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My Grandma's Way
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By Louis Gander
Other Poems by Louis Gander

My Grandma's Way

Above all things, above the sky -

like a balloon that's sailing high.

This perspective, Heaven's view -

and here above, God sees all too.


Over rainbows, cottony clouds -

and back a-ways too, I think out loud -

to greener times, to early days -

to simpler life and better ways.


Far down below in memory etched,

at grandma's house, her clothes line stretched.

I saw clothes hung in certain space,

as clothes pins held each one in place.


In standard form, no wind could jilt -

the smallest sock or largest quilt.

Though Grandma's clothes would often dance,

that wicked wind had ne'r a chance.


It all was simple, very fine,

when grandma took clothes off her line.

And though were dried in simple care,

today her words just wouldn't dare.


Some green-enviro talking heads,

(while separating whites and reds),

might brag while more pollutions spew,

while leaning on their dryers, new.


Though grandma's tongue was as a whip -

"just like a bee sting" we would quip -

her honest, tight and sanctioned deeds,

had filled a life, fulfilling needs.


Her winter canned goods kept us fed,

and she had extra, neighbors said.

Her flower bed received great care,

with colored roses everywhere.


She had no debt, (no card for sure),

worked very hard, had character.

She saved her pennies, saved her dimes -

but lost it all (inflated times...)




I soon descend. Balloon deflates,

to current times, to current dates -

and see a truth of future dim,

while looking out where life is grim.


A time of envy, want and fist,

a time when freedoms can't exist.

A time and place that makes man sweat -

where deeds go limp and eyes go wet.


All mortgaged off - Miss Liberty,

Mount Rushmore too, as I can see.

And also mortgaged, please discern -

the parks and trees. Too late we'll learn.


Each public asset, private too,

will all be seized when overdue.

Our current assets we have bled -

and future income 'til we're dead.


Simmering slowly, each tax rate -

will come to boil when it's too late.

Our blood will cover how much ground,

for basic freedoms, next time 'round?


Lust and envy, pride and greed -

raw love of money, root and seed.

While we're sold off, piece after piece -

in massive debt, our freedoms cease.


This Nation's great and standing tall,

of people proud, before their fall.

Piece after piece, we each are cursed -

and this is slavery at its worst.


These newer ways got out of line,

and of the times, this is the sign.

While grandma's way was always fair -

but try her way? They wouldn't dare!


Now all alone with assets few -

her farm is gone, the fields too.

Her bank bankrupt. A brand new dawn -

with neighbors and her savings gone.


Though once so blind, I couldn't see.

She had her ways - now her ways, me.

At times a quiet tear she shed,

remembering her loved rose bed.


The shirt they took was really mine,

that once hung there on grandma's line.

Soon lost forever, I do say -

if we can't live my grandma's way.


©2010 louis gander

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Submitted: Sunday, August 14, 2016

Last Updated: Sunday, August 14, 2016

About the Poet
Born in Richland Center, Wisconsin in 1954. It's the poem's message that matters- not the poet.

Other Poems by Louis Gander

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