The only poem any of my grandparents taught me. From my paternal grandpa.
My pup, my pup, my beautiful pup. Drinking out of the old tin cup. Running and jumping after the pony. My pup, my pup, will soon be baloney.
Makes me smile. Grandpa was a tough old well driller and farmer. Smoked roll-your-own Prince Albert cigarettes all day. After his funeral, we walked around his farm and I was amazed by the pile of PA tins out in the end of one pasture. There must have been several thousand in that one heap. I wish I could have had more time with him. I have a lot of things I would like to ask him. He has been gone now 35 years and I miss him.
Both my grandfathers were born in the 1800's, so by the time I came along my one living grandpa didn't have enough fuel in his tank to spend time reciting poetry.
My father however used to like to tell my nephews:
GRANDMA HAS A HABIT OF CHEWING IN HER SLEEP SHE CHEWS ON GRANDPA'S WISKERS AND THINKS IT'S SHREDDED WHEAT..
"Governments may think and say as they like, but force cannot be eliminated, and it is the only real and unanswerable power. We are told that the pen is mightier than the sword, but I know which of these weapons I would choose."~Sir Adrian
Post by oldcajun123 on Jul 18, 2017 8:07:44 GMT -5
My Grandpa was of German Stock, 6ft 4, hands so big that large gloves bulged when he put them on, he was both mean and playful, whipped my Dad with a trace chain because he wasn't plowing straight. And yet when I came along I could do no wrong, I went everywhere with him. My favorite saying he had was You can make me eat shite, just don't tell me it's Butter, sounds nicer in French. HaHa
Post by penzaholic on Jul 18, 2017 11:36:05 GMT -5
Poetry is one of the last things I can do or remember. I do have all my Grandfathers pipes and pipe stand.
I'm not talking about the kind of speakers you just listen to, I'm talking about the kind of sound you can feel. When it comes to great stereo, you can't beat big speakers, I'm talking about big speakers with big woofers.