Long Auntie Poems
Long Auntie Poems. Below are the most popular long Auntie by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Auntie poems by poem length and keyword.
A friend of mine.
Has passed away.
In a lonely place.
With no one there.
Went to bed fell asleep
Never more to rise to eat.
She had a secret no one knew.
And laid in her bed body battered and bruised.
She laid there just sleeping.
And nobody knew.
That her life had just ended.
Without any rules.
The secret she had is,
what curdled her veins.
The dangers it brought,
and all of the pain.
Regardless of this it’s someone I knew.
A mother’s daughter.
And a daddy’s boo.
So, remember next time you pass judgement in haste.
It’s somebody’s daughter.
And somebody’s son.
A sister a brother a grandchild too.
An auntie an uncle.
Once full of love.
Regrets there are many who nobody sees.
If only she asked,
I knew I would be.
There for the anger and there for the hurt.
Help her to heal it.
And end the distrust.
But now that’s all over.
And never no more.
No laughter.
No singing.
No fear of unknown.
So, rest little darling your pain has all done.
And no one can hurt in the place you have gone.
I wish I could see you just one more time.
Remember your face with those big laughter lines.
these are the sweetest sweaters I ever found in the trash
we all ran over to see them and my cousin rooster Rash
Rooster was always finding the very best stuff in weird places
I will buy one from you, said our auntie Goosie McGraces
Rash laughed at her silliness and said choose one, Mom
she chose one with reindeer; it was truly the bomb.
Uncle Pete snagged his own sweater, a lovely knit.
I don’t need one said my cousin Mighty Mitt
You all need one, Rash told his sister, come over.
He had a darling one with dogs that looked like Rover.
You can have one too, he told me, gesturing me in.
I felt guilty taking the last one in the bin.
But what about you? I asked my cousin Rash.
No worries, he said, I have a bit of cash.
I will go to the thrift store and outfit me too.
He came back wearing a sweater with a rainbow hue.
HAPPINESS IS
Coffee in the morning.
Heeding the warning.
HAPPINESS IS
The kids next door.
Wiping out an old Score.
HAPPINESS IS
Children when they Laugh.
Looking at your better Half.
HAPPINESS IS
Ice cold coke Cola.
A date with a girl named Lola.
HAPPINESS IS
A family that drives you Crazy.
A co-worker that isn't Lazy.
HAPPINESS IS
Taking care of your Pet.
Finding your favorite Cassette.
HAPPINESS IS
Coming home to Mom.
Hanging with Auntie Tom.
HAPPINESS IS
Time with your Siblings.
A new Beginning.
HAPPINESS IS
Winter and cool Weather.
When we band Together.
HAPPINESS IS
A 3:00 A.M. Conversation.
A stretch of the Imagination.
HAPPINESS IS
An inside Job.
Not owing money to the Mob.
HAPPINESS IS
Homemade.
Making the Grade.
HAPPINESS IS
Being kind.
A state of Mind.
Turbo1904 ?
Auntie Val dunked a chocolate digestive in her tea
And began telling me of how, at the end of each week,
She and the girls would leave the rhythm and the sound
Of the factory floor at the call of the Bournville sirens,
To go get first dibs from the Cadbury discounted store.
A privilege for the workers to get seconds and imperfections
In a myriad of confections, in the 1980’s
When the company wasted not what they wanted not,
The lucky dip of broken biscuits
Huddled in their cellophane clear bags tied at the top,
Clipped.
A medley of Cadbury bourbons,
A jungle of jumbled Cadbury animals,
And chocolate fingers,
Fractured.
Manufactured treats of the bittersweet factory rejects.
Auntie Val told me of her friend, Linda -
How she'd waved goodbye to her,
A “ta-ra-a-bit” to her as she got on the bus,
In a floral print shift dress,
Worn.
Linda clutching her bag of biscuits with crumbled edges,
Homeward bound.
With her hopeful tokens to heal trusts that were broken,
Words that should have remained unspoken,
If only Linda could have had sight beyond the veil of her wedding,
That when alone together,
Her milk tray handsome man,
Who promised her roses,
Set her far heart aflame,
Was cold and deceitful, no hero,
No shame.
Auntie Val said, “But then that was our Linda,
Who in her foolish wisdom, thought of him as her only option -
A Dairy Milk girl wrapped in romantic fiction,
Forever, a glass and a half full.”
My Aunt in California, she called to tell me good morning.
Her name is Tu, it's true and she's a gem of an Auntie too.
From Vietnam she came, in the year past my mother's flame.
With her eyes she looked at me, in her smile, my mother I see.
Her voice a reminder to me, that my family is near.
Dear to my heart while far apart, her words wash away my fear.
A charm of broken accent, her words are heaven sent.
"You smaaa and much to gib, big heaaar and li to lib"
You're smart she says, with much to give, a big heart you have.
There's life to live! A charm of broken accent, her words so pure
when sent.
Deciphering is what I did, through my life the words they gave.
Through the times of love and pain, charm of the broken...
whisper my name.
"I go to America schoo, wor tree job to do"
"I come here at forty fi, go to schoo when I forty.Ni"
"I cry, becau no one know my nam"
I love my Auntie True. Her name my friend, is Tu.
She came at 45, went to med school at 49,
learning English at the same time.
Now as I sit in rhyme...
I find courage in broken chimes.
I have sixteen boxes of family photographs on these shelves.
And all kinds of memorabilia with faeries, brownies and elves.
My garage is a catch-all for things that are haughty and nice.
One time I heard a crinkle, and found a fountain of mice.
They kept running out of a big bag and all over the floor.
I stood in horror for a second, then I headed toward the door.
There are eaten bits of staplers, pill bottles and old tennis shoes.
So many belts and hats in pieces which my dog Buddy chews.
My garage used to have a blinking stop sign to say when to stop.
But Buddy tore it up. The pieces are lying next to an ugly gray mop.
There are boxes of puzzles, crayons, paints, jeans, lamps and books.
It has all kinds of weird stuff hanging upside down on green hooks.
There are buckets and tins and a cat inside my garage of choice.
I have moldy pictures that got wet of my great-great auntie Joyce.
I am sure if you try hard enough you will find candy and gum.
Bottles of ink, tarnish, Rust-oleum paint and a poster of Tom Thumb.
My garage is where everything ends at the end of the day.
I always say I am going to get rid of stuff, give it away.
But summer after summer I sit and I paint, playing around.
They’ll have to get rid of it when my body is way underground.
Kylie had a diving accident,
In her friend’s swimming pool,
In which she broke her neck,
And so was sped to hospital.
Tragically, all the doctors, staff,
Thought she was really drunk,
Because she still had movement,
In her left leg, toes - not sunk.
So she hoped in therapy rehab,
To walk again and ably function,
Because she new procedures,
From her stables’ education.
She told and told the nurses,
Don’t move me, don’t move me!
But with insults they inquired,
If she was also on drugs illegally.
Then they dropped her! She fell,
Passed out to be hoisted up,
Onto the bench again, no brace,
And she knew she’d not get up.
However, she says she told,
a physio, “I had no negative,
feelings about having a spinal
injury. I wanted to [be positive
and] look to the future and find
out what I could do. Hand on
heart, I never felt ‘Why me?’”
I never reflected [ever upon]
the things I used to be able
to do but now are not possible.
I did miss my horses and that
I would never be [at all] able
to ride again but I was all
about looking forward.” Kylie
Sued her friend’s dad, father,
But she did not sway the jury.
But then she took to court,
Frimley Park Hospital, NHS,
But just before the court case,
She settled for £1m, no less.
Kylie spent much of her money,
On equipment for w/c rugby,
Which is no coward’s game,
But which lets you have rigidity.
Toughness is her top standard,
And she made the London Paras,
But recently changed to the club,
So at Rio threw 18.75m: 4th brass.
She loves being an auntie,
To her sisters little boy, nephew,
But is not looking to have kids,
Or relationships do or to accrue.
When my muse is busy dodging fire and brick
how can it scribe beautiful things.
With pepper spray in the eyes
batons and viruses whirling overhead
balls of anger and hate wanting to lay me into R.I.P.
How can it see pink horizons glazed with songbirds
or morning suns sprinkling silver sprigs over lily ponds.
For now, my muse is smashing baseball- apple pie and Chevrolets
smothering smiles-putting on yet another game face.
Bolting riot gear into heavy metal bones-chewing cans of mace,
etching cracked skulls and caskets onto burning pages
for now-this is the way my muse is gonna roll
until Uncle Riot and Auntie virus head for home-
She wanted to tell the tale of the witch’s shoe
Don’t you mean boot? Asked my cousin Dew.
No, it’s a shoe, she said, adamant about this.
He rolled his eyes at this inexperienced miss.
Once upon a light pole, she said as she looked at the book.
I think you mean once upon a time, said my Auntie Hook.
The reader was getting exasperated, and rightly so.
Let her get started! I begged, I saw she was ready to blow.
The speaker ended up throwing the book in the air.
She performed a witchdoctor’s dance right there in the lair.
I was terrified now, for you do not annoy my Aunt Mare.
Everyone scattered – some running off to the world’s fair.
Face Time
By Franklin Price
02/22/2022
In the middle of last evening, my cell phone began to shrill
I answered, there was baby Dean, being held by Auntie Lil
Technology is wonderful. Last night it made my day.
I watched, my tiny great grand son, in color, not in shades of gray
Looking on were mom and dad; just as proud as they could be,
Their smiling faces beaming, all of them, face timing me.
Not only was there color, there was motion, don't you know
And sound to fill the senses, then baby Dean put on a show
He cannot walk or talk as yet. He cannot sing or dance,
He did, what infants do so well, put a load within his pants.
I could tell, by looks on faces, and an exclamatory eeww!!
That he had filled his diaper, with more than just a little pooh.
Mom took him from his auntie, stripped him bare to shoot the moon,
As she was cleaning up the mess, he cried out loud, a different tune.
“Be careful while you're down there”, I heard him say in baby speak.
“Be tender while you're working, I've been here but just a week”
When the changing was all said and done, and his butt was squeaky clean,
Their cell phone shot some close ups of that handsome baby Dean.
His hands and feet were moving, all his parts were in their place.
His head was filled with wispy hair. There was a smile upon his face.
Barb was looking o'er my shoulder through God's grace and loving care
Was enjoying her great grand son and the family gathered there.
We reveled for a minute more, then she left me with a smile
“I'm going now to be with them. I'll be back in just awhile”
Just before I hung up, and the Face Time was all done
Their home became a little lighter, brightened up by Barbara's sun
Her presence is there with them and is also here with me
She'll be with us all forever, in our hearts and memory
I'm looking forward to next time, the next Face Time video
When I can see them once again, be a small part of the show.
God willing, in the month of April, I will visit for awhile
Cradle then, great grand son Dean, enjoy firsthand his joyful smile.