Fred Gestier
When my Maternal Grandfather
ploughed the acreage
his tractor bucked and shook
the engine roared
giving him tinitis
his bleached hat
flopped impotent
as the confronting Sun
had its way
immolating
my Grandfather’s cheeks
with the catalyst
for a future legacy
of skin cancer.
At dawn
he rose
to milk Cows
indifferent
to tactile fingers
on strong hands
manipulating teats.
Walk past the rainwater tank
that collected so seldomly
random contributions from clouds.
To be a Farmer
‘Boss Cocky’
on your own
piece of land
was better
than
“a life
of quiet desperation”*
on alienating urban thoroughfares
with shallow dreams
which contemplated
their own suicide
but decided to bore
en-route to a home
that was halfway House
halfway God’s waiting room.
“People were lonely
in the Big City”
thought my Grandfather.
They were strangers
to themselves
ceasing to exist
alone in company
until the moment
someone reminded them
to behave in a manner
ingratiating to the Boss
to come alive
upon retirement
in seaside resort
or hobby farm.
Grandad
was never alone
curious crows called mockery
at his solitary man
interrupting still landscape
with rhythmic cadences,
that punctuate,
the reality
of Wagga Wagga
Country life.
* Henry David Thoreau
Related quotes
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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Boss Of Me
Yes, no, maybe
I don't know
Can you repeat the question?
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
Life is unfair, so I just stare at the stain on the wall where
The TV'd been, but ever since we've moved in it's been empty
Why I, why I'm in this room
There is no point explaining
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
Life is a test, but I confess
I like this mess I've made so far
Grade on a curve and you'll observe
I'm right below the horizon
Yes, no, maybe, I don't know
Can you repeat the question?
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
Life is unfair
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Train Winds West From Wagga
The train winds west from wagga
Me - sitting sweating from the sun
My swag up on the swaying rack
Me - beholden to no-one.
It's a morning on the sky line
The sun slides slanting rays
The countryside is counting
In years and not in days.
Way out west of wagga
Is where the journey ends
I’m off to find my people
And cast off city friends.
My mob came from out that country
That the white folks made their own
They sent us off to rail yards
And Redfern was our home.
It’s hard there housed in Redfern
Caught between two worlds
The white man's world don't see us
Us cut off from our birth.
The line sings out its rhythm
The sound of wheel on rail
The wheels made in those workshops
Those workshops were our gaol.
Way out west of wagga
I’m sure that I’ll find my mob
I’m told they’re drinking swearing
With more flies than there are jobs.
Yeah, I drank drinks with the piper
Lost control and do not know
Why what is west of wagga
Is now where i must go.
poem by David Keig
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Way Out West Of Wagga
The train winds west from wagga
Me - sitting sweating from the sun
My swag up on the swaying rack
Now beholden to no-one.
It's a morning on the sky line
The sun slides slanting rays
The countryside is counting
In years and not in days.
Way out west of wagga
Is why the journey ends
I’m off to find my people
And cast off city friends.
My mob came from out that country
That the white folks made their own
They sent us off to rail yards
And Redfern was our home.
It’s hard there housed in Redfern
Caught between two worlds
The white man's world don't see us
Us cut off from our birth.
The line sings out its rhythm
The sound of wheel on rail
The wheels made in those workshops
Those workshops were our gaol.
Way out west of wagga
I’m sure that I’ll find my mob
I’m told they’re drinking swearing
With more flies than there are jobs.
Yeah, I drank drinks with the piper
Lost control and do not know
Why what is west of wagga
Is now where i must go.
poem by David Keig
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I Bought You A Rose
the problem is
the grandfather clock
in the adjacent room
it chimes
on the hour
every hour
through the night
it keeps me awake
through the night
the night in which
i think of you
because
i hold the rose
in my hand
through the night
the rose that i bought you
in the afternoon
the rose that you did not want
in the evening
the evening when i took you out
and you said
you did not want the rose
you wanted it to be over between us
you said it was no use
a rose was no use
a rose could not
bring us together
a rose could not
keep us together
a rose by any other name
is still just a rose
you said
i should keep my rose
you said
you said it when i offered you the rose
you said it again
when the evening was over
when we left each other
and so i took it home
the rose that i bought you
i thought of you
on my way home
with the rose
i thought of how it had been
between us
i thought of how it might have been
between us
i tried to forget
how it had been
between us
i tried to forget
how it might have been
between us
but the rose reminded me
how it was
between us
i took the rose with me
when i got into bed
when i tried to sleep
it had been deep red
but it seemed to me
now it was not so deep red
as it had been before
each time i woke
i looked at the rose
each time it seemed
not so deep red
as it had been before
each time it seemed
a little more faded
a little more dry
a little less red
a little less fresh
each time
its scent also
had been beautiful
like you were beautiful
its scent also seemed to me
a little more faded
a little less fresh
a little less beautiful
a little less able
to evoke you
a little less able
to keep you
to keep your memory
alive
alive in the night
even when i turned on the light
to look again
at the rose
to inhale again
the perfume of the rose
i saw it fading
i saw you fading
i saw your beauty fading
through the night
and i saw that you were right
about the rose
that a rose is just a rose
that a rose could not
bring us together
that a rose could not
keep us together
that a rose by any other name
is still just a rose
that you by any other name
are still just a rose
fading through the night
i cannot keep you
for i cannot keep you
from fading through the night
like this rose i bought you
like any rose
like anything i ever bought you
the problem is
the grandfather clock
in the adjacent room
it chimes
on the hour
every hour
through the night
poem by Rory Hudson
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Maybe you're right, boss. It all depends on the way you look at it. Look, one day I had gone to a little village. An old grandfather of ninety was busy planting an almond tree. 'What, grandad' I exclaimed. 'Planting an almond tree' and he, bent as he was, turned round and said, 'My son, I carry on as if I should never die.' I replied, 'And I carry on as if I was going to die any minute.' Which of us was right, boss
quote by Nikos Kazantzakis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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 House Of My Grandfather
sometimes as i walk early morning
when the suns starts to climb up on the hill
i think of grandfather's house
old, and spacious on top of a hill
overlooking his farm where his carabaos graze
his goat and cows and ducks teem,
oh, those were the years of bounty
and there was no worry,
about what to eat what to do
where to go,
times changed, and now we are always on a race
taking much work, and buying lots of things
sometimes we regret, taking and throwing
going and then returning
apparently, for no purpose and without meaning,
we live in a new house now with glass windows
and iron grill and high and thick walls and fences
we speak less, we move more,
we laugh less, we discuss more,
the old house of grandfather was burned in 1968.
this new house burns all day, and there is no fireman coming.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Boss Man
Boss man boss man what do ya say
I gotta get you alone in the mine some day
Boss man boss man turn it around
If you dont look away how can I sit down
Look at this load upon my back
Gotta get this wheel back on the track
I cant hold on but I cant let go
And I cant say yes I cant say no
Holes in my pockets and holes in my shoes
If youre ready for me Im ready for you
The company plan takes all my pay
Got a child in july and another last may
Boss man boss man what do ya say
Gonna get you alone in the mine some day
Push your face down in the coal
cause you got no heart you got no soul
Country lifes the life for me
In ten more years Ill a pensioner be
The younger lad knows when the girls are out
But you might say hes a rural sprout
Boss man boss man what do ya say
Gonna get you alone in the mine some day
Boss man boss man clear the track
Youre gonna tear the skin right offa my back
Boss man, boss man what do ya say
If you cant lend a hand then get outta my way
Itll be murder in the first degree
If you ever lay your hands on me
Boss man boss man pay my rent
A dollar Ive earned is a dollar Ive spent
The company plan takes all my check
For breakin my back and riskin my neck
Boss man boss man what do ya say
I gotta get you alone in the mine some day
I cant hold on but I cant let go
And I cant say yes I cant say no
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
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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In View of the Biblical Zoo
Over the tree line towards the valleys end
Abed Abed-Rabbo raises a hand
The farm he surveys, his father's before him
Has been past down for generations in keeping with custom
In view of the Biblical Zoo
A farm of olives trees is a refreshing contrast
Against an imposing backdropp of urban concrete
And an ever expanding city complex
But because of the need for living space
This established ecosystem is being replaced
And Abed Abed-Rabbo is now forced to abdicate
His precious Olive farm, with its one room sleeping cave
Against urban sprawl and concrete walls
Alone one man can not possibly stand
And any amount of compensation cannot match
The resulting environmental impact
Even if it appears we live comfortably
In reality it is, pseudo-security
Without air or water quality
In an ever expanding city
© Calac
Abed Abed-Rabbo – A Palestinian farmer,48, inherited his farm full of olive trees overlooking the Jerusalem Biblical Zoo from his father and his grandfather.
The property in the village of Wallajeh, is situated on the southern edge of Jerusalem.
A decision to annex his farm full of olive trees into the city has been proposed due to the demand for apartment living space
poem by Chris Lane
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Four young men (a reply to Ted Hughes)
The old brown and white photograph
of my grandfather and his brothers
fading somewhat after more than a century
show four young men
with sincerity and patriotism
written all over their faces,
dressed in captured kaki war uniforms
belted across their hips
with farmer’s hats on their heads
and bandoliers crossed over their chests,
and captured bayoneted
Martini Henri rifles in their hands
and I know the big old teak tree
where they stand
and one looks at his cocky best, one sharp and aware,
one earnest and sincere and all three of them
almost exactly like some cousins of mine
with the middle one closing his eyes slightly
against the bright light
with a fringe protruding from under the hat
and he could have been me
and the similarity is very striking
and at only sixteen, seventeen, eighteen and nineteen
as brothers on horses they rode to war,
and alive they all came back, thread thin
from being without food in the veldt,
with missing skin from their hands
blisters turning into open wounds
from shooting with white hot gun barrels
at forces of outnumbering large
British enemy soldiers
all marksmen, snipers and hunters
but mere farm boys.
[Note: The photograph is of my grandfather Danie Brand and his brothers. Six young men by Ted Hughes.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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Meet Me Half Way
In a lifetime
Made of memories
I believe
In destiny
Every moment returns again in time
When Ive got the future on my mind
Know that youll be the only one
Meet me halfway
Across the sky
Out where the world belongs
To only you and i
Meet me halfway
Across the sky
Make this a new beginning of another life.
In a lifetime
There is only love
Reaching for the lonely one
We are stronger when we are given love
When we put emotions on the line
Know that we are the timeless ones
Meet me halfway
Across the sky
Out where the world belongs
To only you and i
Meet me halfway
Across the sky
Make this a new beginning of another life.
Meet me halfway
Across the sky
Out where the world belongs
To only you and i
Meet me halfway
Across the sky
Make this a new beginning of another life.
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Lonesome Fool
A city sidewalk of separation
Strangers crowd with the absence of heart
So dull, so gray, quiet and cold
A city sidewalk of desperation
Carrying this lonely soul in these shoes
Running to cancel the distance between the apathetic populous
I am a lonesome fool, forced to wander
A city sidewalk turned into a stage of hope
A spark of life returned to my shallow mind
Your beauty ignites amongst the slums
Our eyes meet for the first and last time
As we cross paths with our destiny and walk in opposite directions
Afraid of love but wanting nothing but IT
Stuck in an ironic cycle of daydream movie style romance
A city sidewalk on my way home
The strangers are wrong, I refuse to believe them
IT is real, I’m not giving up but for now…
I will sleep and dream, until reality is better
poem by Robert Beksinski
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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
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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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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