Visit your aunt, but not every day of the year.
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Atlantic City
On a bus I did ride,
to the NJ Seaside.
Ten years earlier I was also there,
with my aunts with golden curly white hair.
That’s when Trump made a splash,
offering old lady a lot of cash.
Madonna was on her Blonde Ambition tour,
dominating all of the world.
Now Great Aunt Mary and Aunt Joanie,
did go with me,
to Trump’s casino in Atlantic City.
Gambling nickels was their bet,
I did not gamble-had to pay the rent.
Tiny little red notebook I did buy,
writing stories by oceanside.
Writing on trains and subways too,
all stories still there, there’s quite a few.
Now in 2000 I when I went there again
visited Long Island to see my friends.
Went to Javits Convention Ctr in NYC
saw licensed characters who were cute and silly.
Yes this was the year I missed my plane,
Year before Twin Towers fell in sadness and pain.
Would visit NYC again and again,
everything has really changed.
The National September 11 Memorial & Museum
will open up this year,
residents will remember friends so dear.
Now my Great Aunt passed away,
will have to visit the boardwalk once again.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Atlantic City
On a bus I did ride,
to the NJ Seaside.
Ten years earlier I was also there,
with my aunts with golden curly white hair.
That's when Trump made a splash,
offering old lady a lot of cash.
Madonna was on her Blonde Ambition tour,
dominating all of the world.
Now Great Aunt Mary and Aunt Joanie,
did go with me,
to Trump's casino in Atlantic City.
Gambling nickels was their bet,
I did not gamble-had to pay the rent.
Tiny little red notebook I did buy,
writing stories by oceanside.
Writing on trains and subways too,
all stories still there, there's quite a few.
Now in 2000 I when I went there again
visited Long Island to see my friends.
Went to Javits Convention Ctr in NYC
saw licensed characters who were cute and silly.
Yes this was the year I missed my plane,
Year before Twin Towers fell in sadness and pain.
Would visit NYC again and again,
everything has really changed.
The National September 11 Memorial & Museum
will open up this year,
residents will remember friends so dear.
Now my Great Aunt passed away,
will have to visit the boardwalk once again.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on May 23,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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At My Aunt's Unveiling
AT MY AUNT’S UNVEILING
At my aunt’s unveiling
There were five of us
Only five
One was a woman
A friend of hers
Not the closest one
But someone who knew her
And wanted to be a friend.
Thousands of people had known my aunt
Hundreds had worked with or for her
She was born into a large family
But all of them were gone
Or out of it.
My sister and I were the relatives
My aunt had been very generous to us
And difficult for my sister
Who cared for her.
I had only been a taker all the years.
My aunt worked so hard for so many years
And she was ‘somebody’ in her world
There were five of us there
And the ceremony short
No minyan.
There was no sign of my aunt’s smile
Or her nervous energy or her superabundant love
‘Moll ‘as my mother called her
was not there.
I see her so clearly in my mind now
‘What does it all mean? ’ my father would ask my mother
after reading of the death of another person they knew
‘What does it all mean’
When my sister and I go
The memory of my aunt
Will be gone forever.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Aunt Evangeline Approves
My Aunt Evangeline has come
To visit Melbourne town,
Garbed for its Glad Centenary
In frill and festal gown.
And Aunties says in mincing tones
As she surveys the scene,
Quaite pretty work. But just one touch
Of Ort, Ai think would help so much.'
Says Aunt Evangeline.
'Now, take those sweet Venetian masts,
Which clowns call 'lolly sticks,'
Some naice ort-muslin maight be used
In colahs that will mix.
Then what they need is pampas grass
Dyed pink and puce and green
To stick in those - ah - funnel things
Such deah, sweet memories it brings,'
Says Aunt Evangeline.
'Crepe papah, swung from pole to pole
Festooned with Christmas
Maight add a touch of tasteful
Mai deah, it's taste that
So on these fraightful buildings,
Paint a pretty watah scene,
With storks and - ah - conv
To please ortistic folk laike us.
Says Aunt Evangeline.
My Aunt Evangeline says, 'H'm!
Theah's something lacking yet
Something appropriate . . . Of course!
Whai how could Ai forget?
Ten thousand aspidistra plants
So graceful when they're green
Along those guttahs in the street
And on those pylons. They'd look sweet!'
Says Aunt Evangeline.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Aunt Tabitha
THE YOUNG GIRL'S POEM
WHATEVER I do, and whatever I say,
Aunt Tabitha tells me that is n't the way;
When she was a girl (forty summers ago)
Aunt Tabitha tells me they never did so.
Dear aunt! If I only would take her advice!
But I like my own way, and I find it so nice
And besides, I forget half the things I am told;
But they all will come back to me--when I am old.
If a youth passes by, it may happen, no doubt,
He may chance to look in as I chance to look out;
She would never endure an impertinent stare,--
It is horrid, she says, and I must n't sit there.
A walk in the moonlight has pleasures, I own,
But it is n't quite safe to be walking alone;
So I take a lad's arm,--just for safety, you know,--
But Aunt Tabitha tells me they did n't do so.
How wicked we are, and how good they were then!
They kept at arm's length those detestable men;
What an era of virtue she lived in!--But stay--
Were the men all such rogues in Aunt Tabitha's day?
If the men were so wicked, I 'll ask my papa
How he dared to propose to my darling mamma;
Was he like the rest of them? Goodness! Who knows?
And what shall I say, if a wretch should propose?
I am thinking if Aunt knew so little of sin,
What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been!
And her grand-aunt--it scares me--how shockingly sad
That we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad!
A martyr will save us, and nothing else can;
Let me perish--to rescue some wretched young man!
Though when to the altar a victim I go,
Aunt Tabitha 'll tell me she never did so.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Beautiful Madagascar
Of great ideas,
Of great words,
Please don't come to me empty handed;
Oh beautiful Madagascar!
You are one among the lot.
Like the year of the donkey,
Like the year of the bull,
Like the year of the cow,
Like the year of the dragon,
Like the year of the rat,
Like the year of the fish,
The best kept secrets of beautiful Madagascar! !
You are our hope and dream,
But you are supposed to be the pregnant girl;
With the muse of Africa to all who do visit you.
Pregnant with possibilities when,
Dogs are sold for fun;
Upon what are the foundations of the earth fastened?
Out of the whirlwind came beautiful Madagascar!
Like the seeds with hope,
Like the stars with a song,
Out of hunger and nakedness came something sweet.
Beautiful Madagascar,
Wake up to the tunes of Africa! And,
Let others see your beauty when they do visit you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Great Aunt Meeka We Adore You
We adore you Great Aunt Meeka
Who always has a kind word to share,
You are always there for us,
Showing how much you care.
All the children and toys of Earth
Want to wish you the best for the coming year,
For you are the most treasured Aunt who is very dear.
Written Dec.4,2010
By Suzae Chevalier
Copyright 2010 Chevalier Originals, Inc.
www.greatauntmeeka.info
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Gigolo Aunt
Grooving around in a trench coat
With the satin on trail
Seems to be all around in tin and lead pail, we pale
Jiving on down to the beach
To see the blue and the gray
Seems to be all and its rosy-its a beautiful day!
Will you please keep on the track
cause I almost want you back
cause I know what you are
You are a gigolo aunt, youre a gigolo aunt!
Yes I know what you are
You are a gigolo aunt, youre a gigolo aunt!
Heading down with the light, the dust in your way
She was angrier than, than her watershell male
Life to this love to me - heading me down to me
Thunderbird shale
Seems to be all and its rosy - its a beautiful day!
Will you please keep on the track
cause I almost want you back
cause I know what you are
You are a gigolo aunt
Grooving on down in a knapsack superlative day
Some wish she move and just as she can move jiving away
She made the scene should have been-superlative day
Everythings all and its rosy, its a beautiful day
Will you please keep on the track
cause I almost want you back
cause I know what you are
You are a gigolo aunt...
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If Heaven has a Number
I pick up the phone, dial 0 for the operator
And ask if heaven has a number
Does heaven have a number because I need to speak to God to ask For his forgiveness?
Does heaven have a number, because I need to speak with my aunt To ask her does she feel better?
Does heaven have a number, because I need to speak with my aunt
To tell her I love her?
Does heaven have a number, because I need to speak with my aunt
To know if I will be accepted
As one of God's children?
Does heaven have a number, this at last I need to know because, I Need someone in my life who cares, who loves me for me, like my aunt
Did, because I am all alone on this big Earth
So...........
Does heaven have a number?
poem by Katrina Thompson
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For Bill - My Brother
Who was aged five when I was born
My brother
Who hid my toys and broke my dolls
My brother
Who avoided his sister at school all day
My brother
Who tolerated my teenage years
My brother
Who as an adult became a friend
My brother
Who mellowed with each passing year
My brother
Who supported my desire to immigrate
My brother
Who was there when others weren't
My brother
Who buried our parents while I was gone
My brother
Who cherished every visit I made
My brother
Who had his ticket to visit me here
My brother
Who unexpectedly died this year
My brother
poem by Evelyn Macdonald
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Drop Your Buns Aunt Betty
Drop your buns Aunt Betty,
And that package on your back.
We ate your baked cookies,
And they went rather fast.
Drop your buns Aunt Betty,
We know they are delicious
Since they're made with cinnamon.
We're not a bit suspicious
Of the love that's in them.
Drop your buns Aunt Betty,
And grab a little snack and relax.
You owe us that!
Drop your buns Aunt Betty,
And that package on your back.
We ate your baked cookies,
And they went rather fast.
Drop your buns Aunt Betty.
Would you like a bowl of soup,
To boot that mood that has you pooped.
From all that mixing in the kitchen fixing food that you do.
There's some noodles with onions and peppers in it too!
Drop your buns Aunt Betty,
And that package on your back...
And relax.
Drop your buns Aunt Betty,
We know they are delicious
Since they're made with cinnamon.
We're not a bit suspicious
Of the love that's in them.
Drop your buns Aunt Betty,
And grab a little snack and relax.
You owe us that!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I'm an anglophile. I visit England regularly, sometimes three or four times a year, at least once a year.
quote by George Takei
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A country lass weaves a cane basket in her lifestyle
After I finished my handicraft
We'll go together full of apples in the basket.
The far away isolated park where a bench is alone since last year.
A year has passed but you are still stuck in the town.
You have forgotten my address and at least a single line to say hello!
I know that you are busy in the ruined Manor among the maid servants.
Coming Christmas I am already twenty two and I am scared as my aunt
She is sixty two and still a spinster.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Louisa
Louisa, make it a point to visit Ghana;
For the nature is there for you to admire.
Of the Bobiri Forest and Betterfly Sanctuary to visit,
Of the Wechiau Hippo Sanctuary to visit,
Of the Xavi Bird Watching Sanctuary to visit,
Of the Kakum National Park to visit,
Of the Aburi Botanical Gardens to visit,
Of the Bui National Park to visit,
Of the Ankasa Nature Park to visit,
Of the Bonsu Arboretum Park to visit,
Of the Digya National Park to visit,
And to sit under a broom tree with us;
Like a reed shaking in the water of love.
Louisa, make a trip to Ghana and see this lovely place;
For the nature is there for you to admire.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Saints
In our family, there were two saints,
my aunt and my grandmother.
But their lives were different.
My grandmother's was tranquil, even at the end.
She was like a person walking in calm water;
for some reason
the sea couldn't bring itself to hurt her.
When my aunt took the same path,
the waves broke over her, they attacked her,
which is how the Fates respond
to a true spiritual nature.
My grandmother was cautious, conservative:
that's why she escaped suffering.
My aunt's escaped nothing;
each time the sea retreats, someone she loves is taken away.
Still she won't experience
the sea as evil. To her, it is what it is:
where it touches land, it must turn to violence.
poem by Louise Gluck
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Pseudo-belief
He goes to Gods hill every year.
He dares not stop it even a year.
Ups and downs of life is all the years
But he tends to connect all the ups
As the result of his visit to God’s abode.
09.01.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Faithful Witness
To the firstborn of Yahseph,
Of all that is created;
To the secondborn of Yahseph,
Do set set your mind on Mount Zion;
For His name is His glory and,
Of the economic well-being.
Of the year of the rat,
Of the year of the dog,
Of the year of the cow,
Of the year of the bull,
Of the year of the sheep,
Of the year of the dragon,
Of the year of the snake,
Of the year of the pig,
Of the year of the goat,
Of the year of the lizard,
Of the year of the crocodile,
Of the year of the elephant,
Of the year of the scorpion,
Of the year of the turtle,
Of the year of the fish,
Of the year of the earth,
Of the year of the wind,
Of the year of the fire,
Of the year of the water,
And of the year of the bush!
Like the firstborns of slaves.
The hips of romance,
The faithful witness will not lie;
The same day,
The same night,
Of the love shared at where no oxen are;
And the crib was very clean.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I am your maternal Aunt from Ohio!
A letter came without the sender's address.
She's written 'I am your Aunt but I cannot prove it.
Do not think that I am senile,
Still I can trace Judas who made the crown of thorns
For our Good Shepherd!
Do not think that I am mean
The Plumbago mine to whom I give
Before I take oaths in the Heaven.
Purposely I omitted my address on the envelope
Because I know you rascal never step into this lonely Aunt's habitation!
And you scribble the whole life until you go to the Hell!
I am your Aunt Hellen!
For the young couple in the Wedlock Mike & Sue!
*Is this the Canadian Aunt once poor deceased Mom mentioned in my faded dream?
But she must have gone to the heaven already.I have doubts whether she writes her last will the Plumbago mine for me? Now I remember once a palmist in my country predicted, one day I own a sudden wealth in a strange soil.O I can make pencils for poor children free!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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R.I.P. Aunt Tammy
Dear Aunt Tammy I know your in a better place now but it is still hard.
The last time I have seen you was at your grave and i can't get over it.
I need you, i need you by my side. I dream about you every night and I
dream about the past when you would hold me i would stop crying when
I was a baby but still i stopped. And with you gone its like the end of the
world. You were the third one of the pattern and what i mean by that is
the first person that died was three years ago and that was uncle pat.
Then it was great grandma hover a year later. Then you a year after her.
My live without you is a living nightmare now and i know you won't be
able to read this but im still writing it.
poem by Angelina Sabia
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Old Aunt Mary's
Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine,
In those old days of the lost sunshine
Of youth-- when the Saturday's chores were through,
And the 'Sunday's wood' in the kitchen too,
And we went visiting, 'me and you,'
Out to Old Aunt Mary's?
It all comes back so clear to-day!
Though I am as bald as you are gray--
Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane,
We patter along in the dust again,
As light as the tips of the drops of the rain,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
We cross the pasture, and through the wood
Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood,
Where the hammering 'red-heads' hopped awry,
And the buzzard 'raised' in the 'clearing' sky
And lolled and circled, as we went by
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And then in the dust of the road again;
And the teams we met, and the countrymen;
And the long highway, with sunshine spread
As thick as butter on country bread,
Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
Why, I see her now in the open door,
Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er
The clapboard roof--! And her face-- ah, me!
Wasn't it good for a boy to see--
And wasn't it good for a boy to be
Out to Old Aunt Mary's?
The jelly-- the Jam and the marmalade,
And the cherry and quince 'preserves'' she made!
And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear,
With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare--!
And the more we ate was the more to spare,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
And the old spring-house in the cool green gloom
Of the willow-trees--, and the cooler room
Where the swinging-shelves and the crocks were kept--
Where the cream in a golden languor slept
While the waters gurgled and laughed and wept--
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And O my brother, so far away,
This is to tell you she waits to-day
To welcome us--: Aunt Mary fell
Asleep this morning, whispering-- 'Tell
The boys to come!' And all is well
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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