Grandpa

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  • Childhood

    Grandpa

    There was no dread in this voice
    More of rejoice better choice

    Sweet lemony fragrant smell magnolias
    Mocking birds chirped away
    Moist air carried off chortling children as they
    played in the streets,
    Off in the summer day's heat

    Salmon painted shingle building
    Black shutters upon the four windows
    Porch with wooden swing swaying to and fro
    Rose bushes flourished with their brilliant colors

    Spoken southern draw
    Warmth in his prescience
    Uncanny smile
    When he chuckled his belly moved as well
    These things I can dwell

    Steel blue eyes
    Like that of morning skies
    His hair was snow white
    Scare on the right of face
    Trace of the sun claim its dues

    Wore a tan safari hat
    Gold frame glasses
    Short sleeve white shirt,
    Set of suspenders
    Pair charcoal paints and shoes
    Kind shuffle when he walked

    He's was so coy
    Distinctive handshake
    Gripped the man's hand so hard it turned purple
    When he would say "Your just boy"
    Chuckle at thought now
    As a child I would say, "Grandpa let go your going to
    break his hand let go now."

    Feel of moist earth in between my fingers
    Sensation still lingers
    Spring came forth offering it bounty
    Fetching boxes young seedlings to sow
    Rains come watch them grow

    In a set coveralls covered in earth
    Sun burnt face glee in the eyes
    Show him my findings
    Smile back wrap my arms around his waist
    His enormous arm wrapped around my side
    Scurry off back on in yard

    Longer than I can remember
    He and I would sit at the table
    Grandpa would re-tale of tales of the past
    Every time I would wonder much longer they would last
    Describing in detail paint a picture
    Nod my head as if I was listening

    Shifting sands had pass through the glass
    It all went into past into one's memories
    Resented what was left unsaid
    Haunted in the slumber
    Land of wonder of the dead

    Recline in a chair close my eyes
    Realize he'd never really left
    He voice came and sooth my nightmares
    Tears trickled down as all ceased
    Once again peace

    He'd taught me much
    Didn't realize it till he was long gone
    Deeps of my heart he'd given me he's

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    Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    ErOsdesire’s Poems (11)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Natchhund 2
    Not Becoming 0
    Night 1
    Iniquity 1
    Coffee 1
    Rumbling 1
    Subsitute 0
    Grandpa 0
    Bis Spatter 1
    pleasures of childhood memories 1
    Mind Blunder 0