny wet
Like blood the rain fell
Black down on the street
And kissed his feet she fell
Her head an inch away from heaven
And her face pressed tight
And all around the night sang out
Like cockatoos
"there are a thousand things" he said
"i'll never say those things to you again"
And turning on his heel
He left a trace of bubbles
Bleeding in his stead
And in her head
A picture of a boy who left her
Lonely in the rain
(and all around the night sang out like cockatoos)
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another letter to fill the basket
Well I'm sitting here thinking
on a friday night
the television's rubbish
and I'm feeling uptight
I've tried to send you txts
but you turned off your phone
and I know like me your sitting
in the house all alone
We both got pretty crazy
down the pub last weekend
you said that I was flirting
you were eyeing up men
I still want to talk
that's why I'm writing these lines
I must have said I'm sorry
oer a thousand times
The letters I write just fill the basket
you know we were quite fantastic
the past is past but the future's here
don't drown our hopes with floods of tears,
blow a kiss and I will catch it
why can't we bury the hatchet
you're stretching my nerves like elastic
another letter to fill the basket
How come you're so quiet
you haven't said a word to me
for over a week and two hours
since I left you at the taxi rank
with your friend Jill
your flatmate says you're never home
when I call round, but I saw your
shoes on the stairs
so I knew that you were there
I've still got the scarf
you left at my house
and it smells of you
I wish that you would call me
and say that you're all right
it's getting late, I'm going to bed
I've written all I wished I said
the dreams are melting just like plastic
another letter to fill the basket.
poem by Charles M. Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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His Funeral Is Mine
He is just a young man,
With little knowledge of his own future.
Little did he know,
His funeral was coming in days time.
Years have passed him by,
And little did I know,
I fell in love with him,
He fell in love with me.
Little did we both know,
Too little.
I figured out from his unhappiness,
His marriage was the day of his funeral.
I know the right thing to do is to stay away from him,
But he's too charming,
He has me locked in his magic spell,
His funeral has become mine.
As I fall asleep each night,
I remember the minutes in his presence,
As I know he is spending the night
With his wife..
poem by Petra Tawfik
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I Don't Even Know You
Friend,
Once upon a time you were my friend
and the day I knew you played a plot
to demean me thru a sting mission
and the day you confessed that
you plotted behind to chase me out
for your own survival
you died as my friend
and I threw your corpse to a graveyard
and I saw you lie there cold and dead
without any respect or dignity
a human deserves
I did not wait for your funeral
that I left with a clergy
and when I walked alongwith
my pure earth I looked back
at your funeral pyre there I could see
only black smoke like the blind,
black spots of your brain and mind
which killed you and your inner vision
Oh Friend? ? ? ?
I am in peace now and I feel
I don't even know you.....
poem by Rema Prasanaa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Broken Girl
The light is fading faster
as her life begins
to go
the darkness comes
as her life slowly
slips away
her demons have risen
they've taken control
she's not the girl
she used to be
The girl with the
smile, the
girl with the
laugh
That girl is gone
she has died off
she left this day
the day of an honest
mistake
a mistake she will
have to die for
for her grandma will
soon know
they don't see it
for they don't know
the wrath of her grandma
they think the grandma's
sweet
they say she's not that way
She says her grandma will
take
everything she holds dear
they say they don't believe it
they say that its not true
little do they know
her grandma is of a nature
where she will take all
from the girl
all because of one
mistake
the girl will loose it all
the girl you knew will
be long gone
for she must say good-bye
all to soon you will
meat the girl she
really is
for all to soon her masks
shall drop
all to soon she will
reveal all
the masks shall drop
and many will see
just how broken that girl
really is
to soon they will see
that girl is
me
(written 9/29/10)
The Little Girl
Her parents never took the young girl to church
Never spoke of his name
Never read her his word
Two non-believers walking lost in this world
Took their baby with them
What a sad little girl
Her daddy drank all day and mommy did drugs
Never wanted to play
Or give kisses and hugs
Shed watch the tv and sit there on the couch
While her mom fell asleep
And her daddy went out
And the drinking and the fighting
Just got worse every night
Behind their couch shed be hiding
Oh what a sad little life
And like it always does, the bad just got worse
With every slap and every curse
Until her daddy in a drunk rage one night
Used a gun on her mom and then took his life
And some people from the city took the girl far away
To a new mom and new dad
Kisses and hugs everyday
Her first day of sunday school the teacher walked in
And a small little girl
Stared a picture of him
She said I know that man up there on that cross
I dont know his name
But I know he got off
He was there in my old house
And held me close to his side
As I hid there behind our couch
The night that my parents died
song performed by by John Michael Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grand Illusion
I saw you in a dream, it hit me like a bright light
Flashing on a screen, visions of my whole life.
I used to chase the moment of desire
Back to when my young heart burned like a fire.
It was just a, nothing but a grand illusion.
Heart was quicker than the eye.
Nothing but a grand illusion,
Legend in my own mind.
I held you in my arms till the other side of midnight.
Kept you in my mind, you got me through some long nights.
Standing on the threshold of desire,
Caught between the madness and the fire.
Chorus
It was all a grand illusion.
Hand was quicker than the eye.
Nothing but a grand illusion,
Legends in our own minds.
I used to chase the moments of desire
Back to when my young heart burned like a fire.
It was just a, nothing but a, it was all a grand illusion.
Nothing but a grand illusion.
It was all a grand illusion,
Legend in my own mind.
It was just a grand illusion.
Nothing but a grand illusion.
It was just a grand illusion,
Legend in our own mind.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stage Three
no one enters the house using the door.
The doors close without the use of hinges and locks.
The living room is turned upside down.
The traces of my steps are a myriad labyrinths of
puzzles, cross, crescent, moon, sun, stars, and
dead leaves just below the body of a rotting log.
Log on. Say some more. This is freedom.
The railings are roses. The stairs are rivers.
The walls are faces of the one you make love.
The roofs are ideas. Theories live there and metaphors
Abound in the living room.There is an old piano and you
Begin to play: Vienna woods. You dance the waltz with her.
Whispers mossy on the carpets. The toilet is kept empty
And shiny white tiles, glossy to the feel of your fingers.
The bedroom is bare. You too complete the picture.
An hour of sex. Gracious! This house is the most beautiful
House of our neighborhood.
It is not our home yet. Tomorrow we unpack.
The distance is our journey. And it is somewhere else
With someone you still love. It is not I.
I am just a picture: black and white, and dusty.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dog River Blues
Well I first kissed you on a hollow log
Down by the river they call the dog
We fell in love and we vowed that day
Like the flow of the river our love wont change
Well we married that spring and we built a house
On the bank of the river where the rock juts out
Now the rivers still here but youre long gone
You left me and the river here all alone
I got the dog river blues
Ive walked holes in both my shoes
Now I still got the river but I aint got you
I got the dog river blues
Well the rain came down and the river rose up
Filled up the cab on my pickup truck
It came in the house and down the hall
And washed your picture right off the wall
Chorus
Well my heart still yearns and the river still rolls
And I pray someday itll bring you home
So if you change your mind honey Ill be here
Waiting on the banks of that oldog river
Chorus
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In this house of pain
In this house of pain
We’re nothing but slaves
Giving into such desires
Will it bring us any pleasure?
Weeping for a lover lost
She’ll cast her own spell
Deprived by all
Depleting the life of everyone that has betrayed her
Hidden in the shadows is where she will feel alive
In this house
Is nothing but sinners?
In this house
Is nothing but broken promises?
In this house
Is where you left me for dead?
Walking through the fogged trees
Blind to all
The songs of old
Are here for the comfort of all.
Beneath the garden of secrets
Hides a lonely heart
Calling to her lover
From which she had to part.
I am alone again.
Alone with my thoughts
That I am left to ponder upon
I am alone again.
This sadness is overwhelming
And all I can do is give in
Does my heart still beat the same?
Or does it die along with you
These thoughts seem to keep me sane
Yet I’m still waiting for more
These memories seem to play a game
And in the end
I’m here to give in
In this house
Is nothing but heartache?
In this house
Is nothing but tears?
In this house
Is where you left me broken?
The feelings seem to fade
The laughter was lost long ago
But I would give everything up
Just to have it all back
In this house
Was when I first fell in love with you?
In this house is were I gave my heart to you
In this house was where i was lost to you.
This will be our doing
This will be our destruction
Swept up in such blissful dreams
Scarcely unaware
This is the house
Were we will rot forever?
poem by Teigan Klippel
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Meintjes Kopje
Meintjes Kopje! Meintjes Kopje!
Do the purple daisies grow
On your rugged slopes in spring-time
As they did in years ago,
When I walked with one who loved me,
In the days when love was young;
When our eyes held glinted laughter
And our sighs were songs unsung?
But the laughter fell and faded,
And the wonder-song is still,
And the track goes all untrodden
Past the pool and up the hill.
Meintjes Kopje! Meintjes Kopje!
Other years your flowers restore,
But my love who loved the daisies
Comes to gather them no more.
poem by Francis Ernley Walrond
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Pickney Red
Once lived a little black gal
And in de town dem said
Dat she wore a bright red cloak
So dem call her ‘Pickney Red.'
‘To grandma yu must gwan'
Her mudder sweetly said.
‘And tek dis wicker basket
Mi dear, dear, Pickney Red.'
So off she skipped quite happily
Without nu fear nor dread
Tru' de dark, dark woods
De basket nuff, nuff spread.
But poor Red never realized
Dat way up on ahead,
Lived a nasty, dutty wolf
And him name was Mr Fred.
‘What's yu name missy? '
Asked de cunning Mr Fred.
‘Why sir, yu nu know?
Dem called mi ‘Pickney Red.'
‘And where yu di gwan
With dat basket full of bread? '
‘Mi gwan to see mi grandmudder
Who lives far, up a-head
‘Yu wi get there quick, quick, quick
If yu tek dat route instead.'
‘Oh tank yu sir, so kindly'
And off skipped ‘Pickney Red.'
De Wolf him very swift
And found grandmudder in bed
He gobbled her up in one
And put her cap pon him head.
Red bang pan Grandma's door
‘Come in, mi Pickney Ned? '
‘No Grandma ah mi, ah mi,
Yu darling Pickney Red.'
‘Oh, Ah yu.' crocked de wolf-
‘Have yu brought mi hard-dough bread? '
‘Oh yes Grandma, dem freshly baked.
But yu voice! ' Gasped, Pickney Red.
‘Mi have a little cold, so what?
Dat's why mi still in bed.
What yu staring at child? '
‘Oh Grandma it's yu head! '
‘And what big ears yu have, '
‘De better to hear, Pickney Jed.'
‘No Grandma ah mi, ah mi,
Yu darling Pickney Red.'
‘And what big eyes yu have.'
‘De better to see, Pickney Ed.'
‘No Grandma, ah mi, ah mi,
Yu darling Pickney Red.'
‘And what big teeth yu have.'
‘De better to eat yu Red.'
‘Yu nat, yu nat, mi Grandma? '
And out de door she fled.
A woodsman heard one bawl
Towards de noise him sped
And when him see de ugly wolf
Gobble down Pickney Red.
He took his saw and jook him.
And there de wolf bled, bled.
And not so very long afterwards
De ginnall wolf was dead.
Den out dropped grandmudder
And out dropped Pickney Red
Dey thanked de woodsman kindly
Dat de ginnall wolf was dead!
poem by Elayne Ogbeta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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