.
Nine: A Song for a Granddaughter
for a girl, M___, raised in my household, though
not a blood relative
1
She is the girl who cheers my heart:
“Come, Jeff. Let’s play!” she voices smart
And innocent as we depart.
We go outside beneath the azure skies—
She advocates I get my exercise.
She scoots her scooter up and down the streets
Or skates her skates on parking-lot retreats
With me in tow. She executes her feats
And I adjure she is a grand success
As we in festive frolic coalesce.
But then, alas, the skies turned red.
“Let’s go inside and play,” she said.
But then she sorts crayons instead.
,
2
As time refuses to recline,
Maturing with the Grand Design,
This little girl-child now is nine!
The skates and scooter hibernate in peace
While on her bike she ventures with caprice
To novel places hither, thither, yon;
Returns and drops her bike upon the lawn;
And on to other ventures, sometimes gone
And sometimes here. She leads a football cheer
Or paints a canvas clever and sincere.
When she grows up with more esprit
And new pursuits, to what degree,
I muse, will she remember me?
.
October 2015
.
.
Seventeen: A Song for a Granddaughter
for M___
1
O whither goes my tortured child,
Once joyful, now tormented wild,
As though from humankind exiled?
Removed from friends and family, in gloom
She sits alone within a haunted room,
Locked in a labyrinth of toxic dreams
With ghosts and ghouls attacking from regimes
Below, ransacking in their devilish schemes.
The shard of hope wishes to exorcise
The imps of diabolical demise.
Has she grown up so quickly now
To dark domains that disallow
A God within her I-and-Thou?
,
2
She is the girl who rends my heart:
In silence we are worlds apart;
And now she bids her life depart.
She goes outside beneath foreboding skies
And walks alone or runs for exercise
To shed what little weight her body bears.
She eats but nothing to allay her cares
That corpulence may conquer unawares.
If I adjure she is a grand success
The adulation she will then suppress.
She sees the sky as always gray;
She lives inside her mind each day
And sorts her plans to waste away.
.
July 2023
.
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Jeff Kemper has been a biology teacher, biblical studies instructor, editor, and painting contractor. He lives in York County, Pennsylvania.
Such joy turned to sorrow. The good news is that teenage years are often tough times that later turn to greater elation. Your concerns show a caring person that at some point will be rewarded in the future.
Thanks for the sentiment, Roy; I just want the best for her. She’s been dealt some horrid circumstances.
This is very profound and poignant. It says so much, “behind the scenes”, about some of the things that must have happened between these two times of the girl’s life; yet, as it should, it leaves the reader to speculate about what those may have been, and to realize that he/she will never know those specifics, although the poet does. I also really admired and enjoyed your very consistent and creative rhyme scheme and meter.
Thank you, Cynthia. I ache for this wonderful but troubled girl.
So beautiful and so sad.
Thank you, Robin. Sad indeed.
Jeff, you picture well a loving observer’s concern for a growing girl. The formal qualities of the pair of poems are impressive: the complex stanza structure, the word echoes of the first poem in the second, and the comparison/contrast of two parts in both.
Including the dates, rather than just telling the age of M in each poem, lets us who have lived through recent years make pertinent speculation on the changes in her life. The “haunted room” which is her “indoors” at 17 isn’t only the computer screen and deviant destructive entertainment. It’s also the forced isolation through at least two years of her schooling, and the intrusive manipulation of the soul increasingly practiced in many schools. And her 17-year-old “outdoors” of obsessive exercise and diet seems to manifest the confusion of spiritual life.
As this looks personal rather than fictional, best wishes for M’s maturity as she moves into her 20s.
Thank you for your wishes for this precious girl. I pray for her all the time.
A haunting piece, Jeff, that unfortunately resonates.
thanks for the read.
Paul, I wish I had no occasion for writing the second one!
Poetry puts things in perspective, Jeffrey, especially if all is not yet lost.
Thanks for the read.
Your touching poems speak to so many in the modern and difficult age for people. May healing and blessings come to this beautiful young person and for you as well…Allegra
Thank you so mush, Allegra.
Jeff, you have skillfully used differing meters and rhyme schemes within the two poems. The contrast between these poems makes them doubly effective.
I pray for M— and for you.
Both anorexia and running are addictive.
Thank you, Mary. I treasure your prayers!
Dear Jeff,
It is very painful to watch a loved one self-destruct. Your suffering put into beautiful verse will no doubt help others know they are not alone in their suffering.
I am praying the next poem you write for her is one of joyful deliverance.
Thanks for your concern, Gigi. Unfortunately I already wrote some dismal pieces, but I cling to each little upswing in her development. Again, thank you for your concern.