"Grandma's Off Her Rocker!"
In the dim and distant past,
When life's tempo wasn't fast,
Grandma used to rock and knit,
Crochet, tat, and babysit.
When we were in a jam,
We could always count on gram.
In the age of gracious living,
Grandma's life was one of giving.
But today...
Now grandma's at the gym,
Exercising to keep slim,
She's off touring with the bunch,
Or taking all her friends to lunch.
Driving north to fish or hike,
Taking time to ride her bike.
Nothing seems to block or stop her,
Now that grandma's off her rocker.
"Grandpa’s Nose"
Grandpa’s nose is rather big
it’s shaped just like a horn
It doesn’t bother Grandpa,
he says that’s how he was born
I’m glad it’s not a ‘pick’ a lo
or a snooty flute
but when people hear him ‘toot’ his nose
they stand up and salute.
– Judy Valko
"Grandma's On The Dancefloor"
Grandma's on the dancefloor
Shaking what she's got.
If it don't shake, it wobbles,
And boy, does it wobble a lot.
The old moves don't come easy
Even though she's got new hips.
She swings them almost freely now,
And you can barely hear them click.
Grandad's in the corner,
Sipping on his beer.
Will he shake his booty?
My Grandad - No fear!
Grandma means the world to him,
And he's her Mr. Right.
He's the one who'll walk her home,
The one she'll kiss goodnight.
My sister just got married,
And the party's in full sway.
She's hand in hand with Grandma
Twisting the night away.
Sister pulls Gran closer
To make sure that she's listening.
Then Grandma stops and shouts aloud
"We're going to have a Christening."
– Graham Craven
"Joker Grandpa"
Always finds a way, to make fun of my folks,
He is hilarious, with plenty of jokes.
A true expert, on many pranks,
For making us laugh; a little thanks.
At the dinner table, he’s rarely serious,
His tricks are cool and quite mysterious.
I’m not saying that he knows magic,
Some of his stunts are lame and tragic.
Grandpa knows how to pull your strings,
A cheerful guy, that constantly sings.
Never know, what he’ll come up with next,
Our joker grandpa, fun and perplex.
"Fun Grandpa"
My grandpa knows, the art of the laugh,
So many jokes, but reveals only half.
We’ll enjoy, those fun random talks,
He makes fun of things, during our walks.
Hilarious moments, he will readily find,
Walk into a wall, and pretend to be blind.
Whenever I see him, he’s sporting a smile,
Mr. Bean had a much better style.
A serious illness, for jokes he will fake,
Moments later, random faces he’ll make.
Seems like grandpa just wants to have fun,
At church, he tried, to pick up a nun.
When his driving had gotten bizarre
Grandpa’s kids tossed his keys very far
So he hitched into town
Laid some good money down
And then simply brought home a new car.
You may not sew and you may not crochet,
You may not bake macaroons every day,
You may not buy tickets to a grand ballet,
Or be like the grandma of yesterday.
You may not answer with a vague, "Yes, dear,"
You may not have trouble in one ear.
You may not always have your knitting near,
Or overflow with constant cheer
You may not have scalloped, scented soap
Or fuzzy toilet seat covers (I hope)
With embroidery needles, you cannot cope.
Big hair? Wig hair? Nada and nope.
But I love you without the stereotype.
I've been thinking we should connect on Skype.
You're my bud, Grandma, and I'd really like it
If I could take your path and be able to hike it.
I look at what you do each day
And I see each one is your birthday.
You live anew in all you do.
I wanna be like you!
"Something Went Wrong in Our Family Tree"
Something went wrong in our family tree
When I look at you, cousin, it's plain to see.
You've got big ears like a chimpanzee,
But I guess that backfires 'cause it's the same with me.
Your two front teeth remind me of a rabbit,
You should stop munching carrots; it's become a habit.
If I want one, I have to move quick and grab it.
Come to think of it, your teeth look like mine, dag-nabbit!
Now your eyes look just a little bit screwy,
Guess you must have inherited them from Grandpa Louie.
But my eyes are kind of cock-eyed and just a bit droopy,
So I guess we've got that in common too, oh poopie!
I think my critique of your appearance is done.
Since we look so much alike, it's no longer any fun.
I've got one last thing to say in front of everyone,
Gosh, you're a good lookin' son-of-a-gun!
– Kelly Roper