Best Auntie Poems | Poetry

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New Auntie Poems

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

Auntie Said by CW, Evie
If I was Auntie Mame by Krutsinger, Caren
To my auntie Jenny by Lafferty , Susie
AUNTIE by Acquah, Vicki
My Two-Faced Auntie May: For Contest by Gifford, Darlene
My Auntie Mary-Rose by CW, Theresa
My auntie by craig, alainey
Auntie by Acquah, Vicki
They Call me Auntie by Ouellet, Amber
Auntie by Melvin, Kenneth

View all new Auntie Poems

The Best Auntie Poems

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WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A RELATIVE

They crawl out of the woodwork Shedding lots of crocodile tears Grieving for an ancient relative They’ve not visited for many years ‘Auntie Annie’ is barely warm But now you see the relations swarm Waiting for the will to be read They rub their hands with glee Hoping they will be left Lots of lovely money ‘Grieving relatives’ is rubbish!! Some are taking the mick …. These mercenary vultures simply make me sick! 28th January 2017


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017


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These Paths and Lanes




These paths and lanes I've walked along So many times before. They've barely changed throughout the years; Still steeped in days of yore. Old memories cry out to me - And tales of family lore. The cottage where my parents lived Lies empty, looking sad. I smile as I recall once more The happy times we had. But that was oh so long ago, When I was just a lad. St Martin's church, with steeple tall, Stands proudly on the hill. My uncle Joe once rang those bells, And they are ringing still. Old Joe's long gone - he's buried there, Along with auntie Jill. The farmland, stretching out for miles, Has hardly changed at all. The cattle grazing in the fields Are just as I recall. Same trees - the ones I used to climb - Still stand there, by the wall. I turn, then walk back to my car, Parked down beside the green. I think about the friends I had, Now gone, or never seen. A two-hour drive and I'll be home. She'll ask, "Where have you been?"


Copyright © Robert Haigh | Year Posted 2017


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CHEERS -PLEASE JOIN IN THE COLLABORATION

I had an old auntie called Mable Who could drink men under the table She’d tell folks of her gout Sup up six pints of stout - then stagger to the loo when able! 11~23~16 WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON My paternal aunt whose name was Mable Drank so much that she slept in the stable Her best bud was a horse It's why she got her divorce Her spouse was gone with the wind like Gable WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y Her pearl necklace made a clunk When in her glass a bead did dunk She pulled it out And drank her stout Then laughed thinking her necklace might be drunk WRITTEN BY CHRIS GREEN He denies his delivery by stork Still eats his soup with his fork but in the loo when dinner is through screams loudly for his buddy "O'Rourke" WRITTEN BY JOHN LAWLESS I remember your auntie quite well I met her down at the well she threw me in made my head spin or was it the stout I can’t tell? Mable can sop up the suds the boys at the bar are her buds shouting with cheer beer after beer sounding the floor with their thuds Mable did not cry in her beer She would shout loud in your ear bursting of fable her fame would enable tales to bring lushes to tears Mable once sloshed to the loo well intent on loosing a poo a lowly spittoon became a lagoon her urge to purge was now through Sing a song of six pints, each of stoutest ale thus the queen of giggles, spins another tale about her next of kin who sports a raucous grin What is Mable’s encore? Drinking from a pail! ALL WRITTEN BY LIM'RICK FLATS (JOHN WULF) All knew my good uncle Aristotle Who always carried a whisky bottle Each step he took had a sip That's why was mostly asleep Till drunk was he found holding a pottle! WRITTEN BY DEMETRIOS TRIFIATIS The reason that Mable was laughing Was because of the man photographing. He was standing there nude, so she asked as she viewed, "What is that infection your staffing?" WRITTEN BY RICHARD OLSON Mabel had a pint with her bagel Every morn at the kitchen table Her navel would be bare Covered by sable fur hair Poor gal stumbled into the stable WRITTEN BY SONNY ROPER Come here laddie and have you a taste Don't let this magic go off to waste Suck her on down Smother that frown Soon Mable's troubles will be erased WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH Mable downed four pints of ale Then found herself in the town jail Down the road she did run Streaking naked just for fun Please close your eyes, and go pay her bail WRITTEN BY SONNY ROPER Mabel was pretty easily amused, replacing the beer with 100% prune juice, at her party, friends acting farty, her bathroom having a very long queue WRITTEN BY CHERYL HOFFMAN Mable was oft on the nightly news For drunk acts in the bars she would cruise. Some would certainly mind Views of their own drunk blind But Mable just hid her toilet bruise WRITTEN BY CAYCAY JENNINGS There's a rumor I had to ignore That Aunt Mabel didn't drink any more But it was my guess That she didn't drink less As another Guinness she'd pour! WRITTEN BY JOSEPH MAY


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016


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Purity Pawned


What does innocence cost, you ask?
    It seems it's just a grand,
        For I know a girl who had hers sold
            By her Aunt, in a foreign land.

They sold her soul at fiftteen,
    To a middle-aged traveling gent,
        Who filmed it all for the internet,
            In a dirty basement rent.

She begged her aunt to spare her,
    To not let this monster soil
        The cherished gift God gave her,
            For an hour's salacious toil.

She swore to help them honestly,
    And work three jobs, if needed,
        But this was quick, the die was cast,
            No matter how she pleaded.

She screamed and cried when the hour came,
    While the man did what he pleased,
        And she prayed God wouldn't see her,
            That her aunt would be appeased.

When thru, the sheets were bloody,
    And she hurt so down below,
        But bloodier still, her spirit,
            (Though that wound didn't show).

He let her use the hotel's bath
    To clean the vile mess,
        And gave her fifteen dollars
            To replace her ruined dress.

"A buck for every year!" he laughed,
    And threw it on the floor,
        Then yelled at her "Get out of here!"
            "You filthy little whore!"

Well, with those words, his horrid act,
    And the soul he stripped away,
        Over time that's what she's now become,
            Though she makes a grand each day.

See, they didn't just rob her virtue,
    They put her soul to death ...
        Now she curses him and her auntie,
            With every living breath ...

And she doesn't need her faith now,
    There's no happiness or mirth,
        For no God could ever repay her ...
            For what her soul was worth.




* SEVENTH PLACE in the "HASHTAGmetoo" Poetry Contest", Debbie Guzzi, Sponsor. *

* FIRST PLACE in the "Let's Talk About It" Poetry Contest, Richard Lamoureux, Sponsor. *


Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017


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Sweet Things

Why is sweetness a target for the buggiest frights?
Sweets do attract the sweet but
honey can come with a sting.
You see, the dern ants are in the honey jar
so I had to throw out the thing!

Why is it you can’t have anything sweet without ants?
You know, I’ve never seen a nose on an ant, have you?
The sweet ones don’t run around with signs on there backs.
Do they?
Seems the buggy ones always win 
or foul the honey.

Why is sweetness a target for the buggiest frights?
Children should be able to eat sweets from anyone.
But, they can’t. There’s always a nut job somewhere.
Perhaps, sweet things should evolve a sting?
You get in the honey jar and you say die of diabetes?
Unless, the sweet thing gives you the auntie dote.

Sweets do attract sweet but 
at least the honey bee HAS a sting!
Things would stay sweet a lot longer without coocoonuts!

Becarefull NOT to let ants in the honey jar,
or..you’ll have to throw it ALL out!


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009


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Her Special Sandbox

Before her Auntie died she built her a big sandbox, I remember her sitting there with long curly brown locks. The sun in her face with an innocent smile so bright, she’d stay out there playing morning, noon and night. She had little tractors and buckets with tiny figurines, she’d make sand castles then stomp on them to smithereens. This one time she built a fort for her favorite Little People, a huge monstrosity with a long bridge and a steeple. She reached the age of eight and still loved her sandbox, she used her imagination through the summer equinox. Silly little girl with big brown eyes so enthralled, but after Auntie died she just sat in it and bawled. Now at tender age of ten we still keep it in the back yard, once and awhile she sifts through the sand, but it’s quite hard. But yesterday I saw her feet deep in the sand buried, playing in that special sandbox lovely memories are carried. Sandbox Contest October 14, 2016


Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016


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Shy

Coconut shy at Reece Fair...
Auntie Margaret is sure she'll win this time.


A shy goldfish travels home
in ornate container.


Copyright © Julia Ward | Year Posted 2015


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Pearl

Sitting on a park bench
and taking in the sights,
she's always got an eye out
for the children, running
back and forth till they are wired,
then pestering their parents -
"Come on, Mom, we're not tired!"

They cluster all around her,
they call her 'Auntie Pearl,'
to listen to her stories of
when she was just a girl;
tales of pinafores and mittens,
lovely hats for Sunday best,
patent leather shoes and stockings,
turning out so smartly dressed!     

There were picnics and fun times
out by the river when they'd walk
two miles or more learning their rhymes.
Riding in a carriage pulled by
horses up and down the street,
calling at a neighbour's house -
there'd always be a treat!

Taking presents to the homeless
the day after Christmas Day,
helping those who didn't have much
food to eat, or games to play.
She told them, "Listen to your folks,
try to grow up big and strong,
help others when you have the chance,
your lives will be full and long!"

One Saturday she didn't come to take 
her usual seat. The kids all clamoured:
"Where's Aunt Pearl?" she made their day 
complete. Moms said: "She's telling stories 
to the angels now, it's true. She loves you all, 
remember, she is watching over you."




Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2006


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Pearl

Sitting on a park bench
and taking in the view,
she's always got an eye out
for the children, me and you,
pestering our parents
with a grumble or a pout. 

We cluster all around her,
we call her 'Auntie Pearl,'
to listen to her stories of
when she was just a girl;
tales of pinafores and mittens,
lovely hats for Sunday best,
patent leather shoes and stockings,
turning out so smartly dressed!     

There were picnics and fun times
down by the river when they'd walk
two miles or more learning their rhymes.
Riding in a carriage pulled by
horses up and down the street,
calling at a neighbour's house -
there'd always be a treat!

Taking presents to the homeless
the day after Christmas Day,
helping those who didn't have much
food to eat, or games to play.
She told us, "Listen to your folks
and grow up big and strong,
help others when you have the chance,
and greet them with a song."

One Saturday she didn't come to take her usual seat. 
We kids all clamoured:"Where's Aunt Pearl?" 
she made our day complete. Moms said: 
"She's telling stories to the angels now, it's true. 
She loves you all and she is watching over you."


Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2008


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ATTIC - INSPIRED BY CONTEST

Antiques in the attic,
amazing oil paintings
are coated with thick dust.
Albums of photographs,
await my teary eyes. 
Auntie has passed away
and I must clear her house. 

Inspired by Pleiades A contest

10th August 2016


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016


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Its Not Fair

I’m growing old and have no say..
My breasts that once comforted- now droop.
Its nice that you are interested in my past,
But do you care about  my future?.

The view from my window is limited,
I can see a small corner of the yard.
The rose there is dying of neglect,
I’m concerned about its future.

Not so long ago I ran in the fields,
And drank from the stream of life. 
Now these four walls are my prison…
My future rests in the hands of others.

             Is it too much to ask to smell fresh cut grass?
             Or feel the breeze and a raindrop on my hand?
             Do the quail still run up the bank behind the house?
             I want to go home.


For my auntie who lived in a nursing home.


Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2009


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Dear little sister from another mister

You’ve been thrown left and right,
Crying to yourself every night,
Thinking all has gone wrong,
& you won’t be giving up after long..
You’ve been heartbroken 
One
Two many times:
From old boyfriends,
To lies;
Father walked out,
Baby killed by mistake;
Your mom has disowned you,
But she still shows you lust…
Everybody knows the truth,
The pain that you do not choose;
They see what you show,
But see me…
I, T’Keyah Wilder,
I already know…
You’ve raped and thrown from left to right;
Crying to yourself every night;
Everybody saying they understand,
But you know you’re the only
One who knows your pain ;
On this land…
It’s a matter of time, 
Before you kill yourself,
Stressing yourself,
Hurting you and everyone else;
Blaming yourself for,
Mistakes not purposely made;
Crying every time you feel like you just got 
Laid,
You want the true love,
Love shown from the heart;
Honestly,
Coming from your big sister; 
I think you need a fresh start,
Easing your pain with nicotine;
I’m surprised you’re not 
Sippin lean…
I know it may be hard,
To forget about the past,
But there’s one thing;
I must ask from you and I 
Want this to last;
Promise me, you’ll try your best
To stress less,
& pray more…
Listen to God;
Put him above…
All;
We’re not close like we used to be,
But you know I’m just a phone call,
Away…
Not far from you..
But I wish you’d  realize,
This too…
Stressing is not working,
Cause death, the devil, lies,
& fear are lurking..
Promise me;
You’ll try to be the best you can be…
Dear Little Sister from another Mister!
 RiP auntie bby ; djF .


Copyright © T'Keyah Wilder | Year Posted 2012


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Polish woman made sure to cancel her own funeral



  She was going to visit her old auntie at 91 years
  The sweet old aunt lived in her own home
  in the town of Ostrow Lobelski in Poland
  On the floor she found her body lifeless and cold
  Her heart did not beat, and she was not breathing
  Medical and police were called
  The old auntie Janina Kolkiewicz was declared dead
  After she had been in cold storage at a mortuary for 11 hours
  she ensured that the employees got themselves a real shock
  Body bags began to move - she was not dead
  The niece says that when they came home
  Janina asked for a hot cup of tea
  she felt cold all the way into her body and soul





  - This is a true story !!! - 


   16.11.2014
   A-L Andresen :)
   Copyright © All Rights Reserved 


   


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014


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Gertrude -- Gertie -- Gertrude Stein

-- Re:  Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, Rue de Fleurus #27, Paris --

What would Gertrude.What Gertrude.What, Gertie?Have thought.Have thought what
thought?Thought thought driving,forward,remorselessly.Remorseless Remorse?Forward.Never reverse;no reverse.No.No remorse.Remorseless,spurning reverse,seated.High!Seated high in Auntie.Then in Godiva seated. Looming.Enormous.
Looming enormous.Unsinister presence. Certain presence.Definite.Definitely not sinister.  Positively looming;enormous in brown.Brown,in brown corduroy,driving Paris.
In Paris,through Paris.Looming high in Paris in Godiva.With Alice, quiet beside her.
Quiet; always, Alice.Alice always. And zipping, about -- coming to Rue de Fleurus 27.
Zipping to Rue de Fleurus.To 27. And Alice so able.Able Alice, each a.m. transcribing.Able Alice typing.Automatic Gertrude.Typing Gertrude.Great Gertrude.GeniusGertrude.Talking Gertrude.Genius talking.Great brown Gertrude;Gertie to Alice.
Absorbing, talking, buying art --- buying Matisse.Absorbing Matisse.Showing Matisse.Banishing Matisse.Selling Matisse,collecting Picasso.Great Gertrude -- genius Gertrude at court, holding court at Rue de Fleurus 27.And Leo.Gone Leo.No Leo at Rue de
Fleurus.Not at 27 After Leo, after Mr. Stein, after brother Leo.But there was Alice.Alice
was there Among Braques.And Cezanne.(Not Matisse.)No longer Matisse, but Picasso.And Picassos, Picassos, Picassos!And Alice; alongside, was Alice.Next to, was Alice.Alice
next Gertrude,Gertie, G. --- Gertrude, Miss Stein. Genius Gertrude Stein Quiet Alice
always.And a great Gertrude.A great brown Gertrude.A leviathan. A passing ship; a
great leviathan.Gertie, a genius.A hugeness.A shibboleth.But to Alice, just Gertie.


Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012


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Gugu,Gaga,Baby Talk

Huggies pull ups,size 6 to 10 months,
Crawling around, had a sudden attack,
High quality,Huggies air lock,
Bubu,bubu,back again Mr Mention,
Mummy told grandma you were overseas,
Gaga,gaga,gaga but auntie told Tony,
You got a 3 months sentence,
Dudu,dudu,pampas need changing, 
Baby wipes,dada,dada,dada,
Get rid of this strange thing,
Here comes mom,baby start smiling,
Mama,mama,mama,mama start working,
Giggle,giggle,dirty pampas off,
Uhgu,ughu,ughu,baby oil wiping,
Hands raise to heaven,new pampas on,
Tee,tee,tee,a bottle,a few gentle rocks,
Twep,twep,finger in mouth,both eyes locked,
One last sentence,bugu,lugu,bugu,
Later,gonna take a nap....


Copyright © Richard Palmer | Year Posted 2012


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WHO AM I BY NAME ALONE

I am God's child, first and forever I am known by many different titles, a daughter I am a wife I am a mother I am a grandmother I am a poet I am by several ways, known as a sister I am an acquaintance I am a loyal friend I am a stranger I am a cousin I am an Auntie I am a niece But who is this person, they all call "Denise?" She is a child to God She is a niece She is a cousin She is a stranger She is a loyal friend She is an acquaintance She is known to many, a sister She is a poet She is a grandmother She is a mother She is a wife She is known as a daughter to many She is everything, she'd ever dreamed her life to be.... She is happier than she ever imagined possible SHE IS "DENISE"


Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013


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We're Really Hotel People

We're living in the Highlands, where we run a B&B,
And folk come here from round the world, the monster for to see.
We get on great with everyone from Eskimos to Mounties,
But the hardest folk to get to know are from the dear ‘Home Counties’.
They seem to have a game plan, and they really make it tough,
They’re the ‘first time up here’ English who expect to find it rough.
They have a preconceived idea; they think that all Scots hate them,
So must quickly grab the upper hand, and then see what fate awaits them.

They book their rooms up months before, and check arrival times,
Then get here as the hour strikes and proceed along these lines.
As even though they’ve driven hours, and invariably it's wet,
Here’s the first words that they utter when they’re stood on our front step:
"You see, we're really ‘Hotel People’, and we never B&B.
And I'm so surprised we're standing here; you see it wasn't up to me.
I'm sure that your home comforts are both adequate and fine,
But we both know there are standards; you've got yours and we've got mine.”

Now, faced with this dilemma as they enter your abode,
Makes you really want to flick them off and send them down the road.
Where hotels are three times our price, and they won't find that funny,
But instead draw consolation from the colour of their money.
Bear in mind they're ‘Southern English’ - and it's all part of their farce,
To knock folk when they meet them, so they'll think they're upper class.

It's all about the image; what you’re driving, what you wear,
So what, if you've a Bentley - I’ve got Saatchi underwear.
And just in case that's not enough, they throw in close relations;
How her sister went to ‘uni’ and now heads United Nations.
Plus, their children have enough degrees to buy you three times over,
And an auntie has a submarine she keeps tied up in Dover.

They must establish the imbalance at the very soonest time,
By reeling off plush purchases and restaurants where they dine.
And then to finally top things off, quote places they frequent,
Where pots and pots of money are so very easily spent.
Know that they cannot help themselves, as when all of this is done,
With their ‘leveling ritual’ exercised, a friendship has begun.

As, come race or creed or wealth or need, you’ll find that they are great,
It's just their way to kick things off, and test if you’re a mate.
For, once you’ve found the common ground and broken all the ice,
You’ve got yourself a brand new friend, who’ll stay with you for life.
You see, those English just don't travel well; they have to raise the flag
They must set you on your back foot, and if all else fails – brag!


Copyright © Dennis East | Year Posted 2014


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Who But Nobody Cares

    AIN'T MY PROBLEM -re-defining rap
Don't tell you mama
she don't wanna know
don't tell you brutha
he tell ya where to go.
Don't tell you daddy
he's busy with his secretary,
an' you teacher's got her own row to hoe.

Don't tell you preacher
he been preachin it too long.
don't tell you auntie
she only tell you dat it's wrong,
don't tell you gramma
she been too long outa touch,
but she likes it so bad it been hurtin her too much.

Tell anyone who'll listen,
you be talkin to da wall,
tell anyone who cares, 
you be talkin to da wall,
an' if dat ain't all
you could give me a call,
but you still be talkin to da wall.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2014


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Leaper

They called him Jumper

He preferred  Prancer

When he was happy he would prance

Giant circles of joy

And the dizziness

Too many beers and staggers

For 365 days waiting times 4

He would dress himself  outlandishly

Feathers and painting his face

He loved the Mamba and espresso

Dancing to the beat and the heat

But February 29th he could leap and pride

Gyrating crazily leaping from space to space

Time warp again

Disco fever

Never tiring

It only happens once every 4 years

Leap frog when he was a child

Monty Python taught him how to leap from tree to tree

He did the Lumberjack

His jeans had done the Hop on Bandstand

He had bell bottom genes

While in South America he did the Anaconda

Bunny Hop with children as he walked

Loved the song Fandango

While hunting his horse taught him  the Foxtrot 

Auntie Mame be proud

His favorite was Leaping

Once every 4 years

 

 

Just bored so I typed nonsense


Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012


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Etruscan Smile


my soul is the shape of a bloodstain
poured there by Nadine Maraschino
my right eye sits
in the ruby voodoo goblet
that she wears upon her head
Nadine was a 3-toed egg laying harpy
from the cauldron of shame
but she used her brain cleverly
with candor and anti-obfuscatory ardor
it was the mystic East 
humping the mystic West
so said the gaming industry statistics
don’t believe me then
talk to my lawyers then
Circumstance & Circumstance
writs tarts and exonerations
they’ll tell you of the settlement
coded instruction to the next generation
Nadine's heart was as big as a catcher's mitt
her white garments billowed
like clouds passing before the moon
we met in an emergency room
after I pulled my best pickup line
hi I'm a friend to the entire human race
and she countered with
want auntie Nadine to show you 
how to be a big boy
a buzzard shadow passed over her face
she pulled me close and hissed 
if no one wants to look foolish
why so many truth murdering fools
I weakly countered with
if thoughts are differentiated
one from the other then so are you
Nadine’s lizard tongue gave him
the secret to the garden
descending down his throat
like a black lung miner 
how can you tell if it's morning noon or night
hint you'll need a sense of sequence
hers was a dangerous mission 
for both covert and overt ends
the life's a bitch and then you die cynics
took us for a pack of numbskulls
well we were arrayed in a tatty splendor
consisting of zero camouflage
but there was no substitute for living deep
even in Happy Valley 
the slightly assisted living community
well hell we're all assisted
aren't we supposed to get smarter
as time scurries us along
and last I'd like to thank 
my non-existent financial backers 
for timely script development


From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/


Copyright © Walter Alter | Year Posted 2016


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Say what

There once was a grandma who did not have

text acronym grasp, or anything thereof.

“Auntie just died”, was she proud,

she texted all, “l o l!”

She thought that it meant ”lots of love”.









25 JUly 2015


Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015


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Mary

great aunt, kissed me yesterday
after bidding fond adieu's 
to fleeting flashbacks of youth

streaks of invincibility 
stiffened her spine when a gentleman came calling
courting her future
a legitimate suitor
awkward member in good standing of the Chicago Fire Department 
man unaware of the elements due to generations of Irish breeding
mule, mick, jackass, workhorse, turf-cutter, he responds to all 
these stones of rough leathered hands... make him free 
to cast a roving eye, flash a quick smile
share a wink with a girl hanging laundry out back to dry

aunt kissed me today, longer
holding on to that sweet floating feeling
that anything might happen and would
when the Holy Trinity cuts her a break
if Paddy can turn the other cheek
oblivious to water that Mary's mother threw off the back porch
onto his only brown suit 
onto his pride
onto Halsted Street
bright Sunday morning of June

The triplets had ruse in motion
ascetic, etched from strict culture
preordained her new life of solitude

Paddy, fresh off the boat
wet behind the ears 
soaked in shame
never came back
auntie grieved
unwed
will always kiss


Copyright © Patrick Boyle | Year Posted 2014


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One more day

Checkered Past

I put out our checker board and pulled out your special chair
Imagined your delightful laughter, as if you were sitting there

That twinkle in your eye, that inspirational glee
Then before I knew it, you were really sitting there with me

You told me we'd been granted a single more day
To spend it both together in a very special way

I said "Grandpa I love you, I can't believe that you are here!"
You looked so very happy and down your face there rolled a tear

I asked you a single question "Tell me what is heaven like?"
You said in heaven you are young and have a special bike."

All of those that you had loved, that before you passed away
Were gleefully waiting in heaven, now together you all play

Dad and auntie Debbie, Grandpa Kutz and  Bobby Lenz
Even your mom with pure blue eyes and oh so many other friends.

For age is not a factor no one there will ever grow old
The sun is always shining and the wind is never cold

Still you were thrilled to leave and spend this day with me
To tell me a few jokes and to share your history

For the thing I most remember is the stories you would share
I listened much more intently as I marvelled at you there.

No question remained unanswered, as you sipped upon your tea
You also wanted to know, if I was as happy as I could be

So I introduced you to my family, my son Matthew and my wife
I told them how very thankful I am, that you are part of my life

You sat back down in your chair, and made one final play
Winked and said "I love you, this has been the perfect day!"


I loved playing Checkers with my Grandpa Clifford.
I miss you Grandpa!

Written December 11, 2015


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015


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Fickle Fickle - For Every Man in a Pickle

WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....WOMEN! ;) (THIS IS FOR FUN, GIRLS, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)

Fickle Fickle - For Every Man in a Pickle 


Fickle fickle…. Broads are fickle
Get a man into a pickle
Sweet talk sweet talk…. Yes they tickle
Treat us lower than a nickle

Chat up chat up does belie
Gives us bites of ego pie

Flirty flirty… grows the storm
Disappears like the norm

Riding riding is her wave
Naughty naughty to her grave

Touch up touch up where she can
Making sure that he’s a man 

Swish and sway, what a sight
Thinking she is dynamite

Tries to see how far he’ll go
Gets to third base, she says no

Fickle fickle, fizzle…. Strop
Mess with me, I’ll make you stop.

In Response to Auntie Eileen Ghali
For her Fickle Fickle poem



Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013


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Color blindness

Racism in a kids eye 

    Daddy asked "tell me, which guy do you think is going to win?"

She answered "the guy with the hat"

She didn't say, "oh the white guy, or the black guy, or the light skinned guy...."

She got mommy and daddy smiling 
She got auntie thinking. ..

The 50%, the color culture, the "us" separate rhythms we sing, the supremacy games...

All over, we the haters of the one thing that makes us so beautiful. .

THERE IS NO RACISM IN A KID'S EYE
Those innocent eyes see beyond color!


Copyright © njeri hunjeri | Year Posted 2015