For My Grandfather Poem by Michael Shutt

For Grandpa

For my Grandfather.
Raymond Walter Riley,
December 23,1909-
July 11,2003
Written 11/11/2013

Upon an Emerald
death bed,
bleeding Red,
and far below
Your Dignity.

And spewing forth
unimaginable,
unsought,
and undeserved pain
and agony-

Example shined
as how a Man
should die.

With Grace.

With Courage.

Screaming to
the last
His hard
Won Dignity.

'Attention should
be paid, '
unto nobility
and simple, honest,
noble Souls
like Yours.

Through scores
of years well paced
and gently lived.

Oh, Red.

It did not
go unnoticed.

Not by the people
that You
Daily Graced.

Your Family.

Friends.

You graced them through
Four score years
and more.

Simply by
Your loving,
daily presence.

And I,
Your Grandson,
bowed before
the bed on which
You died
in agony.

It was
not fair,
the pain
You felt.

July Eleventh,
Twenty Aught
and Three.

I knelt,
and swore,

'My Hero, '

'Your Darling Bride,

Your Loving Daughter,

Baby Sister

Will not want

for Warmth,

for Love,

for Comfort
of Past Memory-

You hold
them dear,
and dear
they are
to me.'

'You hold
them dear,

Your Baby Sister,

Red Haired Daughter,

and, without you,

strong but faltering Wife.'

On your bed
of cruel
and undeserved agony-

This unfair fate-

A primal cry
at last unfairly
leaving Life-

A loving
unknown cloud
of fortitude descends
and leads you up
to generous choirs
of Angels.

Your Grandson
never heard You
cry in pain.

And God's
unknowing mind.

Well,
who among us
can explain
that shattering pain
that came to you,
and through you,
came to me?

July Eleventh.

In the year
of Twenty
and Aught Three?

I never heard you
gasp in pain
from hammered thumbs
in sweat stained barn,

or broken shoulder
neatly won
while toiling on
much precious Farm
of Family.

The daily pains
that you endured
through honest work
in all the years
came out
that night,

and sadly,
finally,
sang to me.

July Eleven-
in Aught Three.

I know that I
will have to plead,

Dear RWR,

Please, God.

Forgive me.

As you cried up
to God above-

and pleaded-

'Michael,
Let me up! '

I forced you back
on bed of pain,
I'd never heard you
cry or scream.

And yet,
You cried,
You screamed again.

In no way
earned this
unjust pain.

Your last words-

Seared in memory:

'Do your best,
Grandson,
For Family.'

I put my ear
down to your lips,
my weight held down
your troubled spirit.

'Promise me, '
you gasped,
with red rimmed
eyes of blue,

'Grandson'-

'It's the last
I'll ever ask
of you.'

Your eyes with pain,
my eyes with tears,
looked through
the years
that I was Graced
to have You
in my life.

A promise made
'tween You and me,
the final morning
of Your Life.

July Eleventh.

Two Aught Three.

Before I thought
to call a hearse-

Your body,

Straining,
Sweat soaked,

Warm;

I called a Nurse.

Before You got
that final shot
that eased You
to Eternity.

You looked on me
one final time,

and gently said,

'You are
the last
of Mine.'

And as your
iron-clad Farmer's Grip
relaxed on life,
began to slip
to much missed Family
gone before,

and well won peace
and Love Eternal,

Elysian Courts
of Basketball,

and never rain partched
Heavenly Crops,

You stopped,
My Darling,
One last time-

And whispered,

'Please take care
of Mine.'

With tear drenched face
I kissed Your lips,
one final time,
and said,

'Just close
Your eyes Sweet Man.'

'Go into Light,
past unearned pain
this Midwest Night.'

'Your Sisters,
Father,
Your young
Mother wait.'

'Step past
this life-

what stretches forth beyond
can not equate
all You've know
in Earth's cruel gate.'

'Grandpa,
Let go.
Don't hesitate.'

You seemed
to calm.

I kissed again
Your cheeks,
Your brow.

And softly said,

'I will always
Love You.'

A promise made
I vowed I'd keep.

And it was late.

I sought some sleep.

And so,
I was not there.

But when
I laid me
down to sleep,
I prayed to God
Your Soul
He'd Keep.

And then
You died,
before I waked-

And knew
that gently God
Your Soul
did take.

And when I woke
and realized
You breathed Your last,

I howled.

And held Your
still warm body
in my arms.

And knew the loss
of You would never pass.

The pain,

The loss
of You
would always last.

A Howl-

Harsh tears
poured out of me.

July Eleventh.

Two Aught Three.

And from that wretched
tear stained night
till now,

I've thought each night
before I go to sleep.

The Promise made to You
was not so hard to keep.

Just three weeks
to the day and
twelve hours short,

Your Love-

Your Harriet
did not have
the strength
without Your strength
to face a life
without You in it.

So,
She journeyed on.

I sat with Her.

Caressed Her Hair.

Your little Sis
and grandson
held her hands.

Your Pastor, Chuck,
invoked a Loving Prayer.

Then She was also gone.

I kissed her cheeks.

I stopped the clock.

Then closed Her eyes.

On August First
of Two Aught Three.

And years went by.

And Dave did die.

Our circle tightened,
gathered close-

But Darling Grandpa,
I well remember
what You said.

'Look out for,
care for Family.'

I've tried.

Please bestow a blessing
on my head.

As I take care
of family.

I will.

I always will,
Dear Doc-

Though clock winds down,
Your Sister frowns.

It's just Her and
Your Daughter now.

I always will,
because I know
someday You'll ask
well past this
Veil of Tears,

and once again,
in God's good time and grace,
I'll see You
in a better place.

And we'll embrace.

And you will see
I kept my word.

Made on Dark Night.

July Eleventh.

Twenty and
Aught Three.

For Grandpa

For my Grandfather.
Raymond Walter Riley,
December 23,1909-
July 11,2003
Written 11/11/2013

Upon an Emerald
death bed,
bleeding Red,
and far below
Your Dignity.

And spewing forth
unimaginable,
unsought,
and undeserved pain
and agony-

Example shined
as how a Man
should die.

With Grace.

With Courage.

Screaming to
the last
His hard
Won Dignity.

'Attention should
be paid, '
unto nobility
and simple, honest,
noble Souls
like Yours.

Through scores
of years well paced
and gently lived.

Oh, Red.

It did not
go unnoticed.

Not by the people
that You
Daily Graced.

Your Family.

Friends.

You graced them through
Four score years
and more.

Simply by
Your loving,
daily presence.

And I,
Your Grandson,
bowed before
the bed on which
You died
in agony.

It was
not fair,
the pain
You felt.

July Eleventh,
Twenty Aught
and Three.

I knelt,
and swore,

'My Hero, '

'Your Darling Bride,

Your Loving Daughter,

Baby Sister

Will not want

for Warmth,

for Love,

for Comfort
of Past Memory-

You hold
them dear,
and dear
they are
to me.'

'You hold
them dear,

Your Baby Sister,

Red Haired Daughter,

and, without you,

strong but faltering Wife.'

On your bed
of cruel
and undeserved agony-

This unfair fate-

A primal cry
at last unfairly
leaving Life-

A loving
unknown cloud
of fortitude descends
and leads you up
to generous choirs
of Angels.

Your Grandson
never heard You
cry in pain.

And God's
unknowing mind.

Well,
who among us
can explain
that shattering pain
that came to you,
and through you,
came to me?

July Eleventh.

In the year
of Twenty
and Aught Three?

I never heard you
gasp in pain
from hammered thumbs
in sweat stained barn,

or broken shoulder
neatly won
while toiling on
much precious Farm
of Family.

The daily pains
that you endured
through honest work
in all the years
came out
that night,

and sadly,
finally,
sang to me.

July Eleven-
in Aught Three.

I know that I
will have to plead,

Dear RWR,

Please, God.

Forgive me.

As you cried up
to God above-

and pleaded-

'Michael,
Let me up! '

I forced you back
on bed of pain,
I'd never heard you
cry or scream.

And yet,
You cried,
You screamed again.

In no way
earned this
unjust pain.

Your last words-

Seared in memory:

'Do your best,
Grandson,
For Family.'

I put my ear
down to your lips,
my weight held down
your troubled spirit.

'Promise me, '
you gasped,
with red rimmed
eyes of blue,

'Grandson'-

'It's the last
I'll ever ask
of you.'

Your eyes with pain,
my eyes with tears,
looked through
the years
that I was Graced
to have You
in my life.

A promise made
'tween You and me,
the final morning
of Your Life.

July Eleventh.

Two Aught Three.

Before I thought
to call a hearse-

Your body,

Straining,
Sweat soaked,

Warm;

I called a Nurse.

Before You got
that final shot
that eased You
to Eternity.

You looked on me
one final time,

and gently said,

'You are
the last
of Mine.'

And as your
iron-clad Farmer's Grip
relaxed on life,
began to slip
to much missed Family
gone before,

and well won peace
and Love Eternal,

Elysian Courts
of Basketball,

and never rain partched
Heavenly Crops,

You stopped,
My Darling,
One last time-

And whispered,

'Please take care
of Mine.'

With tear drenched face
I kissed Your lips,
one final time,
and said,

'Just close
Your eyes Sweet Man.'

'Go into Light,
past unearned pain
this Midwest Night.'

'Your Sisters,
Father,
Your young
Mother wait.'

'Step past
this life-

what stretches forth beyond
can not equate
all You've know
in Earth's cruel gate.'

'Grandpa,
Let go.
Don't hesitate.'

You seemed
to calm.

I kissed again
Your cheeks,
Your brow.

And softly said,

'I will always
Love You.'

A promise made
I vowed I'd keep.

And it was late.

I sought some sleep.

And so,
I was not there.

But when
I laid me
down to sleep,
I prayed to God
Your Soul
He'd Keep.

And then
You died,
before I waked-

And knew
that gently God
Your Soul
did take.

And when I woke
and realized
You breathed Your last,

I howled.

And held Your
still warm body
in my arms.

And knew the loss
of You would never pass.

The pain,

The loss
of You
would always last.

A Howl-

Harsh tears
poured out of me.

July Eleventh.

Two Aught Three.

And from that wretched
tear stained night
till now,

I've thought each night
before I go to sleep.

The Promise made to You
was not so hard to keep.

Just three weeks
to the day and
twelve hours short,

Your Love-

Your Harriet
did not have
the strength
without Your strength
to face a life
without You in it.

So,
She journeyed on.

I sat with Her.

Caressed Her Hair.

Your little Sis
and grandson
held her hands.

Your Pastor, Chuck,
invoked a Loving Prayer.

Then She was also gone.

I kissed her cheeks.

I stopped the clock.

Then closed Her eyes.

On August First
of Two Aught Three.

And years went by.

And Dave did die.

Our circle tightened,
gathered close-

But Darling Grandpa,
I well remember
what You said.

'Look out for,
care for Family.'

I've tried.

Please bestow a blessing
on my head.

As I take care
of family.

I will.

I always will,
Dear Doc-

Though clock winds down,
Your Sister frowns.

It's just Her and
Your Daughter now.

I always will,
because I know
someday You'll ask
well past this
Veil of Tears,

and once again,
in God's good time and grace,
I'll see You
in a better place.

And we'll embrace.

And you will see
I kept my word.

Made on Dark Night.

July Eleventh.

Twenty and
Aught Three.