CreationEarth Nature Photos
Submit Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Uncle Poems

Below are the all-time best Uncle poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of uncle poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Uncle poems, articles about Uncle poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Uncle poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Uncle Poems
Read Uncle Poems
New Uncle Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

New Uncle Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Uncle poems are below this new poems list.

Uncle John's RV by Leiser, Laura
my quiet uncle by hansen, jan oskar
A Lament For My Uncle, As His Day Approaches by Quigley, Tom
Well I'll Be A Monkey's Uncle by Bdosa, Vee
Uncle T by Cheema, Balveen
RIP Uncle - Ode to the late 'Vasco Lee Diah' 1948-2014 by Simpson, Carlene
Uncle Milty and Me by Morgan, Richard
Birthday of my uncle by Musinga, Seth Yuhi
Old Uncle Tod by Mkenzie, Nichola
My uncle, my hero by van Akkeren, Huberta

View all new Uncle Poems

The Best Uncle Poems

Details | Uncle Poem | |

Love Sleeps, Never Dies

An old man
A Grumpy bitter old man
Bitter face
Red nose
Wrinkled beady eyes
Scruffy clothes his best attire

Life has not been kind
So his bitter words bite those around
He lived alone, inside his madness
Leave me be and go to hell
His favorite expressions

The phone rang one night late
This is the Court sir, your brother’s son and family 
Have been in a terrible accident
Only your niece of four survived
When can you pick her up?

The old man was in a daze
What the hell was he being punished for now
Keeping care of a dam kid
What the bloody hell did he know about that?
"Well sir, we will be expecting you tomorrow, 9am prompt please"

Walking back to his flat, with a 4 year old girl in tow
Well the neighbors gawked to say the least
The poor little girl, tears and teddy, trying to keep up with grumpy
Once inside his flat, he looked at her with disdain
Said "Guess you be expecting some food or some such"

She nodded, as sad as she was, she was indeed hungry
He showed her the cupboard and fridge, milk and cereal in there
Help yourself, and wash the dam dishes afterwards
Don’t got no extra bed, so you sleep here on the couch
She nodded silently, thinking the world truly must have ended

Days, turned into weeks, turned into months
This little girl complained not once
All she could think of was her pain
Mummy and daddy were in heaven where ever that was
Why they left her was truly confusing

Friday was her birthday
She was sad and missing her family
Getting ready, she went to the cupboard for dinner
The old man said what the hell you doing that for?
She shivered in fear, he was always so so so mad

She apologies, sorry uncle Pete
He replied you sit your self down right there
And you be quiet you here?
Then the lights all of sudden went out
Bright tiny candles burned in the night

The old man, said, is your birthday after all
Hope you don’t mind these little cupcakes I got us here
She looked at him with new eyes
He turned, not quite smiling, no miracles just yet
They ate in silence after which, he said good night and happy birthday

The next morning even they really never talked
Other than who does what chores
Or how expensive she was to care for
She asked out of the blue
"Uncle, why do angels have wings?"

In his usual grumpy way, he replied
"So they get the hell away from us as fast as they can is why
This world is no place for happiness or angels get used to that"
She was taken back by his bitterness, still………
She replied, “but I dream on them looking over me uncle"

Well he looked at her, and somewhat softly and with unusual kindness
He answered her "that’s because you are one of them, a sweet little angel"
She ran into his arms and gave him a big hug
This was a very good thing.
For then she could not see the single tear the dropped to the floor

He actually hugged her back and with all of his heart
That day, a day for most people that was a normal day
Was for him and his little charge, a miracle
A small loving child, held that secret key
To opening an old mans heart

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Uncle Poem | |

hahahahaha i have no idea what to title this

help mrs. muse is gone and my mind is shooting blanks 
my friend called inspiration is trying to walk the plank 

motivation just married mr lazy 
and confidence started acting really crazy 

cousin common sense is on vacation out of town 
and aunt intelligence is nowhere to be found 

uncle rational is at the casino gambling his life away 
and my best friend happiness never wants to stay 

my neighbor opportunity doesnt knock on my door anymore 
and my girlfriend love is really just a whore 

my partner pride is always full of himself 
and sister sympathy is busy with someone else 

grandpa wisdom is smart enough not to say a word 
and grandma compassion is seen but never heard 

the only friends that ever come to town 
is anger and disgust and they always hang around 

my high school sweat heart infatuation doesnt really call 
and my childhood friend imagination doesnt exist at all 

Copyright © John Castro | Year Posted 2012


Details | Uncle Poem | |

The Verdict

NOW
Well, GI Jack is welcome back, he left his legs in 'Nam.
He wakes at night in sweat and fright, then drinks another dram.
He doesn't know quite where to go, so seeks his uncle, Sam.

BEFORE
One can't ignore - his ma was poor, and life was sometimes cruel,
yet Jack was brave and well behaved and surely no one's fool	
so joined the ranks that man the tanks, as soon as he left school

He learned to kill our foes at will (ordained a sacred rite),
and packed his bag and wrapped his flag and went away to fight.
And yes, the tide was on our side (for, clearly, might makes right)

Through tangled days in jungles' maze, he sought the enemy
behind the trees where, ill at ease, he fought the Yellow sea -
upon the waves of sunken graves he sailed a killing Spree

The napalm dropped and cooked the crops, burnt huts along the way
and tanks, with ease, mowed down the trees and villages of clay.
Yes, turret guns were loads of fun with roaring roundelays

While on the hunt with other grunts, he burned some babes alive
and wondered why frail things must die, while evil's phantoms thrive -
When folly ends, he'll make amends if only he'll survive
	
With booby traps (sticks dipped in crap)... yes, Charlie fought unfair.
He hid in holes like snakes and voles and snuck up everywhere
and like a mite beneath the night, caught Jackie unaware

At battle's end, Jack sought his friends - their souls were washed away
and only he and destiny were left in disarray -
with bed and pan, just half a man, the man of yesterday

When Jackie woke, beyond the smoke, his frame no longer whole,
he found instead a medalled thread, some wraps to hide the hole,	
and realized another prize: a chair on wheels to roll

Across his chest (you've surely guessed) his medals shone, arrayed.
His head felt light, as well it might, at Victory Day Parade
for when he rolled, while others strolled, his boots no longer weighed

AFTER
Well, Jack stayed home (no roads to Rome)  to start his life anew
receiving dole (that took its toll) which fell in Sam's purview,
but soon enough, when times got tough, his uncle, Sam, withdrew

To walk the streets with fine elites (or someone else who begs)
or find a job (or even rob) requires both your legs,
and those that don't and those that won't are those we call the dregs
 
For getting by he tried to ply and mine his medals' worth -
a tinny cup, a hungry pup near loamy pits of earth,
and best of all, per protocol, beneath a bridge, a berth

He clutched a sign 'A dime to dine?', if anybody cared,
but soon he found, as time unwound, that victors seldom shared.
And Jackie's pride was slowly fried by vacant eyes that stared

He took to drink to break the link with thoughts of what he'd done,
though threads of doubt began to flout the yarns Big Brother spun
of freedom's ring and other things like what it was we'd won

He told the breeze his vague unease; his words infused the air
and like the fogs above the bogs, soon floated through the square
where people sat at tea to chat, and thought 'How could he dare?'

But freedom's price is never nice: like storms before the flood
the Daily Rag was on a jag, was looking out for blood,
deemed Jackie's thoughts untamed and fraught, then dragged him through the mud

By snooping clues, they plucked his views like grapes upon the vine.
Big Brother came, blamed Jackie's name for thinking out of line,
shut Jack away from light of day while letting freedom shine

The Junto Brass, with eyes of glass, were robed in fine array
to hear the words (though slightly slurred) the witness gasped to say,
while Justice snored (the water board awash with Perrier)

Well, Jack was charged with laws enlarged in secret dossiers
within the guise of spreading lies and leading thoughts astray -
The Jury's out... the rabble shout 'well someone's gotta pay'

The Judge (who fears the mind’s frontiers), he turned his head to yawn
while making haste through courtroom waste, though slightly pale and wan -
The voodoo Lune withdrew as soon as Night condemned the Dawn

ETERNITY
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the sighs of Silence, rife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the Reaper played a fife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the price was Jackie's life

Epilogue
While censor’s cooks are roasting books (and truth) on stakes ablaze,
well, Jackie's head (though chopped and shed) still thinks about the praise
for deeds once done in victories won when cruising in a craze,
and then again about the sin of thinking, nowadays,
where, absently, humanity is served in urns on trays -
and, reconciled, it simply smiles at fortune's funny ways

Epitaph
A  mind was caught while thinking thoughts neath Sammy’s prying gaze
and forced to stop by concept cops, else join the castaways.
For now it's law to hold in awe the brave new world's malaise
and dance like mimes to rigid rhymes (which no one disobeys)
and celebrate with white-washed pate, adorned with dead bouquets -
with freedom’s death, time holds its breath, and waits for better days...

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2013


Details | Uncle Poem | |

A Legend In His Own Mind

Who was that masked man?!?
Brian Williams, rides again.

He was in Amilia Earhart's plane;
even rode with the Dalton Gang.

The day the Titanic went down;
In the rescue boat when Rose was found.

He went on expeditions with Louis and Clark.
Once gave his seat to Rosa Parks.

He was actually the first man in space.
That shadow on the moon........ It's his face!

The earliest woman, they deemed to be
bones in the desert they named Lucy.
She was his niece, tho she drug her knuckles,
so he really is a monkey's uncle!

He walked miles and miles on the Trail of Tears;
wondered the desert with Hebrews for forty years.

He dated Cleopatra; drank wine with Moses;
gave the Queen of Sheba a camel and roses.

He's walked with Bigfoot in the hills;
been bitten by vampires, but magically heals.

He has had great adventures of every kind.
He's Brian Williams; a legend in his own mind.

Maybe I can be one of those news cast stars.
This is Arlene, reporting from mars........ 




Couldn't resist this little tribute to the wild stories of reporter Brian Williams who was fired for seemingly padding up his stories....

Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2015


Details | Uncle Poem | |

Characterization

Our two party system isn’t working
Plastic figures, disaster lurking
Conservative or liberal isn’t the call
It’s the ultra rich against us all
For the people is what it’s not
All candidates have already been bought
Platforms built on promises and lies
Hear the people, ignore their cries
Wave that flag as if you’re proud
Then bow and worship the corporate crowd
You no longer serve, you’re out of place
You are an elitist group, a public disgrace
You’ve subsidized the rich with your insanity
Then crippled the growth of humanity
You’ve killed our children in endless war
The media smiles and keeps the score
We sing of amber waves of grain
You’d sell it all for personal gain
You left our budget in disarray
You’ll tax our grandchildren for it someday
No water boarding terrorists you warn
Then murder a child who is still unborn
You have no ethics, you have no shame
You have no morals, you accept no blame
Washington is a place I’m told
Where politicians are bought and sold
Where dreams and ideals are destroyed
A city where honesty is null and void
A place where hope has been dethroned
You won’t get nominated unless you’re owned
A place where once” In God we trust”
Now we look in sheer disgust
Country burning from your sparks
You replaced Uncle Sam with Karl Marx
Our nominees we cannot select
The media decides who we elect.
Politicians with great orations
Puppets to the corporations.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2010


Details | Uncle Poem | |

UNSELFISH LOVE

I was blessed to know a woman in my life
Who faced hard times, struggle, and strife.
A Chinese immigrant, she came from a poor town
Lost her husband, was kept from her daughter, but not kept down.

She had three other children who were born here
Getting them a better life was her biggest fear.
She had to fend for herself and them alone you see,
Speaking little of the language in this foreign country.

But, she had always lived a determined life
So she fought back...with a fork and a knife.
She opened a restaurant in a small community
Where her gracious manner made her friends instantly.

Her children would grow up in town with new friends
The restaurant she opened was the mean to her ends.
She worked very hard...sometimes eighteen hours a day
She never complained because that was her way.

Her life's expectations knew more successes sublime
The restaurant grew...one egg roll at a time.
She once told me of the anxiety she felt at the money she'd spent...
Laughing said, "My uncle said sell 2 qts of Chop Suey/Day...you've got the rent."

She was a woman who chose kindness as she felt had to her been shown
To people far and near her generosity was known.
She was thankful that she had the opportunity
To give back with love rather than animosity.

I first met her over some 30 years back
She struck me from the that moment as a person who had the knack
To make others feel at home though strangers they be
She certainly did, because she did it to me.

I still remember her caring for me...it was shown
Once caught in a blizzard, she opened her home.
So often was there a path to this woman's door
Though she stood, less than 5 foot 4.

Her heart was as big and wonderful as one would want
An earthly angel, she was heaven sent.
Though her health began to wane later in life
She never gave in to that world of strife.

Her eyesight began to fail and it was difficult for her to see
But that didn't stop her or her generosity.
She loved people and filled everyone with cheer
Ever thankful that she had had a life here.

Though she is gone I'll never forget her face
Or her love of life, devotion to family, and unstoppable pace.
To me I'll ever be thankful to have had the joy
Of calling her "Ma" ... ONE IN A MILLION~was Connie Moy!

1st Place Winner - "One in a Million" Poetry Contest

Copyright © Daniel Cwiak | Year Posted 2010


Details | Uncle Poem | |

Ice Cube Pie

I always wanted two slices of ice cube pie
“You only get one”, was the standard reply.
I don’t know why I did
But since I was a kid
It was my favorite treat on the Fourth of July.

The pastry is known by all our relations
Since the recipe’s passed down for generations.
Every bite you’ll savoir
Exceptional flavor
But remember, don’t settle for imitations

Long ago, my great Aunt tried experiments
By leaving out one of the ingredients.
Once Uncle took a bite 
He stared out in fright
And barely survived that bad experience.

My oldest son, Johnny became quite wise
He grew up like the others, before our eyes.
His passion for confection
Was a gainful connection
When he opened the first ice cube pie franchise.

Soon after that, we made our first million
And played in the sun with friendly Brazilians.
But to our surprise
We saw ice cube pies
On bamboo platters next to our pavilion

Right away we knew this was an infraction
Without delay our family took action.
We found a private eye
Who loved our ice pie
But his research left him broken in traction.

It was apparent to us that that kind of job
Was endorsed by the brutal ice cube pie mob.
But we didn’t frown
Or give up and back down
We were going to prevail; oh, yes siree, Bob!

With a meeting of minds we gathered resources
And then undersigned the following courses.
To make sure our ices
Sold at cut-rate prices
To knock competition off its high horses.

So back at the shop we assembled platoons
To build enough pies to reach to the moons.
And made plenty dough
That allowed us to mow
Down the cube racket’s, knuckle dragging goons.

We now manage an ice cube pie monopoly
Sales started smooth, but then turned choppily.
So we eased the frustration
With another vacation
But guess what we saw in downtown Mexicali?!


Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2013


Details | Uncle Poem | |

Hook Line and Sinker


Me, my brother Tom and Uncle Pat were on a fishing holiday
three men in a rowing boat way out in Dublin Bay
we anchored up and cast six rods over a sunken wreck
hoping for the catch of our lives to haul onto the deck
hours passed with the floats just bobbing up and down
Tom fell asleep and Pat sat watching with a frown
a ferry passed by and the swell nearly made us capsize
as I held onto the sides Pat stood there with staring eyes
his float had gone and the rod had bent double
I woke Tom up and told him we were in trouble
Pat grabbed the rod and with all the strength he had
he struck the line which went straight down, oh man this was bad
the boat began to list quite far and water was gushing in
we started bailing out, but Pat held firm he stood there with a grin
he had a bite that was pulling hard the line shot under the keel
only one fish had the strength for this, it was a giant conger eel
Tom rummaged through the tackle and handed Pat a knife
we shouted ‘cut the line’ or this fish could take a life
but he heaved and reeled then shouted ‘get the gaff’
we saw his head and great big teeth and said ‘you’re having a laugh’
Tom grabbed an oar and whacked it’s head, the oar it broke in two
Pat’s foot was in the firing line and the eel snapped at his shoe
the eel it thrashed; we kicked and lashed the eel half out the boat
but the eel was having none of it and was going for Pat’s throat
the screams were heard by other boats who came to our rescue
the next we knew the eel was dead killed by god knows who?
a harpoon in it’s head stuck out and we were showered in blood
Pat saw blood gushing from his foot, then fell with a sickening thud
we climbed aboard the other boat, the eel it was their prize
we lost our boat and rods, half a shoe plus two toes, It’s the truth, I tell no lies….

© 21/2/2014

For Caleb's Contest...Now it has been judged I can say it is all true....

Copyright © David Williams | Year Posted 2014


Details | Uncle Poem | |

America: A Rant with Attendant Anecdotes, Amplifications, Dogmas, Harangues and Digressions

This ain't my first rodeo, so knowing the score more than four
I declare in this manure-flinging system of elected despotism
we ain't got no permanent friends, just permanent interests.
America's a dazzling chupacabra of a conceit
conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition
that shades of equality increase the gross market share.
We supplant the visible etchings of the colonial lash
with the invisible ones of debt by procuring more *****we don't need.
Breathless canaries in a cultural coal-mine,
fascicled to Breaking Bad, Mad Men and the Simpsons,
shackled to Amazon 's 'Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought'
we're driven out toward the oceans beneath Europa's baker's sugar crust
where freedom exists on a mono-cellular level
but knowing we 're not alone doesn't amount to manure 
cuz they ain't Christian microbes so they ain't gonna be no use to us.
Like wind before the thunder the supple susurrus of my heart 
sends frissons of pleasure jolting though my *****
bloated to such Brobdingnagian dimensions
as to feel at home in the hallowed aisles of Costco or Sam's Club.
Our finger wagging Uncle has overstayed his welcome,
So **** your tired, your poor -
you're taking away jobs from real Americans.
**** your huddled masses yearning to breathe free -
your emergency room doctor visits are costing taxpayers $2286 a pop.
**** the wretched refuse of your teeming shore -
we already have enough garbage to fill our landfills
Just gimme my VIZIO 80” Razor LED™ 3D Smart TV  for my eye candy
Gimme my  Google Nexus 8 cell phone cuz Steve Jobs can suck my dick
Gimme my Fidelio X1 headphones so I don't miss the subtle nuances in Willie Nelson's 
Gimme my Nestlé Crunch Girl Scout candy bars for my sweet tooth and latent pedophilia
Gimme my Dial Triple Moisture Body cuz my balls got a stank like 3 day old crawdads
Gimme my Quilted Northern Ultra Plush toilet tissue cuz my ass needs TLC and backdoor action
Gimme my Fruit Smoothie Shakers so I don't have to get gouged by some turban mofo at Jamba Juice
Gimme my Gillette Fusion ProGlide Power Razor so I don't look like Jesus-F-Christ or a sandnigger
Gimme my Lash Factor Eyelash Conditioner cuz flirtatious love winks should be unconditional

America's soul is shrinking and vanishing like glaciers.
Grackles ebonize the sky where once proud eagles soared.
With God's help, America will rise again like the body of Christ after a good whooping!
Come on y'all - don't let my patriotic rant spoil a perfectly good Klan rally.

Copyright © Beryl Dov | Year Posted 2013


Details | Uncle Poem | |

Apple Pickin' Time

Come an' pick yerself an apple,

Come an' pick a heapin' load;

Come an' pick a bloomin' bushel

An' a couple fer the road.


There's a dozen different sizes,

Pink an' yella, red 'r lime,

Shades that match the pale sunrises

Of the apple pickin' time.


Go an' make an apple pie,

Make it thirty miles high,

Then you'll be in apple heaven

Till the day you up an' die.


Come an' pick yerself an apple,

Come an' pick a heapin' load;

Come an' pick a bloomin' bushel

An' a couple fer the road;


Some for Gran and Uncle Pete,

An' a few fer fighting crime;

'Cause the fella down the street

Knows it's apple pickin' time.

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013


Details | Uncle Poem | |

WORDLESS MEMORIES

He says     Do you remember the time we…
And she smiles
Shared memories have no need for words

Young and brave    they chased their future
Found their own crystal Eden
ringed by sparkling waters
It’s in her blood     this river of life

A current that has carried them
through love    laughter    spats    and making up
Carried them through life’s precious moments

Watching children grow
Bicycle riding in trees
Anniversary cruises to beaches kissed
by the whisper of waves

He prepares to leave Eden
for true paradise    where his Lord awaits
She waits    steadfast by his side
Her place of thirty-eight years

Their shared laughter bubbles along
like a singing brook that cannot be stilled

And she smiles
For she knows someday in Heaven
he will be thinking about her and say
Do you remember…
Her heart will hear his voice    and she will smile
as she sips coffee watching a pearlescent sunrise

Shared memories have no need for words 




I just returned from a visit to Florida where my beloved aunt and uncle are 
preparing for new journeys. He has been put on hospice and she is facing a 
life without him. This is for Bob and Gail. I am blessed to be a recipient of 
their love and joyous laughter.

Copyright © Monterey Sirak | Year Posted 2014


Details | Uncle Poem | |

For Nineteen Years

They are poor…they’re removed, they struggle through life,
Every day is a burden on the edge of a knife,
They’re stuck in the circle, that’s all that they know,
And there’s not work around, and nowhere to go.
 
But a man full of promise says he does understand,
‘My names Uncle Sam, please take hold of my hand,
I’ll break the circle, and then I’ll bring you back,
After a year from somewhere in Iraq.’

She stands at the cemetery gates.
A small bunch of roses and holding back tears.
Just three hundred steps to a name etched in stone
That’s all she has now… for nineteen years.

On the mantelpiece over the burning wood fire,
A son’s photos, citations from her country’s desire  
as she sits and she weeps on the madness of war,
And his last words she heard, “What am I fighting for?”

She stands at the cemetery gates.
A small bunch of roses and holding back tears.
Just three hundred steps to a name etched in stone
That’s all she has now… for nineteen years.

2nd January 2010 ©Lindsay Laurie

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015


Details | Uncle Poem | |

To Be A Kid Once Again

This time I didn't need to remember what it was like to be a kid This time I didn't need to memorize when all the fun have been . This moment wasn't that moment of madness and responsibilities , this was a brief moment to live , I lived in my dream . How I danced , there I danced with the flutter of a butterfly ,over and over again. There I was , immersed in the body of a little brown eyed girl. Dressed up neatly in a white collar shirt ,and a navy blue pinafore dress. How I ran , I ran breathlessly in evergreen fields full of buds that barely blossomed through the eyes of women , and men . How I jumped , like a frog earning its freedom , doing my utmost to catch the sky, to reach the soaring hand-made kite ,that kept moving far and high. My left -hand never letting go of that special red balloon , it was mama's reward , that afternoon. Each following morning, so hard to get out of bed ,but that only lasted till I saw Uncle Frans'hat. How happy I was to sit on his lap ,, and listen to stories He read. How happy I was , to lick early raindrops that ran fresh down my cheeks, How different , from the once I feel when I'm out of my sleep. What moments to preserve....There , on the back seat of papa's new second-hand car , Our chitty chitty bang bang , travelled so far. There , me and my brother , our face against the wind, Open mouths , Indian sounds , humming along , waiting for tree-birds to sing. What a moment , of hide and seek, and musical chairs ,Of midnight mass and Christmas prayers . I lived them all .... Splashes of waves , and buckets on sands , Autumn's foliage , picnics , with cousins and friends. There I was , immersed in the body of a little girl with long noichettes french -braids swaying in the breeze , Playing hopscotch, out in vacant cobbled streets. This time I didn't need to remember what it was like to be a kid This time I was there, in the dream , I have lived . This time I tasted sweet honey before I 've been kissed Before years cursed the pink of my innocent lips .

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2015


Details | Uncle Poem | |

The Mirror Of Time

I hold three magic rocks, in my hand. Rolling them over and over and over. Leaving this 
reality behind, far behind I stepped into the magic mirror and there I was back in 1959.  It 
was the same month, November.  I looked around and it was the same as I remember it had 
been then.  Mom looked so young and beautiful and said, "The school bus will be here in a 
few minutes."  I looked at the calendar and saw that it was November 25th, the day before 
Thanksgiving.  I said, "But mom, I haven't been in school in forty years."  I got this strange 
look from her but she didn't say anything.  Walking toward the door I caught a reflection of 
myself in the hall mirror.  I was so young.  My hand immediately went to my face and I 
stopped and stared at myself for a few minutes. I said, "Mom, can I stay home and be with 
you today?"  Again I got that strange look from her, then she smiled and said, "Sure, it's 
your last day before Thanksgiving anyway, why not?"  She and I sit down and talked for 
hours.  Then I said, "Do you mind if we go next door and visit with Maw Maw and Paw Paw?  
I haven't seen them in so long and I've missed them terribly!"  Again another strange look 
from mom. Next door I saw Maw Maw and Paw Paw as they had been in 1959.  I wept and 
they all looked at me so strangely.  I hugged them and kissed them all and we talked for 
hours.  Dad finally came home from work and I ran and hugged him so hard. "Dad why did 
you have to leave us in June?"  Again I got strange looks from everyone.  My tears were 
falling.  I saw Aunt Frances and Uncle Bill who lived beside Maw Maw and Paw Paw. "I've 
missed you both for so long." Strange looks again!  They didn't understand because to them, 
it was just another day in 1959.  The day grew late and I knew my time was soon ending.  I 
got near the magic mirror and mom and dad were standing there so young and healthy. I 
said, "Mom I'll see you on the other side of the mirror, but dad, I'll see you another time, 
another place."  They didn't understand.  I stepped back through and my reflection was as it 
had been before.  Mom was sitting in her chair at age 84.  I said, "Mom, do you remember 
the day before Thanksgiving, 1959, when I stayed home from school and we spent the day 
together?"  She said, "Yes, it was so strange that you could never remember anything about 
it.  It was as though you had amnesia.

Copyright © Marty Owens | Year Posted 2009


Details | Uncle Poem | |

The Rail Ties That Bind

A little girl
She comes to a land of ghosts
Almost empty streets
She wonders
Where are all the people
No one here looks like her
Within her heart
Emotions stir

It is so cold
Foreign 
Lonely
Where oh where, is the mountain of gold
Her mom and dad they are so bold
Pioneers
Adventures
People of action
Not of words

Hong Kong 
Left behind
A new future to find
They endured the sad
A world not kind

Their crowded apartment
A benevolent uncle stole
To leave the country they paid a toll
Plane tickets in her fathers hand
Brought his family to a new land
The little girl did not understand

The language she knew
Was Chinese
She spoke it with such ease
She thought, she must throw it away
The bits of her culture slowly stripped day by day

Forced to grow up, with blinding speed
She looks after, siblings needs
No time for her
She couldn't play
Duty and honour
The Chinese way

Mom and dad, working night and day
They do so much, for little pay
Food on the table
Their sacrifice
A warm home 
Within a land of ice

Through the years
A life is built
Yet the little girl, she is filled with guilt
She knows, there's been a sacrifice
Beneath the surface, of all that's nice

Many, many, years ago
Her grandfather was here
Away from her dad, for many years
Cooking for men, who worked the rail line
A small comfort when they would dine

Disposable humans
They took the risk
The horrors so many
To long too list
They needed their families
So far away
Yet the politicians, turned them away

The abuse he suffered
With all his friends
It seems now the Government 
wants to make amends
The past and future, are combined
You can't move forward
Without looking behind

The little girl, now grown up
For the past, she gives her thanks
Dreams from ties
She rides their rails
Blood and sweat 
from hammering nails
She hears echoes, from the past
It seems their gifts, were forged to last



My wife went to a forum where the government 
apologized for the awful things that were done
to the Chinese people who came to work in
Canada. So many Chinese men left their homes
in search of a better life for their families. They
were forced into slave like labour to build our
cross country railway. Many of them lost their 
lives in the process. They were not allowed to
bring their families. When the earlier generations 
came they were charged a head tax to move to Canada.
This discrimination was exclusive to Asian people.
This is a sad chapter in our Canadian History.













Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014


Details | Uncle Poem | |

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

Blissfully ignorant and supine,
Lost in the economy line,
voters don’t have a clue
that liberty is through.
Apathy dictates all else is fine.
People keep telling me how foolish I am,
but frankly I don’t give a dam.
I’m going to tell you what I see.
You don’t have to agree with me.
In hatred’s name Moslems prayed at the mosque,
boarded planes and three thousand we lost,
Soon we elected a Moslem president,
his books words and actions self evident.
To prove he was islam’s extremist hero,
He allowed a triumphant mosque at ground zero,
Freedom of religion is what they subtly called it,
by a government that continues to overhaul it.
The American people look on as if still numb,
singing his praises as if deaf and dumb,
while a pseudo democratic uncle Sam,
in a forced health care plan,
continues to turn out liberty’s lights
by destroying other religion’s rights.
Thus the American people’s democracy,
is morphed into a dictatorial hypocrisy.
While blindsided by a frantic economy,
we apathetically lose our autonomy.
Allowed by deaf and blind voters in a loud voice,
Fooled by not freedom but license they call choice,
sly appointment of people who fulfill the plan,
A long range one by the “new” Uncle Sam.
a champion of abortion, killing future contenders
him and Herod; another of the great pretenders.
“Enlightened Americans have one point two children per family,
because of abortion, birth control and contraception
Moslems have seven; which is the anomaly?
We Americans treat babies as an infection.
Laugh if you wish; I’m just exposing the path,
You “enlightened” Americans: you do the math.

Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2012


Details | Uncle Poem | |

I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,

I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,
I have heard the tales of horror, from my dark skinned foes.
I have heard the tales of terror, from others who became my friends.
And I have walked with a dark skinned woman of their tribe.
We walked in the beauty of her courage, together. Tearless. 
Tearless we both were as she spoke, for tears, only gods could cry for her.
I am a Red Skin dog.
And yet we walked together and we talked – together, fearless,
I and this swaying ebony sapling, sprung from the roots of my foes tribe.
We talked of the pitiless reality of that life she left behind, of that time
That she has left, far, far behind, like a useless scar
That has toughened over. And made her stronger. 
I learned from this daughter of my foes
That true courage is never fearless, but always stronger. Victorious,
Stronger she was by far, to this Red Skin dog
Than the thousand sons who died, in her honor. So they say. Ridiculous,
But I have heard the balance of their sins.
And for all the tales I have heard from those angry young men, and their vengeful fathers
Her horror was a thousand times more sinister. A thousand times more callous.
Horror took up residence in her home but never in her heart.
But for others, I cannot speak.
“…splinters and bursting fragments…in my mind
Ai! Tearing! Memory of tearing flesh, swallowing tears and mucus, blood and bile
…bruising and ripping garments…off my body
…filthy, familiar hands tearing at my dress…
…my legs split and broken like a wild pig slaughter, my screams smashed from my lips,
With the butt of a rifle, just used to kill a Red Skin dog…
Aieee! Clean this floor mama, mop up this spew!
It cannot be mine!
This child is not mine!
It is not mine! It is the devils own creation born in hell fire!
Born in my death! 	
Aieee! I am dead, I cannot be alive. 
I am dead and the Red Skin dogs have eaten my corpse.
Those spirits in their wingless chariot flew over the land and sea, to rescue me?
Rescue me from that black devil who said he was like Jesus to me.
I thought you were my uncle-brother…
Who else could have found us here?
Hidden away from the Red Skins and their Wingless Angels.
Only you my uncle-brother
Only you could have found us
Only you could have killed us.
And now the progeny of your evil deed suckles at my breasts
As I lie dead in the home of those Red Skin dogs you fought.”

Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2013


Details | Uncle Poem | |

Our protector in the skies

A friend, an uncle, a pawpaw, a father, a husband, a son
   These are a few of the titles you've earned
Precise, concern, loving, pride, hope, appreciation
   These are a few emotions from you we've learned

You as a friend
   Irreplaceable position
Your intentions so precise
   To have you back is what they are wishing

You as an uncle 
   A teacher and confidant
You always showed concern
   To have you back is what they want 

You as a pawpaw
   Always appear to be so strong
Always loving in your eyes
  For Logan & Lucas, having you is what they long

You as a father 
   A superhero, our eyes fill with stars
Holding us with pride in your soul
   You'll always be in our hearts although you seem so far

You as a husband
   Caused frustration but still showed love
Leaving hope in her mind
   She loves you, always watch her from above

You as a son
   Not much time was spent
But appreciation you learned
   To be with her is where you went

Now our eyes behold your pictures
   Our minds contain your smile
Our memories hold your laughter
   You'll be with us every mile

When harsh winds are blowing
   We will lend and eager ear
In hopes to hear you speaking
   Hear your voice that we hold dear

When it's dark and we feel frightened
   We can close our eyes
And you'll be right there beside us
   Our protector in the skies
 
In cherished and loving memory of my daddy: John L. Swinger
May you rest in peace, until we meet again
 Love, Miranda M. Lambert 
Originally written on : 02/12/2011 at 10:21 am

Copyright © Wandering Butterfly | Year Posted 2011


Details | Uncle Poem | |

Abused

It could have been a beautiful memory to write down

Walking hand in hand with mama

My long brown french pleats  bouncing in the wind 

My new red plastic boots ready to be shown.


Reaching high upon my tiptoes ...

I swung  the large french brass knob  back and forth

until  my short chubby sweet  nonna opened the door.

As soon as I saw her, my hazel eyes changed

 into different shades of caramel swirl.

I  am her first born niece,  and her little girl.


It could have been a beautiful  memory to write down

Running up those marbled  tiles , gazing through the hallway 

 at the two dark giant iron knights . How I wish I could have been

like them , just as brave  and wise.


In the  busy kitchen I hugged nonna over and over again

I loved how her  apple  and cinnamon  pies wafted ,filling Saturdays 'air.

I loved the teaspoon sounds , as the sugar in the coffee cup was stirred

It was a symphony , blissful  music to my ear.



Next to mama ,in the dining room , on a padded  orange rexine chair I sat

Playing snakes and ladders whilst I heard them chat.


It could have been a beautiful memory to write down

If I had not  followed uncle Bob  that afternoon

Along the long corridor we walked , to his room 

At the far end, Inside, I was promised  a delightful  surprise.  


The red velvet  curtains He shut down.  All  turned dark !

 The squeaky  old  door  slammed . I could  listen

 to the fast rapid beating of his vacant heart.



I could feel him getting close , too close .




I could smell his stinking breath and feel his  hand

It slipped hungrily , unbuttoning my innocence and  collar shirt.


He pushed me down on my knees, head and face both pressed.

My lollipop lips  too close to sour scents ,  I would never  forget. 


Everynight  cold in my bed , I scream -  Regret...

I do not want to remember, yet how can I forget


It could have been a beautiful memory to write down

But all I have is a blank page. 

In that house of nonna where  once I laughed and played 

All there is  are secrets , insecurity, my shadow  and its shame.





Fiction poem inspired by Becca's contest against Child Abuse...

Not for the contest,  but thanks for the inspiration. 

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2016


Details | Uncle Poem | |

Hands

.

       The light from a petite lamp in his bedside table 
       with little boxes and little bottles
       ignoring the corners of his room
       Mom, grandma, and uncle Dan were dark backs
       blocking my view. Like waiting
       Grandpa lay muttering
       and in a sudden curve
       as if he's been breath in upward
       made his bed moan again
       
       His hands clinging to the bars

       Hands stealing my nose 
       or taking coins out my ears
       Hands smelling of cigarettes
       Hands pointing to the airplane
       or raising me up to pick a pear

       The bronze bars from his headboard
       had a faint shine in those days
       I used to count his snorting noises
       in that bed, in my happy winters, 
       and grandma laughed 

       His hands clinging to the bars

       He opened his eyes and found me in the corner 
       and smiled his goodbye
       Nobody understood his mumbling
       And he bent himself again
       and everything stopped
       his hands still clinging to the bars
       He never released them
       grandma freed them
       He never released them
      
.

Copyright © Usual Suspect | Year Posted 2009


Details | Uncle Poem | |

A Mouse in the House

A little grey mouse snuck into the house to get himself out of the cold. Then the house cat Who saw where he sat pursued him I am told. The lazy old dog who sleeps like log was startled by the chase, So she woke up her own small pup and they joined in the race. My sister the baby decided that maybe she would give it a try, She started a spat And was scratched by the cat and then she started to cry. That’s when mom called to Uncle Tom to come and lend a hand, With a straw broom mom circled the room knocking plants from off a stand. In came my dad and he was quite mad because the house was in disarray He was vexed with what happened next But it happened just this way. Our two brave bowsers chased the mouse up dad’s trousers He thought he’d be safe in there. Until Dad started to dance with the mouse in his pants Then he jumped up on a kitchen chair. Mom smacked dad’s seat and then came a repeat And the mouse climbed out of his pocket. Unseen by all he started to crawl into the wall through an open socket. Later that night, With no one in sight, I put out a nut for the little mouse. I had no hate toward him, And I tried to reward him. Even if he was trapped inside our house. I told him my name, And he did the same, Then he stuffed the nut into his cheeks. He said thanks for the food, And I don’t mean to be rude, But that was the most fun that I’ve had in weeks.

Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011


Details | Uncle Poem | |

Cash Gone in Tax

Cash
Slashed by
Uncle Sam
Hard earned wages
Burned as income tax
Cash gone like blowing wind
Tax is not like sweet vermouth
This is just like pulling hen’s tooth
Tax going up, paycheck going down
Tax man leave us alone—we need a break!

~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~

Won Honorable Mention
Etheree Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietirch
June 20, 2010

~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~

Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2010


Details | Uncle Poem | |

ANDREA D

.                 *ANDREA  D.*
.                 Happy Birthday 
.                      9/5/??


To the  most wonderful poet on poetry soup
Enjoying everyone, no matter their age group
I bring to you September 5th Birthday scoop
Andrea D, you're classic like Miss Betty Boop
Unstoppable poetry hula hoop 
 
I desire to take this time to dish out a cute birthday rhyme
Relax, enjoy the glitter & streamers - as if sipping fine wine 
All candles points to you, like Uncle Sam
Don't mind me expressing myself like Sam I am!
Would you!" Could you!" Have yourself a Birth Day Jam!

This is the part where my mini spam-in gets cute
I wish you the best birthday sending you a salute
Birthday cake made made out of forbidden fruit
Straw-burst candy and smiles for everyone 
Celebrate the day you were born wearing your birthday suit

Enjoy your day, as if you won a shopping spree
Enjoy your day, full of birthday potpourri
Enjoy your day, with your friends and family
Enjoy your day, with sweetness like honey from a bee
Better yet Andrea D
HAPPY! Happy Birth Day To You, ANDREA D!

Wishing you the best, a birthday can bring
Rising to the birthday song, our beautiful Birthday Queen 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANDREA, FROM ALL of us HERE at THE SOUP!
                   
By: P.D.

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010


Details | Uncle Poem | |

You Can Hug Anyone You Want To

(This poem was inspired by my friend's grandma who said, and I quote, "You can hug anyone you want to." I dedicate it to all the sweetie poets who give "hugs.")


You can hug anyone you want to.
It's something everyone can do.

(There are many reactions from one act.
Proceed with caution so you don't get smacked.)

You can hug any way you like.
Keep it loose, or grab 'em tight.

Hug with a manly guttural noise,
or hug like a lady with grace and poise.

Sometimes just one hand will do.
Hug the way that best suits you.

Hug to ward off tears and sorrow.
Hug like you're going to die tomorrow.

Hug sister Suzy. Hug uncle Al.
Hug anyone to make a new pal.

Hug 'em big. Hug 'em small.
Hug 'em one. Hug 'em all.

Hug 'em in a group or two by two,
so the pleasure's not all about you.

Hug with a spin. Even make it an art.
Just make sure you hug with your heart.

It's as simple as a shoulder shrug.
Everybody could use a hug.

You can hug anyone you want to.
Watch your back, cuz I might hug you.

Copyright © Juliet Ligon | Year Posted 2013


Details | Uncle Poem | |

MAKING BEDS IN A BURNING HOUSE

           

I found you crying in the closet when you were only five
A walk-through closet that opened onto both our bedrooms
You had a bad dream    didn’t know where to turn
Mom and Dad weren’t home    left us with Uncle Joe
but he always went to bed right after supper
And he wasn’t our uncle    just a lonely old man
who stayed on when we rented his house

You were my little brother    so I took you to my bed
Later you told me I petted you like a little lost puppy
The next morning I helped you make your bed
Our first chore of the day    making beds    
smoothing and tucking covers 
erasing signs of disturbed nights
Making neat what was chaos
We didn’t realize we were making beds in a burning house

Inside our home reality was knocked askew
to match our town    struck by the tornado a week ago
I held tightly to your hand as we boarded the bus
Mom was running away from Dad    taking us with her
No great adventure awaited us    only fear of an unknown future
At ten all I knew to do was bury my face in your cowlick and cry

You ran away from home     I found you sitting at the corner
with tears rolling down dirty    freckled cheeks
stumped because you were not allowed to cross the street
Your pillowcase full of clothes    a sad lump on the pavement
I took your hand and led you home
I taught you to make your own bed
with perfectly tucked corners and fresh clean sheets
But our house was still burning

Soon only the two of us would be left
Our sister headed to Heaven wrapped in her chenille bedspread
Mom trailed behind hanging onto a loose tail of the sheet
flapping forlornly in a cool autumn breeze
I took your hand    sat with you on the window seat
We watched parades of people passing through our house
who never noticed us     And we waited
We waited years for Mom to return    although she slept in her bed
each night and made it first thing in the morning
Our house was still burning

You grew up to set your own houses on fire     
It was what you knew    making beds in burning houses
Each time I found you    took you by the hand
led you to a peaceful place where we could sit quietly
and watch the world go by for a time    
Words    unnecessary between us     
They had been since before you could talk
when Mom placed your chubby newborn self 
in my four-year-old arms    and said    Here’s your baby brother    
You watch out for him    He needs you

Your fires have all gone out now    
No burning embers left to catch on the bed covers
You make your bed with ease    precision    
and a renewed sense of purpose
I watch happily from a distance of only miles
And know you can feel me    still holding your hand




For Kevin, the most exasperating, loyal, and lovable little brother anyone could have.

Copyright © Monterey Sirak | Year Posted 2014