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Best Famous Niece Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Niece poems. This is a select list of the best famous Niece poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Niece poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of niece poems.

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Written by Etheridge Knight | Create an image from this poem

The Idea of Ancestry

 Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures: 47 black
faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1 dead), grand-
fathers (both dead), brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts,
cousins (1st and 2nd), nieces, and nephews.
They stare across the space at me sprawling on my bunk.
I know their dark eyes, they know mine.
I know their style, they know mine.
I am all of them, they are all of me; they are farmers, I am a thief, I am me, they are thee.
I have at one time or another been in love with my mother, 1 grandmother, 2 sisters, 2 aunts (1 went to the asylum), and 5 cousins.
I am now in love with a 7-yr-old niece (she sends me letters in large block print, and her picture is the only one that smiles at me).
I have the same name as 1 grandfather, 3 cousins, 3 nephews, and 1 uncle.
The uncle disappeared when he was 15, just took off and caught a freight (they say).
He's discussed each year when the family has a reunion, he causes uneasiness in the clan, he is an empty space.
My father's mother, who is 93 and who keeps the Family Bible with everbody's birth dates (and death dates) in it, always mentions him.
There is no place in her Bible for "whereabouts unknown.
"


Written by Lewis Carroll | Create an image from this poem

A Strange Wild Song

 He thought he saw an Elephant
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
"At length I realize," he said, "The bitterness of life!" He thought he saw a Buffalo Upon the chimney-piece: He looked again, and found it was His Sister's Husband's Niece.
"Unless you leave this house," he said, "I'll send for the police!" he thought he saw a Rattlesnake That questioned him in Greek: He looked again, and found it was The Middle of Next Week.
"The one thing I regret," he said, "Is that it cannot speak!" He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk Descending from the bus: He looked again, and found it was A Hippopotamus.
"If this should stay to dine," he said, "There won't be much for us!" He thought he saw a Kangaroo That worked a Coffee-mill: He looked again, and found it was A Vegetable-Pill.
"Were I to swallow this," he said, "I should be very ill!" He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four That stood beside his bed: He looked again, and found it was A Bear without a Head.
"Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing! It's waiting to be fed!"
Written by Lewis Carroll | Create an image from this poem

The Mad Gardeners Song

 He thought he saw an Elephant,
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
'At length I realise,' he said, The bitterness of Life!' He thought he saw a Buffalo Upon the chimney-piece: He looked again, and found it was His Sister's Husband's Niece.
'Unless you leave this house,' he said, "I'll send for the Police!' He thought he saw a Rattlesnake That questioned him in Greek: He looked again, and found it was The Middle of Next Week.
'The one thing I regret,' he said, 'Is that it cannot speak!' He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk Descending from the bus: He looked again, and found it was A Hippopotamus.
'If this should stay to dine,' he said, 'There won't be much for us!' He thought he saw a Kangaroo That worked a coffee-mill: He looked again, and found it was A Vegetable-Pill.
'Were I to swallow this,' he said, 'I should be very ill!' He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four That stood beside his bed: He looked again, and found it was A Bear without a Head.
'Poor thing,' he said, 'poor silly thing! It's waiting to be fed!' He thought he saw an Albatross That fluttered round the lamp: He looked again, and found it was A Penny-Postage Stamp.
'You'd best be getting home,' he said: 'The nights are very damp!' He thought he saw a Garden-Door That opened with a key: He looked again, and found it was A Double Rule of Three: 'And all its mystery,' he said, 'Is clear as day to me!' He thought he saw a Argument That proved he was the Pope: He looked again, and found it was A Bar of Mottled Soap.
'A fact so dread,' he faintly said, 'Extinguishes all hope!'
Written by Ezra Pound | Create an image from this poem

Canto XIII

 Kung walked
 by the dynastic temple
and into the cedar grove,
 and then out by the lower river,
And with him Khieu Tchi
 and Tian the low speaking
And "we are unknown," said Kung,
"You will take up charioteering?
 "Then you will become known,
"Or perhaps I should take up charioterring, or archery?
"Or the practice of public speaking?"
And Tseu-lou said, "I would put the defences in order,"
And Khieu said, "If I were lord of a province
"I would put it in better order than this is.
" And Tchi said, "I would prefer a small mountain temple, "With order in the observances, with a suitable performance of the ritual," And Tian said, with his hand on the strings of his lute The low sounds continuing after his hand left the strings, And the sound went up like smoke, under the leaves, And he looked after the sound: "The old swimming hole, "And the boys flopping off the planks, "Or sitting in the underbrush playing mandolins.
" And Kung smiled upon all of them equally.
And Thseng-sie desired to know: "Which had answered correctly?" And Kung said, "They have all answered correctly, "That is to say, each in his nature.
" And Kung raised his cane against Yuan Jang, Yuan Jang being his elder, or Yuan Jang sat by the roadside pretending to be receiving wisdom.
And Kung said "You old fool, come out of it, "Get up and do something useful.
" And Kung said "Respect a child's faculties "From the moment it inhales the clear air, "But a man of fifty who knows nothing Is worthy of no respect.
" And "When the prince has gathered about him "All the savants and artists, his riches will be fully employed.
" And Kung said, and wrote on the bo leaves: If a man have not order within him He can not spread order about him; And if a man have not order within him His family will not act with due order; And if the prince have not order within him He can not put order in his dominions.
And Kung gave the words "order" and "brotherly deference" And said nothing of the "life after death.
" And he said "Anyone can run to excesses, "It is easy to shoot past the mark, "It is hard to stand firm in the middle.
" And they said: If a man commit murder Should his father protect him, and hide him? And Kung said: He should hide him.
And Kung gave his daughter to Kong-Tchang Although Kong-Tchang was in prison.
And he gave his niece to Nan-Young although Nan-Young was out of office.
And Kung said "Wan ruled with moderation, "In his day the State was well kept, "And even I can remember "A day when the historians left blanks in their writings, "I mean, for things they didn't know, "But that time seems to be passing.
A day when the historians left blanks in their writings, But that time seems to be passing.
" And Kung said, "Without character you will "be unable to play on that instrument "Or to execute the music fit for the Odes.
"The blossoms of the apricot "blow from the east to the west, "And I have tried to keep them from falling.
"
Written by Andrew Barton Paterson | Create an image from this poem

The Sausage Candidate-A Tale of the Elections

 Our fathers, brave men were and strong, 
And whisky was their daily liquor; 
They used to move the world along 
In better style than now -- and quicker.
Elections then were sport, you bet! A trifle rough, there's no denying When two opposing factions met The skin and hair were always flying.
When "cabbage-trees" could still be worn Without the question, "Who's your hatter?" There dawned a bright election morn Upon the town of Parramatta.
A man called Jones was all the go -- The people's friend, the poor's protector; A long, gaunt, six-foot slab of woe, He sought to charm the green elector.
How Jones had one time been trustee For his small niece, and he -- the villain! -- Betrayed his trust most shamefully, And robbed the child of every shillin'.
He used to keep accounts, they say, To save himself in case of trouble; Whatever cash he paid away He always used to charge it double.
He'd buy the child a cotton gown Too coarse and rough to dress a cat in, And then he'd go and put it down And charge the price of silk or satin! He gave her once a little treat, An outing down the harbour sunny, And Lord! the bill for bread and meat, You'd think they all had eaten money! But Jones exposed the course he took By carelessness -- such men are ninnies.
He went and entered in his book, "Two pounds of sausages -- two guineas.
" Now this leaked out, and folk got riled, And said that Jones, "he didn't oughter".
But what cared Jones? he only smiled -- Abuse ran off his back like water.
And so he faced the world content: His little niece -- he never paid her: And then he stood for Parliament, Of course he was a rank free trader.
His wealth was great, success appeared To smile propitious on his banner, But Providence it interfered In this most unexpected manner.
A person -- call him Brown for short -- Who knew the story of this stealer, Went calmly down the town and bought Two pounds of sausage from a dealer, And then he got a long bamboo And tightly tied the sausage to it; Says he, "This is the thing to do, And I am just the man to do it.
"When Jones comes out to make his speech I won't a clapper be, or hisser, But with this long bamboo I'll reach And poke the sausage in his 'kisser'.
I'll bring the wretch to scorn and shame, Unless those darned police are nigh: As sure as Brown's my glorious name, I'll knock that candidate sky-high.
" The speech comes on -- beneath the stand The people push and surge and eddy But Brown waits calmly close at hand With all his apparatus ready; And while the speaker loudly cries, "Of ages all, this is the boss age!" Brown hits him square between the eyes, Exclaiming, "What's the price of sausage?" He aimed the victuals in his face, As though he thought poor Jones a glutton.
And Jones was covered with disgrace -- Disgrace and shame, and beef and mutton.
His cause was lost -- a hopeless wreck He crept off from the hooting throng; Protection proudly ruled the deck, Here ends the sausage and the song.
Written by Amy Lowell | Create an image from this poem

Off the Turnpike

 Good ev'nin', Mis' Priest.
I jest stepped in to tell you Good-bye.
Yes, it's all over.
All my things is packed An' every last one o' them boxes Is on Bradley's team Bein' hauled over to th' depot.
No, I ain't goin' back agin.
I'm stoppin' over to French's fer to-night, And goin' down first train in th' mornin'.
Yes, it do seem kinder ***** Not to be goin' to see Cherry's Orchard no more, But Land Sakes! When a change's comin', Why, I al'ays say it can't come too quick.
Now, that's real kind o' you, Your doughnuts is always so tasty.
Yes, I'm goin' to Chicago, To my niece, She's married to a fine man, hardware business, An' doin' real well, she tells me.
Lizzie's be'n at me to go out ther for the longest while.
She ain't got no kith nor kin to Chicago, you know She's rented me a real nice little flat, Same house as hers, An' I'm goin' to try that city livin' folks say's so pleasant.
Oh, yes, he was real generous, Paid me a sight o' money fer the Orchard; I told him 'twouldn't yield nothin' but stones, But he ain't farmin' it.
Lor', no, Mis' Priest, He's jest took it to set and look at the view.
Mebbe he wouldn't be so stuck on the view Ef he'd seed it every mornin' and night for forty year Same's as I have.
I dessay it's pretty enough, But it's so pressed into me I c'n see't with my eyes shut.
No.
I ain't cold, Mis' Priest, Don't shut th' door.
I'll be all right in a minit.
But I ain't a mite sorry to leave that view.
Well, mebbe 'tis ***** to feel so, An' mebbe 'taint.
My! But that tea's revivin'.
Old things ain't always pleasant things, Mis' Priest.
No, no, I don't cal'late on comin' back, That's why I'd ruther be to Chicago, Boston's too near.
It ain't cold, Mis' Priest, It's jest my thoughts.
I ain't sick, only -- Mis' Priest, ef you've nothin' ter take yer time, An' have a mind to listen, Ther's somethin' I'd like ter speak about I ain't never mentioned it, But I'd like to tell yer 'fore I go.
Would you mind lowerin' them shades, Fall twilight's awful grey, An' that fire's real cosy with the shades drawed.
Well, I guess folks about here think I've be'n dret'ful onsociable.
You needn't say 'taint so, 'cause I know diff'rent.
An' what's more, it's true.
Well, the reason is I've be'n scared out o' my life.
Scared ev'ry minit o' th' time, fer eight year.
Eight mortal year 'tis, come next June.
'Twas on the eighteenth o' June, Six months after I'd buried my husband, That somethin' happened ter me.
Mebbe you'll mind that afore that I was a cheery body.
Hiram was too, Al'ays liked to ask a neighbor in, An' ev'n when he died, Barrin' low sperrits, I warn't averse to seein' nobody.
But that eighteenth o' June changed ev'rythin'.
I was doin' most o' th' farmwork myself, With jest a hired boy, Clarence King, 'twas, Comin' in fer an hour or two.
Well, that eighteenth o' June I was goin' round, Lockin' up and seein' to things 'fore I went to bed.
I was jest steppin' out t' th' barn, Goin' round outside 'stead o' through the shed, 'Cause there was such a sight o' moonlight Somehow or another I thought 'twould be pretty outdoors.
I got settled for pretty things that night, I guess.
I ain't stuck on 'em no more.
Well, them laylock bushes side o' th' house Was real lovely.
Glitt'rin' and shakin' in the moonlight, An' the smell o' them rose right up An' most took my breath away.
The colour o' the spikes was all faded out, They never keep their colour when the moon's on 'em, But the smell fair 'toxicated me.
I was al'ays partial to a sweet scent, An' I went close up t' th' bushes So's to put my face right into a flower.
Mis' Priest, jest's I got breathin' in that laylock bloom I saw, layin' right at my feet, A man's hand! It was as white's the side o' th' house, And sparklin' like that lum'nous paint they put on gate-posts.
I screamed right out, I couldn't help it, An' I could hear my scream Goin' over an' over In that echo be'ind th' barn.
Hearin' it agin an' agin like that Scared me so, I dar'sn't scream any more.
I jest stood ther, And looked at that hand.
I thought the echo'd begin to hammer like my heart, But it didn't.
There was only th' wind, Sighin' through the laylock leaves, An' slappin' 'em up agin the house.
Well, I guess I looked at that hand Most ten minits, An' it never moved, Jest lay there white as white.
After a while I got to thinkin' that o' course 'Twas some drunken tramp over from Redfield.
That calmed me some, An' I commenced to think I'd better git him out From under them laylocks.
I planned to drag him in t' th' barn An' lock him in ther till Clarence come in th' mornin'.
I got so mad thinkin' o' that all-fired brazen tramp Asleep in my laylocks, I jest stooped down and grabbed th' hand and give it an awful pull.
Then I bumped right down settin' on the ground.
Mis' Priest, ther warn't no body come with the hand.
No, it ain't cold, it's jest that I can't abear thinkin' of it, Ev'n now.
I'll take a sip o' tea.
Thank you, Mis' Priest, that's better.
I'd ruther finish now I've begun.
Thank you, jest the same.
I dropped the hand's ef it'd be'n red hot 'Stead o' ice cold.
Fer a minit or two I jest laid on that grass Pantin'.
Then I up and run to them laylocks An' pulled 'em every which way.
True es I'm settin' here, Mis' Priest, Ther warn't nothin' ther.
I peeked an' pryed all about 'em, But ther warn't no man ther Neither livin' nor dead.
But the hand was ther all right, Upside down, the way I'd dropped it, And glist'nin' fit to dazzle yer.
I don't know how I done it, An' I don't know why I done it, But I wanted to git that dret'ful hand out o' sight I got in t' th' barn, somehow, An' felt roun' till I got a spade.
I couldn't stop fer a lantern, Besides, the moonlight was bright enough in all conscience.
Then I scooped that awful thing up in th' spade.
I had a sight o' trouble doin' it.
It slid off, and tipped over, and I couldn't bear Ev'n to touch it with my foot to prop it, But I done it somehow.
Then I carried it off be'ind the barn, Clost to an old apple-tree Where you couldn't see from the house, An' I buried it, Good an' deep.
I don't rec'lect nothin' more o' that night.
Clarence woke me up in th' mornin', Hollerin' fer me to come down and set th' milk.
When he'd gone, I stole roun' to the apple-tree And seed the earth all new turned Where I left it in my hurry.
I did a heap o' gardenin' That mornin'.
I couldn't cut no big sods Fear Clarence would notice and ask me what I wanted 'em fer, So I got teeny bits o' turf here and ther, And no one couldn't tell ther'd be'n any diggin' When I got through.
They was awful days after that, Mis' Priest, I used ter go every mornin' and poke about them bushes, An' up and down the fence, Ter find the body that hand come off of.
But I couldn't never find nothin'.
I'd lay awake nights Hearin' them laylocks blowin' and whiskin'.
At last I had Clarence cut 'em down An' make a big bonfire of 'em.
I told him the smell made me sick, An' that warn't no lie, I can't abear the smell on 'em now; An' no wonder, es you say.
I fretted somethin' awful 'bout that hand I wondered, could it be Hiram's, But folks don't rob graveyards hereabouts.
Besides, Hiram's hands warn't that awful, starin' white.
I give up seein' people, I was afeared I'd say somethin'.
You know what folks thought o' me Better'n I do, I dessay, But mebbe now you'll see I couldn't do nothin' diff'rent.
But I stuck it out, I warn't goin' to be downed By no loose hand, no matter how it come ther But that ain't the worst, Mis' Priest, Not by a long ways.
Two year ago, Mr.
Densmore made me an offer for Cherry's Orchard.
Well, I'd got used to th' thought o' bein' sort o' blighted, An' I warn't scared no more.
Lived down my fear, I guess.
I'd kinder got used to th' thought o' that awful night, And I didn't mope much about it.
Only I never went out o' doors by moonlight; That stuck.
Well, when Mr.
Densmore's offer come, I started thinkin' 'bout the place An' all the things that had gone on ther.
Thinks I, I guess I'll go and see where I put the hand.
I was foolhardy with the long time that had gone by.
I know'd the place real well, Fer I'd put it right in between two o' the apple roots.
I don't know what possessed me, Mis' Priest, But I kinder wanted to know That the hand had been flesh and bone, anyway.
It had sorter bothered me, thinkin' I might ha' imagined it.
I took a mornin' when the sun was real pleasant and warm; I guessed I wouldn't jump for a few old bones.
But I did jump, somethin' wicked.
Ther warn't no bones! Ther warn't nothin'! Not ev'n the gold ring I'd minded bein' on the little finger.
I don't know ef ther ever was anythin'.
I've worried myself sick over it.
I be'n diggin' and diggin' day in and day out Till Clarence ketched me at it.
Oh, I know'd real well what you all thought, An' I ain't sayin' you're not right, But I ain't goin' to end in no county 'sylum If I c'n help it.
The shiv'rin' fits come on me sudden like.
I know 'em, don't you trouble.
I've fretted considerable about the 'sylum, I guess I be'n frettin' all the time I ain't be'n diggin'.
But anyhow I can't dig to Chicago, can I? Thank you, Mis' Priest, I'm better now.
I only dropped in in passin'.
I'll jest be steppin' along down to French's.
No, I won't be seein' nobody in the mornin', It's a pretty early start.
Don't you stand ther, Mis' Priest, The wind'll blow yer lamp out, An' I c'n see easy, I got aholt o' the gate now.
I ain't a mite tired, thank you.
Good-night.

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