Of the long lost order walked down the dusty corridors. Searching for an old relic of time. Moldy stacks of books filled the passages. Watcher of old in the half-dark. The last of his order walked down slowly until he came to an old and dusty office. Finding an ancient tome called The World Burner. And then he spoke the old words for one last time.
needless to say, it’s the greatest thing you’ll ever have
he’ll guide you through the way
he’ll be your shining light
your only hope in this world
and it would just hurt to see him go
and fly up to the heavens from this world
all i ever thought of
was how to live life without him
My grandfather was a great man. He traveled all over north korea to fight in a war he did not quite believe in. My grandmother did though and thats all that’d matter to him. Most of his life was spent chasing my grandmother and fulfilling her dreams.
Kailee Van Patten
clocked, cloaked, and headed to work: that was the state of my grandfather when he left his house this morning.
I’ve only met one. The other one is dead. Dunno what I would have thought about him, but sometimes I think I might be disappointed. When you haven’t met someone other people know, you seem to see that person in a weird shed of light. Okay, I happened to click the button one more time. I gained 60 seconds to think about a dead person. Perhaps 60 seconds would have helped him too. To survive i mean. Oh well.
Frida Stroem
The grandfather was not handsome. In fact he was warty and had smelly ears. But, Jacob loved him and came to play with him as often as he could. As often as he was let out of the house to see him. But, that was not often. Usually he had to help father, cleaning the brushes and pot and giving critiques to the works. Some said his father was a madman. Jacob thought he was just mean.
he does things he shouldn’t do anymore but he’s still alive and kicking. i wonder what he thinks of himself.
justine danielle
The one i adore. The one I love. The one who knows me. The one who cares for me when Im sad, My one and only grandfather.
Eloise
I have an awesome granpa who is always support me and always ease me to always reach and wun for my dream. he said” never think about what people said about you, but listen to what your heart feel about you.
Ernessta
My grandfather was a deput sheriff iin Fulton County, Georgia. He was tough as nails in the street but so kind to me. We had funny nicknames for each other. I loved spending time with my grandfather as a child and miss him terribly.
Dena Pritchett
tick tock the sand is in the bottom half.
Deccadant whiskers tickle my chin as i kiss the streatched egg white skin
Anna Rieser
Grandfather clock ticked three times. It was her cue to leave. Getting up, she approached the door, looked back once, trying to imprint the image of her room in her memory and left.
I didn’t get to know my either of my grandfathers as they had both passed away before I was born. I’m sure that happened to a lot of children of the fifties.
Georgia began in workmanlike fashion, setting out her brushes and palettes in precise arrangements. It was the calm before her storm. The easel had been a gift from her grandfather. He had used it to paint the brutal atrocities of war. Once her colours had been mixed in the exact shades of the desert sky before her, she leaned in to the canvas and went about restoring the peace.
but stolen sweet by stolen sweet, my grandfather was eating his way to the grave. diabetes and “just one more slice of pie—it’ll be our little secret” don’t mix well.
Cole
He sits there, idly in his rocking chair. It is a picture of cliche. His lips, battered and dry, clack together in an attempt to regain lost moisture, and his eyes droop with a sunken exhaustion.
The little boy within captures each movement from his tired eyes. His hands grasp, and carve the wonders of the world.
The age of his body does not reflect his spirit.
The cage of time cannot contain his youth.
He sits there, idly in his rocking chair. It is a picture of cliche. His lips, battered and dry, clack together in an attempt to regain lost moisture, and his eyes droop with a sunken exhaustion.
The little boy within captures each movement from his tired eyes. His hands grasp, and carve the wonders of the world.
The age of his body does not reflect a spirit.
The cage of time cannot contain his youth.
Evrawind
he lived his life in secret. we never really knew him. he hit his head on the pavement in a walgreens parking lot. seemed so undignified an end to a man who lived so far beyond understanding.
“But I don’t have a grandfather,” the elder woman blinked at her and she felt an embarrassed blush rise unbidden to her cheeks. “I mean, I know I HAVE one, uhm, two, but I don’t…I mean, they’ve never-” she sighed, cutting herself off. “I don’t know them and they don’t know me and I’m pretty sure if either of them was like, important, I would’ve ok?”
Despite her rambling, the woman’s smile remained kind.
There was a grandfather clock laying broken at the edge of the universe. It was broken and useless but whether it truly was not adhering to its true intended purpose and expectation for invention was another thing entirely. As time becomes more bendable, bendable, and brittle (as this clock was quite aware) the more it lost its meaning.
Its creators had intended to use it as a relative basis to guide their lives. Living based on something that was broken in not only the future but also broken in the past and present due to its having never truly been a plausible or reasonable idea. The first days of mental conception of the invention of the clock were the days in which it knew it would not have any meaning or purpose in this universe but also the most meaning any certain object or space of matter might ever hold.
Jasmine
Mine
Is gone
Overseas
He’s here though
I love him
In my heart
there is still hope for him, you know?
He was a hero
Is a man
Who has loved and healed and fought and killed and I have faith that God will be overjoyed to see him again
When the time comes
Not before.
How will I deal with my mother
When her best friend passes away?
Sehr
I suppose it’s natural, to somewhat regret
never meeting you:
you, with your wise eyes. White hair, black vest.
Though from what I’ve heard, it may be for the best:
A tyrant at worst; nice at best.
“Grandfather!” I yelled. “Wait for me!”
I ran up to him before he rolled down the ramp. I caught up to him, but he didn’t say anything.
He never does; he just looks at me with his burnt eyes that makes whatever I have to say not important anymore. When I look back, he smiles the kind of smile that makes you want to tell other people that you do not know who this man is, but he is too compelling.
I looked away to push his wheelchair and asked him if he needed anything. He grabbed my pinky with his pinky and said, “Pinky hugs are all I need to keep me going.”
Susan Rother
Gabby
But he didn’t gab to me
like a mirror but the reflection was different
The crevice between his leg and the couch was dark
the darkness of nothing there
no comfort though I thought
there would be a warmth.
Kelsey
His grandfathers last words on his death bed were “The Ides of March are almost upon us. Beware this date my grandchild. As Ceasars death was predicted so was yours. You were born on this date and you shall die on this date. Unless you beat death at its own game.”
“Grandfather,” she pleaded with the old man, but he refused to budge on the thought. “No,” he shook his head, not moving from his chair before the fire. She stuck her lip out, pouting in a way that only she could to try to get him to budge, a method that had worked since she was a little girl, although she rarely abused her power. “No,” he replied firmly and he set about working on paperwork.
My grandfather died today. We buried him uderneath the rose bush in his favorite garden, under the trees that burst with life when him and I would walk hand in hand together. I was little then and never quite grasped that he would one day be gone; that these trees would outlast him. But I am older now; and I look at the trees and realize that they will outlast me too. They will grow while we all wither.
Alyssa
She had loved him, in that way where you’re sort of thrust together in the least practical of ways, and how you hate each other in the beginning because it’s awkward and strange and neither one of you knows what to say. But he’d raised her all the same, did the best he could, and taught her the things that were important because they were important to HIM, and that made them worth something.
My grandfather died. I was hurt. I knew he was going to pass but had let my mother control my contact with him. She was hurt by him, so I was not allowed to know him. He died. I have no real memories of him. He left before I ever realized I loved him.
I don’t have a grandfather. I had one when I was young. One I didn’t realize wasn’t my bio grandfather. I found out. They divorced when I was 16. He never spoke to me again. My precious Papa didn’t realize what he meant to me. He didn’t realize how it would break my heart to realize what exactly that I didn’t mean to him.
Nichol
the wind blew like a sigh
through the windows.
an old bellows from a long
dead fire.
we look at the plants together
and talk air about how they’ll one day
be taller than either of us.
We are both 5 feet.
the leaves have started to curl at the edges.
I comforted Alexe as he sat by his deceased grandfather’s bed. I had never had a grandfather so i did not know how to react to that situation, but i sat there and rubbed his head while he cried into my shoulder.
really don’t know what to write, never had a grandfather *shrug*
I hated my grandfather. I didn’t like old people in general, actually. They smell bad. They make me want to throw up–al those folds of loose skin hanging in slumping layers around their skeleton frames, globs of fat collected in awkward placed around their midsections and arms and legs and ankles. And then there were the di
Nora
My grandfather is currently living in Spain. I miss him. And love him.
The most important teacher in your life, who has lived longer then your parents and your teachers who can show you things no one else can teach you. A man who can inspire your need or want to learn, someone to love and ;listen to.
Danielle
When he passed away, the weather was hot, steamy, practically sending written invitations for the bullfrogs to sing at the ceremony and for the fireflies to light the night as they lowered him into the ground.
He told me this story, once; he was in his backyard, in Florida. He lives- lived- near the Everglades, the hot and muggy weather at his funeral only a fraction of what he felt everyday down i the deep south. There was this one alligator- a great big scaly thing, that probably ate human children like me, gramps would tease- that would waddle up next to him everyday, and together this great big reptile and my great big grandfather would watch the swamp together.
When gramps died, for some crazy reason I thought that alligator would show up to say goodbye.
Debi
Grandfather was a word I never even thought about anymore. It had been forever; so long since I had seen him. I had to admit it. I missed him; with all my heart. We never spent enough time together, and now he’s gone.
Of the long lost order walked down the dusty corridors. Searching for an old relic of time. Moldy stacks of books filled the passages. Watcher of old in the half-dark. The last of his order walked down slowly until he came to an old and dusty office. Finding an ancient tome called The World Burner. And then he spoke the old words for one last time.
needless to say, it’s the greatest thing you’ll ever have
he’ll guide you through the way
he’ll be your shining light
your only hope in this world
and it would just hurt to see him go
and fly up to the heavens from this world
all i ever thought of
was how to live life without him
My grandfather was a great man. He traveled all over north korea to fight in a war he did not quite believe in. My grandmother did though and thats all that’d matter to him. Most of his life was spent chasing my grandmother and fulfilling her dreams.
clocked, cloaked, and headed to work: that was the state of my grandfather when he left his house this morning.
I’ve only met one. The other one is dead. Dunno what I would have thought about him, but sometimes I think I might be disappointed. When you haven’t met someone other people know, you seem to see that person in a weird shed of light. Okay, I happened to click the button one more time. I gained 60 seconds to think about a dead person. Perhaps 60 seconds would have helped him too. To survive i mean. Oh well.
The grandfather was not handsome. In fact he was warty and had smelly ears. But, Jacob loved him and came to play with him as often as he could. As often as he was let out of the house to see him. But, that was not often. Usually he had to help father, cleaning the brushes and pot and giving critiques to the works. Some said his father was a madman. Jacob thought he was just mean.
he does things he shouldn’t do anymore but he’s still alive and kicking. i wonder what he thinks of himself.
The one i adore. The one I love. The one who knows me. The one who cares for me when Im sad, My one and only grandfather.
I have an awesome granpa who is always support me and always ease me to always reach and wun for my dream. he said” never think about what people said about you, but listen to what your heart feel about you.
My grandfather was a deput sheriff iin Fulton County, Georgia. He was tough as nails in the street but so kind to me. We had funny nicknames for each other. I loved spending time with my grandfather as a child and miss him terribly.
tick tock the sand is in the bottom half.
Deccadant whiskers tickle my chin as i kiss the streatched egg white skin
Grandfather clock ticked three times. It was her cue to leave. Getting up, she approached the door, looked back once, trying to imprint the image of her room in her memory and left.
I didn’t get to know my either of my grandfathers as they had both passed away before I was born. I’m sure that happened to a lot of children of the fifties.
Georgia began in workmanlike fashion, setting out her brushes and palettes in precise arrangements. It was the calm before her storm. The easel had been a gift from her grandfather. He had used it to paint the brutal atrocities of war. Once her colours had been mixed in the exact shades of the desert sky before her, she leaned in to the canvas and went about restoring the peace.
nonsense, he’d say. mickey mouse.
but stolen sweet by stolen sweet, my grandfather was eating his way to the grave. diabetes and “just one more slice of pie—it’ll be our little secret” don’t mix well.
He sits there, idly in his rocking chair. It is a picture of cliche. His lips, battered and dry, clack together in an attempt to regain lost moisture, and his eyes droop with a sunken exhaustion.
The little boy within captures each movement from his tired eyes. His hands grasp, and carve the wonders of the world.
The age of his body does not reflect his spirit.
The cage of time cannot contain his youth.
He sits there, idly in his rocking chair. It is a picture of cliche. His lips, battered and dry, clack together in an attempt to regain lost moisture, and his eyes droop with a sunken exhaustion.
The little boy within captures each movement from his tired eyes. His hands grasp, and carve the wonders of the world.
The age of his body does not reflect a spirit.
The cage of time cannot contain his youth.
he lived his life in secret. we never really knew him. he hit his head on the pavement in a walgreens parking lot. seemed so undignified an end to a man who lived so far beyond understanding.
A man I hardly met. I did meet, I did know in myself. Angry.
A father who was angry. A father who grew passive; too passive.
A son who was left in question. A knowledge without. Where did he go, where do I go? How many “he’s?”
Her grandfather’s eyes were vague and rheumy with age. He blinked rapidly, disconcertedly, and tried to shape words with his trembling lips.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said quickly, placing her hand atop his. “Don’t force yourself. They’ll come when they’re ready.”
“But I don’t have a grandfather,” the elder woman blinked at her and she felt an embarrassed blush rise unbidden to her cheeks. “I mean, I know I HAVE one, uhm, two, but I don’t…I mean, they’ve never-” she sighed, cutting herself off. “I don’t know them and they don’t know me and I’m pretty sure if either of them was like, important, I would’ve ok?”
Despite her rambling, the woman’s smile remained kind.
There was a grandfather clock laying broken at the edge of the universe. It was broken and useless but whether it truly was not adhering to its true intended purpose and expectation for invention was another thing entirely. As time becomes more bendable, bendable, and brittle (as this clock was quite aware) the more it lost its meaning.
Its creators had intended to use it as a relative basis to guide their lives. Living based on something that was broken in not only the future but also broken in the past and present due to its having never truly been a plausible or reasonable idea. The first days of mental conception of the invention of the clock were the days in which it knew it would not have any meaning or purpose in this universe but also the most meaning any certain object or space of matter might ever hold.
Mine
Is gone
Overseas
He’s here though
I love him
In my heart
there is still hope for him, you know?
He was a hero
Is a man
Who has loved and healed and fought and killed and I have faith that God will be overjoyed to see him again
When the time comes
Not before.
How will I deal with my mother
When her best friend passes away?
I suppose it’s natural, to somewhat regret
never meeting you:
you, with your wise eyes. White hair, black vest.
Though from what I’ve heard, it may be for the best:
A tyrant at worst; nice at best.
“Grandfather!” I yelled. “Wait for me!”
I ran up to him before he rolled down the ramp. I caught up to him, but he didn’t say anything.
He never does; he just looks at me with his burnt eyes that makes whatever I have to say not important anymore. When I look back, he smiles the kind of smile that makes you want to tell other people that you do not know who this man is, but he is too compelling.
I looked away to push his wheelchair and asked him if he needed anything. He grabbed my pinky with his pinky and said, “Pinky hugs are all I need to keep me going.”
Gabby
But he didn’t gab to me
like a mirror but the reflection was different
The crevice between his leg and the couch was dark
the darkness of nothing there
no comfort though I thought
there would be a warmth.
His grandfathers last words on his death bed were “The Ides of March are almost upon us. Beware this date my grandchild. As Ceasars death was predicted so was yours. You were born on this date and you shall die on this date. Unless you beat death at its own game.”
“Grandfather,” she pleaded with the old man, but he refused to budge on the thought. “No,” he shook his head, not moving from his chair before the fire. She stuck her lip out, pouting in a way that only she could to try to get him to budge, a method that had worked since she was a little girl, although she rarely abused her power. “No,” he replied firmly and he set about working on paperwork.
My grandfather died today. We buried him uderneath the rose bush in his favorite garden, under the trees that burst with life when him and I would walk hand in hand together. I was little then and never quite grasped that he would one day be gone; that these trees would outlast him. But I am older now; and I look at the trees and realize that they will outlast me too. They will grow while we all wither.
She had loved him, in that way where you’re sort of thrust together in the least practical of ways, and how you hate each other in the beginning because it’s awkward and strange and neither one of you knows what to say. But he’d raised her all the same, did the best he could, and taught her the things that were important because they were important to HIM, and that made them worth something.
My grandfather died. I was hurt. I knew he was going to pass but had let my mother control my contact with him. She was hurt by him, so I was not allowed to know him. He died. I have no real memories of him. He left before I ever realized I loved him.
I don’t have a grandfather. I had one when I was young. One I didn’t realize wasn’t my bio grandfather. I found out. They divorced when I was 16. He never spoke to me again. My precious Papa didn’t realize what he meant to me. He didn’t realize how it would break my heart to realize what exactly that I didn’t mean to him.
the wind blew like a sigh
through the windows.
an old bellows from a long
dead fire.
we look at the plants together
and talk air about how they’ll one day
be taller than either of us.
We are both 5 feet.
the leaves have started to curl at the edges.
I comforted Alexe as he sat by his deceased grandfather’s bed. I had never had a grandfather so i did not know how to react to that situation, but i sat there and rubbed his head while he cried into my shoulder.
really don’t know what to write, never had a grandfather *shrug*
I hated my grandfather. I didn’t like old people in general, actually. They smell bad. They make me want to throw up–al those folds of loose skin hanging in slumping layers around their skeleton frames, globs of fat collected in awkward placed around their midsections and arms and legs and ankles. And then there were the di
My grandfather is currently living in Spain. I miss him. And love him.
The most important teacher in your life, who has lived longer then your parents and your teachers who can show you things no one else can teach you. A man who can inspire your need or want to learn, someone to love and ;listen to.
When he passed away, the weather was hot, steamy, practically sending written invitations for the bullfrogs to sing at the ceremony and for the fireflies to light the night as they lowered him into the ground.
He told me this story, once; he was in his backyard, in Florida. He lives- lived- near the Everglades, the hot and muggy weather at his funeral only a fraction of what he felt everyday down i the deep south. There was this one alligator- a great big scaly thing, that probably ate human children like me, gramps would tease- that would waddle up next to him everyday, and together this great big reptile and my great big grandfather would watch the swamp together.
When gramps died, for some crazy reason I thought that alligator would show up to say goodbye.
Grandfather was a word I never even thought about anymore. It had been forever; so long since I had seen him. I had to admit it. I missed him; with all my heart. We never spent enough time together, and now he’s gone.