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When I wish I could hear you, Through that rough and tired old voice, And when I wish that you could still tell me stories, About the Baseball that you threw with your brother,
Nine days back turned I 28 Today you went away Though rarely you made your presence Which felt so strange and out of place And it's Corona and no friends to pay the last to you of farewells
The truth of my is the truth of me. For without him there would be no me. His genetics, values, and laughter flow through me blessing my children and grandchildren to be. I have been a son and I am a father.
The Traveling Suitcase The wooden boat encircled with echoes of thunderous silence Reminiscing the rowdy sailors once on board
My mother didn’t cry anymore; she hadn’t since the first night I saw them in the rocking chair. “Benjamin,” she told me, “That’s his name.” “How wonderful,” I thought.
texas wildflowers do not understand death blue monarchs do not understand death
I read a book about a girl named Zazoo But maybe that girl was me. She made poems as she rowed a boat in a canal And watched for her sad gray cat And thought about the war and how terrible the world is
You're slipping away Your mind it is almost gone Eyes clouded by confusion Then you sing a song your eyes brighten once more The moments seem to be passing by your minds door Once strong and leaned on,
My grandfather, in his simple way, informed me that he has dementia. Twice, today, he informed me that he has dementia and he is lucky. He forgot. And he forgets that he forgot.
Nana Abu, I miss you My loving grandfather Such a great honor, for you to be my everything, in the times I felt like puking. You taugh me everything I know,
I hurt because of youThe pain I felt when you hurt meThe anger that followed what you didI could never understand why you did these things to meI was 12, Just beginning lifeAnd you took it from meHow is this fair to me??I hurt everyday because you
I remember the smell of nicotine and tobacco, of yellowed tar-filled teeth, that always wafted from your face, whenever you came to visit me
Grandfather, I love you Even though you left me. You served in World War two, Oh Grandfather, your spirit will never desert me.
Dear Pa, Never wrote a letter ever. I’m told e-mail’s just not the same. OK, here goes.
You died twenty years ago today.On February 7, 1998, you passed away.You were born in 1910 and died at the age of eighty-seven.Twenty years ago, you left this Earth and went to Heaven.
Dear Grandfather, I don’t even know what to say to you. You’ve made a writer speechless. Congratulations.
Lolo... Here's a letter to you. To the man who spoke so soft and yet so proud of his past. To the man who worked so hard yet also not so fast. To the man who understood when to stop and when to go,
Goodbye Tatay* Dear Tatay, I still find myself talking about you in present tense. It’s been twelve years since I flew from Manila, I wish when I picked up the bags I was aware of the permanence.
10/6/16 My Dearest Grandson, I know that writing letters may be relics of the past, and sending emails online are more convenient and fast, but I couldn't help but write one since I have your new address,
Dear Stranger, It has been a little over a year now since I first met you, Since your own daughter first met you, and the rest of your grandchildren too. We don't blame you you hadn't a clue
Dear Grandfather I Never Met, I look up at the photo of you and my mother that dangles on an aging white painted wall roughly six feet from a worn sandy brown carpet in the hallway of my home.
Here stands a boy who doesn't know who he'll become He stands a boy playing underneath the sun, Underneath the sun that shines warmth down on him
I see him forget me And all his loved ones I see him forget Yesterday, last week, last year I feel the pain When he can't remember my name To know that His memories are disappearing
I was too young to remember. Regardless my imagination is large, My love for him is larger, And the numerous stories continue grow vivid. He was young, I was always standing by his side,
Sad depressed people all around Some are happy others are down My grandpa always sad It just made me feel all around bad He locked the room all the time
The craftsmanship of hands at his decree Tells a story of what was and what will soon be A keeper is what you may call him The precious memories of the past Bears the utmost
Rita June, staring silent at Indiana snow, robed up in a worn, old, pink throw lights her cigarette by the kitchen window. She squints and she licks her thin, blotted lips,
When I was ten, my grandfather drove all the way from Texas to Colorado just to help my mother and I move after my step-dad left us. When I was eleven, my grandfather helped pay for me to go to camp with the rest of my classmates.
I remember when you would dry my tears with your rough hand I remember when you would hug the breath out of me It seems in the blink of an eye you disappeared, so now where do I stand
On the drive home, I noticed all the children racing around playgrounds, people walking their dogs, everyone being able to go about their lives while mine had been completely put on pause.
His picture sits among my books some of which for me he bought. Down from the shelf he smiles, looks with his eyes still full of thought. The sudden loss of a man of steel a grandpa so strong, so kind
I have grown to hate my grandfather. I have grown to hate my grandfather. I have grown to hate his smile. I have grown to hate his smile that used to greet me with such kindness and authority.
The croaking of the stairs Woke me up, Told me you were awake. I bounced in your lap, All giggles and smiles As you flipped through Black and white pages. We bet on the horses,
The feeling of jubilation resonated over me My heart was content and satisfied with glee Until one day I realized that my world had ended and he had passed away My grandfather My best friend
That smile is always on my mind. Pure Happiness, forever on that face. Always by my side, Telling me right from wrong.
Death is getting a call at seven in the morning asking you to
I start to walk and see tears in people's eyes I can not breathe and start to cry. Every breath, the air gets thinner And ever step just gets bigger. Are they tears of joy, or tears of sorrow?
Papa, do you see me? Scared little girl in the corner I know you told me to smile Not to cry or mourn or Wish I could’ve done something Made your pain go away Found a cure faster
Ask my grandmother what it is like to live with her husband, my Papa, and she'll point her doe eyes straight into your soul with a gaze full of fear. Fear of the constant storm that hangs
There's a lot of pressure in this world. This crazy-ass, city-and-sas world. But hell, it ain't real. Gotta listen to a real man every once in a while... He's a hard workin', head turnin',
It slowly crawls behind a person Like a shadow in the early stages of life The few who leave early do not get consumed by something so divine
A hero in his prime But he was built to high this time That should have been the sign That he would fall A wife and kids he had All they needed was a dad But left alone and sad
Sometimes I get horrible waves of deep, deep sorrow. They come on soft,
An applicative memory draped limply on a coat hanger Wrap it around my shoulders and move on I forget it’s there until I remember When no other words are processing I remember.
It'll just be a Tuesday.A Tuesday, normal to most.Just another day on the calendar. It'll be just another day of the week.
"Well, there's Miss Beautiful," as I approach the porch step Another cherished day - for a horrid illness crept Bold brown eyes, with a happy, gentle smile Every last second was ultimately worth while
Cold and Discolored. Nothing I’m used to seeing. The once vibrant life is slowly Fading into the Undiscovered Country.
Dirt that hides itself underneath fingernails.Dry, cracked skin tells a hero's story.Years of hard work leave a calloused palmFirmly hangs on to pride and glory.
I thought I saw a smile, Though I know it can’t be true Seeing you try so hard, Part of me died with you You lived for family, God, and country The Red, White, and Blue
His porcelain skin & wiry brown hair, His rosy cheeks & baby blue eyes, The cotton jacket With matching leather shoes & stiff cap. Always at attention, like a soldier
It is fitting that my grandfather should die tonight, How convenient that this is the very moment I have nightmared about
Ebbing in finality was the thumb of my grandfather: His eyes wavered, though I don't know what he sought after. Many years ago I asked what he could see: "I can see nothing in all of it's incredibility,"
Grandpa, Is that you? No, the wind is just angry. Grandpa, yesterday I thought about you. I remember the walk we took one night.
Poppie I can't belive that you are gone, You left us here so all alone, I know that you are gone to a better place, But I still can't get over the last time I saw your face, You were smiling and laughing and full of joy, I remember you saying "her
On golden wingsThe angels soarwatching usforevermoreFrom their viewpointIn the airA better placeThan what was there
The big picture window Sits covered with plants and cards All his clothes and possessions Are neatly placed in the closet Boxes of questions Sit in the corner By a dresser of answers
When we got the call that he ended it all My heavy tears flowed down my cheeks. My pen and paper took the pain as my hands shook.
A Rose Amongst Antlers Born to a loving family in late May, The baby blossomed in laughter and play You’d notice he was edgy in spirit, but kind in heart
The small ruddy church slouches in the town square. I am seven trapped within the musky, confining walls; my legs swing haplessly, as I sit upon the gaudy distorted pew.
They smile and they giggle And the back is filled with bumps. His hands on the the wheels and each turn is smooth as silk. It weaves a brilliant spiderweb Through the mornings, after school.
I dreamt. with the man who had been to Vietnam speaking at school over the book he wrote about war I knew you in your light gray ARMY shirt pulled over the potbelly, would be coming to visit
His skin looks old, brown, and wrinkled; scarred by the Mexican Sun; His wrinkles are a chronicle of his life-long Wisdom. His hands are rough to the touch; toughened by years of toil on the Fields;
I know one day you'll have to go and that's the day that I will know, that you'll be under heaven's apple tree looking down and watching over me. I'll miss you and you'll miss me, so I'll dream of our apple tree
Grandpa’ Curled up around your wrinkled flesh I was when you were nearly in a comatose. I’m not certain if you ever listened, but our whimsical memories; I tried to recall.
How I miss you Papa I could never describe