My Grandma's Old Rocking Chair

by Clint Gardner 2008

Rocking my son, deep in the night,
He is searching for some rest.
As I sing to him a lullaby…
His vocal chords he tests.

We sit in that old rocking chair,
My family knows it well.
For each of us, if we were asked…
Could find a tale to tell.

A childhood memory where Grandma sat
In this same rocking chair...
And talked to us, her grandchildren;
There’s a story...we each could share!

‘Cause that old chair has been around,
At least as long as me.
For more than 50 years it’s been...
A part, in our history.

My Grandma loved that ‘rocking chair’,
She passed it on to Mother.
From Mother, to my Sister Lynn...
From Lynn, a gift to Brother.

After all the years now past,
My Grandma’s long since gone.
My son’s now rocking in that chair,
His life...just in its dawn.

To think…that he now gets to rock
Where my Grandma used to rest.
Makes me feel a little proud...
Like, he’s an honored guest!

My Grandma loved that rocking chair,
My Mother loved it too!
And now I rock my son to sleep...
A time for ‘just us two’!

Grandma Flo: “Your chair still works!”
At rocking kids to sleep.
And if I think about it long...
My eyes begin to weep.

For I know you and Mom would both
Have loved to rock my son.
So as I rock, I’ll think of you...
And we will get it done!

Sweet dreams Ethan!

Dedicated to My Grandma: Florence Coulson,
Her rocking chair we still use today,
My Dearest Mother Eva Mae Gardner,
And all the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren
Who have rocked in Grandma’s chair!

A Father's Love

A Father's love cannot be weighed,
In dollar's or in cents.
But as his children tend to grow,
The car begins to dent.

Despite the dents,and cuts,and bruises,
He loves his children still.
And stands beside them 'thick or thin',
And so...he always will.

The good times he encounters,
Far outweighs the gloom.
Though he would really like to see,
That they could clean their room

Father's love their children...
In good times or in bad.
And Dad's the first to be there...
If their face is looking sad.

He'll put his arm around his child,
Push the hair out of their face.
Kiss them gently on the cheek,
Their grief...he'll then embrace.

There's nothing greater in the world,
Than a Dad's undying love.
And though they try to pay him back
They'll never rise above.

So when you talk to Clinton,
And he's bragging oh so loud.
He'll raise his kids the best he can,
And know that he is proud.

And though sometimes they go astray,
And cause their Daddy stress...
You know he'd never change a thing,
And do with one child less.

Written by Clint Gardner 1998

Marta Miles

I worked at the 1996 Summer Olympic Games in Atlanta Georgia in 1996. I worked for the Security Team Program (STP). We were all issued a MARTA card to get free transportation on the Bus or MARTA rail system. I think MARTA stood for Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority...or something like that.

It's out the gate, and to the right,
To a table down the block.
There's people there both day and night,
So we don't have to walk.

The wait is short, it's not too long,
Till you're riding in a shuttle;
The driver's moving things along...
Cause the passengers must huddle.

Shoot the card to pay the fare,
Then quickly through the gate.
Across the floor and up the stairs,
Again...we stand and wait!

It's not too long, the MARTA shows,
And opens up it's doors.
We quickly load, and off it goes,
To take us to some stores.

Sometimes we get to take a seat,
At times, we have to stand.
Inside we're sheltered from the heat,
Above, or under land.

Five Points, Peachtree, Lenox, Buckhead,
These common destinations.
Be careful not to be mislead,
By faulty information.

Whether Dunwoody or Doraville, or just to CNN,
These MARTA miles are adding up...because of STP.
We've used it many times so far, I'm sure we will again,
A very useful service here...on that, we'll all agree!

Clinton Gardner 1996