Grandchild Poems

People live forever in Jacksonville and St. Petersburg and Tampa,
But you don't have to live forever to become a grampa.
The entrance requirements for grampahood are comparatively mild,
You only have to live until your child has a child.
...

Lo, now four other act upon the stage,
Childhood and Youth, the Many and Old age:
The first son unto phlegm, grandchild to water,
Unstable, supple, cold and moist's his nature
...

Here I am in the garden laughing
an old woman with heavy breasts
and a nicely mapped face
...

A monosyllabic European called Sax
Invents a horn, walla whirledy wah, a kind of twisted
Brazen clarinet, but with its column of vibrating
Air shaped not in a cylinder but in a cone
...

Portate bien,
behave yourself you always said to me.
I behaved myself
when others were warm in winter
...

I followed the narrow cliffside trail half way up the mountain
Above the deep river-canyon. There was a little cataract crossed the path,
flinging itself
Over tree roots and rocks, shaking the jeweled fern-fronds, bright bubbling
...

It was a summer evening;
Old Kaspar’s work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun;
...

It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun,
...

As one who in his journey bates at noon,
Though bent on speed; so here the Arch-Angel paused
Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored,
If Adam aught perhaps might interpose;
...

Straight as a nun I sit.
My fingers foolish before paper and pen
hide in my palms. I hear the slow, accented echo
How are yu? I ahm fine. How are yu?
...

Mean while the heinous and despiteful act
Of Satan, done in Paradise; and how
He, in the serpent, had perverted Eve,
Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit,
...

My dear father,
Who was determined to educate me well,
To the best of his ability.
Remained throughout my life,
...

Old man in the crystal morning after snow,
Your throat swathed in a muffler, your bent
Figure building the snow man which is meant
For the grandchild's target,
...

Vincent loved to have models to do his paintings.
When Theo's monthly fund arrived,
Every morning, he went round in search of models.
He would invite different kinds of people to his house,
...

My Grandma
A beautiful lady,
Whose face shone like a silver moon,
So lovely, like a pink rose,
...

Today is the Independence day of the USA
but I do not want to create a poem about that, oh nay!

it is the first birthday of my first grandchild
...

Anika awakens the child in me,
I watch her, as she fetches her toys
And shows off with pride and glee
With her, I don’t have to act poised.
...

THIS day, Time winds th' exhausted chain;
To run the twelvemonth's length again:
I see, the old bald-pated fellow,
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
...

I bought my little grandchild Ann
A bright balloon,
And I was such a happy man
To hear her croon.
...

A son sits by his father with questions in his eyes
The father looks down at his son, his pride he can't disguise.
There comes a time when every son must leave his father's care
and venture out into the world to see what happens there.
...

I am spoilt, and my likeness is long and beyond
I am a grandchild after all They envy my treats across the adoration
And guiding blitz betwixt the glorification
...

- on holding my first grandchild for the first time on Fathers' Day

I hold you as if handed an egg
but what broke between us was light
...

Addressing my Violin

Violin, Violin, the sound not fading,
You are worthy and attached to my life
...

We saw her again this morning…as our walk came to a close…
alongside our neighbor's fence…a solitary rose.

Alongside this fence…year in…year out…is, invariably, where she grows…
...

I took my grandchild out to play
To pass the time of day away
But in three short hours he wore me out
And put my best laid plans in doubt
...

I listen to the call for prayers in the mosques,
I listen to the bells of churches and temples,
In front of my eyes is an asteroid sent by my god,
So you are going to end this sinful world, oh my lord!
...

(for my grandmother Baby Strydom / Elizabeth Filda Strydom)

As a student I was busy in a calculus mathematics class,
when the lecturer informed me about an immediate visit to the rector.
...

We are waiting for our second grandchild to appear
If feels like we've waited for over a year
But when she arrives, we'll be filled with such bliss
We've known for some time that the baby's a 'Miss'
...

Your grandpa had a child &
his child was so very, very mild.
But then she got so very, very wild,
which resulted in Kim, his grandchild!
...

Uncle Jacobus de Wet talks in poems
‘near Jerusalem there are mountains
here alone with the goats in the veld
there are also mountains
but God is all around us
I feel him approaching all evening from the direction of Akkediskloof (Lizard Canyon)

my grandchild Benjamin does the herding
he told me so himself this morning
even said he wanted to be a cattle farmer
and I'm content
God has given everyone a talent
in the evenings in the pasture we don't have to talk
we know which have been pastured and which have yet to be pastured
it's a good life to give a child
every child has his honour
let me just say this
it is very pleasant to be with a grandchild
he makes you laugh
he lets you talk about things that aren't really relevant
it's good to be with a child

because you're alone here day and night in the pasture with Jesus
you talk
you can lie back
and with clear eyes talk to him
you only have to look
because flesh notices flesh

the river lies defenceless
open vein in the heat
the landscape unthinkable without that brown-green cut
indestructible older than the oldest human breath on stone
he feeds the goats whether they live or die
there isn't much of nothing here
there's much too little of nothing here
the mountain on the other side looks as if it's leaking
at midday it is extinguished in blue

I look at the watch
it's twenty to three
and that means absolutely nothing
we doze between coolness and eating and heat

the sun sinks at last
the ridges echo with blaring as the big goats come in to pasture
the lambs are tied up and pulling at their tethers
nothing as soft as goat's lamb
(my language remembers)
nothing so sweet snouty
sweet to the mouth defenceless-looking as goat's lamb
towards evening
some get their mother's tit some get a strange tit
from full blaring to flat blaring to lost blaring
to muffled blaring to whining blaring to spoiled blaring
to irritated bossy blaring

the satin of a lamb's ear
slips through my hand
‘how do I tie my line to you my love
when the late light strikes stone'

a colour never comes alone she says
when the ridges float and fall in blue folds of satin

the pleated mountains turn to fire
and amber
the river stills into reflecting streaks of jelly
it's feeling time and flying time
in the violence of colour and reeds
a heron flies silently through the valley
redbreast fly-catchers, tufted ducks, seed eaters
bunched in tassels on the grassy bank by my tent
the mountain hides its stone in the water

there's a shivering of stone and river willows and reeds
frightened by sound a dove falls from the crag

I sleep on the bank of The River
the whole day it flows past me quiet and broad like blood
from a wound - above me lie the chippings of stars
the night opens itself -
soon colour loses its original way
...