once upon a time at grandma’s house…

sometimes my grand daughters
dress up as princesses and live
together in make-believe castle
(partitioned basement toy room)

wearing single toy crown, one of
them acts as the queen and she
invariably invites me to come for
a visit with royals at their palace

when addressing the queen, one
must be respectful but i get into
trouble by casually referring to her
little highness as “Queenie Poo”

they predictably haul me off
to the jailer’s dungeon where
they mercifully bring me books
and copious meals of fake food

eventually, i am released but
regretfully have not yet learned
my lesson and the story repeats
to the general delight of all parties


I’ve written a few poems about my grandmothers (“I Remember Them”) and grandchildren but here’s a new story poem for dVerse.

giving thanks

cold turkey thaws in filled sink,

every year bigger butterball bird;

add honey ham to feed multitude

by marriage, births, or invitation.

gathered ingredients weeks ahead

cheesy baked corn aroma wafts up

daughter-in-love will make pies or

dinner rolls to bring to feast while

grandma feels a bit overwhelmed by

her family blessings and potato skins;

wipes tearful prayers on fresh apron.


at the museum in
murdo, south dakota
(around the corner from
a life-size jar jar binks)

stands antique treadmill
not for human exercise
but built in miniature for
dog trained on laundry

duty to run the wheel
tied to belt on agitator
of old washing machine
just like grandma used—

funny how that memory
was jogged, grandma’s
story of how the family
dog would often hide

on monday mornings.

photo by lynn

Linking to De’s “laundry” prompt at dVerse Poets

i did!

Lillian invites us to lighten up and get a bit silly at dVerse poets’ pub tonight 🙂


did you ever leave cell phone behind,
family must ring your number to find?

did you ever blow gum bubble in space,
stretch it bigger till it burst in your face?

did you ever play three gruff goats billy,
game with granddaughters giggling silly?



“Grandma” by Ruth



Grandma, screen-shot-2019-08-09-at-3.48.13-pm
who bore seven children,
rambunctious and noisy,
over my great aunt,
who raised six children,
so well-behaved
that following a meal
she would direct them
in a very soft voice…
they would immediately
clear the table
wash the dishes.


A quadrille  (poem of exactly 44 words) for dVerse Poets Pub with De.



little buddy red-
faced, setting the stage
to fly into kicking and sweating rage

wiser granny said-
stop your fretting, my child
there’s no use getting unruly riled

now go to bed-
buddy, until lesson you learn
to let kissing cousins have a turn!



Quadrille (44-word poem) including the word “fret”… with Kim at dVerse Poets

still life


exploring attic

reclaim grandma’s old dresser

drawers of mementos

from her youthful adventures

lily of valley bouquet



shy century


hoped to celebrate

grandma’s one hundredth birthday

but she passed away…

left us behind with no cake

she’s partying in heaven!



Elsie’s 100th tanka challenge at Ramblings of a Writer. My dear Grandma Gertie nearly reached 100 years…can you imagine living for a century?

lil’ lincoln logger


energetic blond boy invades our home
it’s so much fun the second time around
he dumps out all the legos on the floor
then drives his toy backhoe across the couch
he brings grandma another book to read
next climbs in grandpa’s lap to eat popcorn
his uncles he adores; follows footsteps
pulls on his boots (wrong feet) to go outdoors
he likes to chase the cats or moo at cows
he’s happy when he’s playing in the dirt
by day’s end we’re all ready for our beds
he reaches out to hug our necks goodnight!



*”blank verse” (no rhyme) written in iambic pentameter (see MTB with Tony at d’Verse)


don’t ask the color of my hair


I think I must be younger than I am;

Still looking for a mirror that’s wrinkle free.

Hey, only special peeps may call me Gram.


I really do not need the “senior discount” plan,

Send back those letters from  A.A.R.P.!

I think I must be younger than I am.


Adults who call me Grandma?  I take it “like a man”

but wonder whether they can count to three!

‘Cuz only special peeps may call me Gram.


Kids fill the house with music; it’s time for us to jam.

Can chaos and commotion inspire poetry?

I think I must be younger than I am.


Blond boy and baby girl, sweetest members of our fam,

Come snuggle in my arms or re-read books across my knee.

Yes, only special peeps may call me Gram.


So many birthday candles? I just cannot understand.

My truest friends are winking because they all agree,

I really must be younger than I am,

And only special peeps may call me Gram!