My Favorite Poetry
ON BEING A GRANDMOTHER by Grandma Jan
That flamboyant grandmother wearing black leather and riding a Harley may not fit the picture of an old-fashion granny, yet she is a confident and free-spirited woman. Her children call her excentric, but her grandkids call her "cool!"
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Ode To My Wife The Quilter
My husband didn't write this but I think if he had the ability to write poetry he would have.
She learned to quilt on Monday,
Her stitches were very fine,
She forgot to thaw out dinner,
So we went out to dine.
She quilted miniatures on Tuesday,
She says they are a must,
They really were quite lovely,
But she forgot to dust.
On Wednesday it was a sampler,
She says the stipling's fun,
What hi-lites! What shadows!--
But the laundry wasn't done.
Her patches were on Thursday,
Green, yellow, blue and red.
I guess she really was engrossed,
She never made the bed.
It was wall hangings on Friday,
In colors she adores.
It never bothered her at all,
The crumbs on all the floors.
I found a maid on Saturday,
My week is now complete.
My wife can quilt the hours away,
The house will still be neat.
Well, it's already Sunday,
I think I'm about to wilt,
I cursed, I raved, I ranted,
The MAID has learned to QUILT!
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Grandma's Shoes
When I was very little
All the Grandmas that I knew
Were wearing the same kind
Of ugly grandma shoes..
You know the kind I mean..
Clunky heeled, black, lace-up kind,
They just looked so very awful
That it weighed upon my mind,
For I knew, when I grew old .
I'd have to wear those shoes,
I'd think of that, from time to time
It seemed like such bad news.
I never was a rebel,
I wore saddle shoes to school,
And next came ballerinas
Then the sandals, pretty cool.
And then came spikes with pointed toes
Then platforms, very tall,
As each new fashion came along
I wore them, one and all.
But always, in the distance,
Looming in my future, there,
Was that awful pair of ugly shoes,
The kind that Grandmas wear,
I eventually got married
And then I became a Mom
Our kids grew up and left,
And when their children came along,
I knew I was a Grandma
And the time was drawing near
When those clunky, black, old lace up shoes
Was what I'd have to wear.
How would I do my gardening
Or take my morning hike?
I couldn't even think about
How I would ride my bike!
But fashions kept evolving
And one day I realized
That the shape of things to come
Was changing, right before my eyes.
And now, when I go shopping
What I see, fills me with glee
For, in my jeans and Reeboks
I'm as comfy as can be.
And I look at all these little girls
And there, upon their feet
Are clunky, black, old Grandma shoes,
And I really think that's neat.
Slow Dance
Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down
Don't dance so fast
Time is short
The music won't last
Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask "How are you?" do you hear the
reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed
with the next hundred chores running through
your head?
You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast
Time is short
The music won't last.
Ever told your child, We'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste, not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die
'Cause you never had time to call and say "Hi"?
You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast
Time is short
The music won't last.
When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift....
Thrown away...
Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.
THE TOUCH OF THE MASTERS HAND
"Twas battered and scared, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who'll start bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar - now who"ll make it two _
Two dollars, and who"ll make it three?
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for three". . . but no!
From the room far back a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody,pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bidden for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow;
"A thousand dollars - and who'll make it two?
Two thousand - and who'll make it three?
Three thousand once, three thousand twice
And going - and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand -
What changed its worth?" The man replied:
"The touch of the masters hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and torn with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd.
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on,
He's going once, and going twice -
He's going - and almost gone!
But the MASTER comes, and the foolish crowd,
Never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul, and the change that's wrought
By the touch of the MASTER'S hand.
~Myra B. Welch
THE PERKS OF GRANDMOTHERHOOD
Your maternal instincts are rekindled
You appreciate the continuity of life
You experience the joy of unconditional love
You start mellowing out
You live every day to its fullest
You're closer to your family
You accept the things you cannot change
You pay attention to your own physical and emotional well-being
You make time for travel and romance
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