My Grandfather

My Grandfather

A Poem by Keith
"

Written for "A Tribute to our Parents/Grandparents" Contest (Tate Morgan) Thanks for the motivation Tate, been wanting to do this for a while.

"

The lines upon his thin weathered face

A roadmap of his hard life.

His formal education was brief

His mind was sharp as a knife.

But in bushmanship and parenthood

He was the top of the class,

Then from the college of real hard knocks

With straight honors he did pass.

.

His poker face gave nothing away

But with his eyes he smiled.

I saw it each time he greeted me

The love of his first grandchild.

He'd lift me high up into the air

And sat me on his shoulder.

Childhood memories ever more precious

The more that I grow older.

 

I Lived with him for several years

From near the age of seven.

Our hearts were laden with sorrow then,

My  mother gone to heaven.

For him the loss of his first born child

Maybe forged from grief our bond.

I felt that in my grandfathers house

Was where I truly belonged.

 

I followed his every single step

It just seemed so right somehow.

We split the kindling and lit the stove,

Gathered eggs and milked the cow.

Together we worked in his garden

Where he turned the sod with ease,

He grew rows and rows of vegetables

And we'd share those fresh picked peas.

 

When he spoke it was in a mumble

And he barely moved his lips.

But it paid to listen very hard

Coz his wit was dry as chips.

He'd often slip in a funny line

Without a break in his pace.

Like 'Cut a hole in the seat of your pants

To keep the flies off your face.'

 

He told you straight what was on his mind

No time for etiquette rules.

Social graces were never his strength

And he had no time for fools.

'I'm not going to her funeral',

One occasion he did shout.

'Best bury that old b***h facing down

To ensure that she can't scratch out.'

 

Still very close in my teenage years.

We'd talk the hours away.

I was always keen to learn from him

And about his Bushman's way.

He taught me as much as I could learn

And ignited my bushman's spark.

A crack shot with his trusty rifle

He usually found his mark.

.

Those memories of rabbit hunting

The wasted bullets were few.

If less rabbits got than bullets shot

He'd ask 'where's the other two?'

And if you went for that real long shot,

A mere spec  in your rifle sight.

He'd not give you credit for the kill

And just say it had 'died of fright'.

 

His front yard was always manicured,

Each plant grew how it was meant.

Lavender bush along every path

Filling the air with it's scent.

And still to this day the slightest whiff

Of lavender in the air,

I am taken right back to his front yard

And I'll see him standing there.

 

© 2013 Keith


My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Reviews

Keith, this is a lovely tribute to your grandfather. He sounds like a crusty old guy, with a heart made of gold. The humor he had must have caught you in times (he knew) you needed it most. Scents are strong triggers for me. One whiff of lilac and I am 8 years old, again. I loved this. Angi~

Posted 10 Years Ago


Keith

10 Years Ago

Oh yes the effect of aromas as a powerful memory jogger! In fact it does exactly what you said, pu.. read more
Angi

10 Years Ago

I adore M.A.S.H. We just watched the final episode again, yesterday. What a kick that Klinger stay.. read more
Such a wonderful tribute to your Grandfather, he sounded like someone I would have love to meet. What great memories , well done

Posted 10 Years Ago


Keith

10 Years Ago

Thank you Carol. He was born about 1890 and went through many tough times. He could be rather pric.. read more
carol burgess romance

10 Years Ago

Keith, I never got to know my grandparents so you were very lucky to have him
Keith

10 Years Ago

Yes being the oldest grandchild has that advantage. Same thing with my kids, the oldest (40) knew h.. read more
This was very nice Keith. I never met either of my grandfathers, both passed before I was born, but I am a grandfather now myself, so this really hits home. Very nicely done.

Posted 10 Years Ago


Keith

10 Years Ago

Thank you very much Jack. Now a grandfather myself, I have big boots to fill, but its a really grea.. read more

4
next Next Page
last Last Page
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

1432 Views
33 Reviews
Rating
Shelved in 2 Libraries
Added on August 6, 2013
Last Updated on August 7, 2013
Tags: Grandfather, Bushman

Author

Keith
Keith

Gippsland, Victoria, Australia



About
I grew up on a diet of Australian bush poetry. Now a business consultant, I spend far too much time on aeroplanes and in hotels, I use this time to write. I like to tell stories and have fun. If y.. more..

Writing
The Cottage The Cottage

A Poem by Keith



Related Writing

People who liked this story also liked..


~Period. ~Period.

A Poem by Frieda P