Fight like a Girl
Before he spoke, I think I knew,
but did not dare to say its name.
The swollen lymph node was a clue
My self exam told much the same.
Twenty eight and newly wed-
What will my husband say and do?
I face the loss of both my breasts.
Will he leave me? Are we through?
When I am ripped apart by knife
for my double mastectomy.
Will I no longer be his wife?
Will he no more lie close to me?
Where once I had such golden hair
A bright bandanna I will wear.
I’ve put my trust in my Physician
To chart the course and gain remission
My prognosis remains uncertain-
We don’t know yet if it has spread.
The doctors fear I’ll be infertile,
I’ll be a favorite Aunt instead.
When fighting like a girl, I battle
Many nights I question “why? ”
The monster seeks to test my mettle.
First defeat it, and then I'll cry.
For Jeanette, our favorite aunt, forever in our hearts.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My Favorite Girl
My favorite girl, oh, shes my favorite girl, dont you know,
My favorite girl, oh, shes my favorite girl.
You walked into my life, your love was so new,
And nothing will ever change my feelings for you,
Well, you were so far away, now I am close to you, girl,
So let us run away, our heart thats waiting will stay.
My favorite...
Theres so much I like in you I cant go on,
I wanted a girl like you Ive looked so long,
Girl, nothing will make us wrong, I know our love is too strong,
Lets leave the rest behind, our dreams ask what we will find.
My favorite...
My favorite...
(rap:) shes my favorite girl, the one Im always thinking of, that one.
(rap:) my favorite girl, the one I love.
My favorite... (repeat & fade ad lib)
song performed by by New Kids On The Block
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Favorite Girl
Funny how things don’t seem to ever change
Now that I see you I’m transformed I am not the same
I know all the parts of you cause you’re my favorite girl
Because of everything you do you’re my favorite girl
Good things come and good things go
we only have today Tomorrow who knows
You’re my favorite you’re my favorite girl
I've tried so hard to move forward
But I keep on moving back
I’m stuck in some odd time warp
On an elusive track
Your a sacred pearl cause your my favorite girl
There’ no sanctuary in this world but your my favorite girl
People come and people go
we only have today Tomorrow who knows
You’re my favorite you’re my favorite girl
Its the same old story But damn if it don’t make you cry
Boy meets girl than loses her for no reason why
In my heart, nothing should matter except you’re my favorite girl
The whole universe could shatter you’d still be my favorite girl
People come and people go
We only have to day
Baby baby you stole the show
Baby baby you stole the show
Tomorrow who knows
You’re my favorite you’re my favorite girl
poem by Harlan Lovestone
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I Am No Longer
i am no longer the girl who sits alone
i am no longer the girl without a friend
i am no longer the girl with the knife
i am no longer the girl who looks at sorrow
i am no longer the girl seeking out missery
i am no longer the girl who hates her life
i am no longer the girl wanting everything to end
i am still the girl that is unknown
i am still the girl that follows
i am still the girl thats vile
i am no longer the girl without a smile
i am still the girl who seeks
i am no longer the girl making her life bleak
i am no longer the girl with depression
i am still the girl who seeks affection
i am no longer the girl whos not fun
i am no longer the girl who runs
but those who seek shall find
poem by Megan Watts
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Her Breasts
The young girl disguised her nervousness,
sucking in her breath.
The cool air made the nipples stand
upon her naked breasts.
I rubbed my hands to warm them.
I gently felt the nodes.
Slightly tender but not swollen
were those perfect milky globes.
A subcutaneous cyst was all
her breast exam revealed.
I smiled and told her
she could dress.
I saw she was relieved
Those breasts which lately caused concern
once more a source of pride.
I made notations on her chart.
'Your Mom's waiting outside.'
poem by John F. McCullagh
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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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Dedicated
This is dedicated to my favorite girl
Oh... oh... oh... oh...
Oh... oh... oh... oh...
Oh... oh... oh...
Oh... oh... oh... oh...
Oh... oh... oh... oh...
Oh... oh... oh... oh...
Oh... oh... oh...
Ho... oh... oh...
Ooh... ooh... ooh... ooh... ooh... yeah
Ooh... ooh... ooh... ooh... ooh... ooh... ooh...
Ooh... ooh... ooh... ooh... ooh...
Favorite girl, hey
You have given me the best of you
And you have made my dreams come true, yeah
And after all the things that you have done
Girl, it makes me say that you are more than a woman, so I'm
Dedicating this one (Oh) to my favorite girl (She's the only one)
She's the only woman in the whole wide world (In the whole wide world)
Dedicating this one (Oh, I'm) to my favorite girl
(She's the only woman in the world for me)
Never thought that love could be so kind
Till you came and brought me peace of mind
I'll treasure every moment spent with you
Cause no one does the things for me you do, so I'm
Dedicating this one (Oh) to my favorite girl (She's the only one)
She's the only (Ooh... ooh... ooh... ) woman in the whole wide world (In the whole wide world)
Dedicating this one (Oh, yeah) to my favorite girl
(She's the only woman in the world, world, woo)
Oh... oh... oh... oh... oh... oh... oh...
Ooh... ooh... ooh... ooh...
Oh... oh...
So I'm
Dedicating this one (To) to my favorite girl (My favorite girl)
She's the only woman (Oh, yeah) in the whole wide world (In the whole wide world)
Dedicating this one (Oh... ) to my favorite girl (She's my favorite girl)
(The only one in the world, whoa... )
Dedicating this one (I'm dedicating this one to my favorite girl, yeah) to
song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Aunt
My aunt! my dear unmarried aunt!
Long years have o’er her flown;
Yet still she strains the aching clasp
That binds her virgin zone;
I know it hurts her,—Âthough she looks
As cheerful as she can;
Her waist is ampler than her life,
For life is but a span.
My aunt! my poor deluded aunt!
Her hair is almost gray;
Why will she train that winter curl
In such a spring-like way?
How can she lay her glasses down,
And say she reads as well,
When through a double convex lens
She just makes out to spell?
Her father—Âgrandpapa I forgive
This erring lip its smiles—Â
Vowed she should make the finest girl
Within a hundred miles;
He sent her to a stylish school;
’T was in her thirteenth June;
And with her, as the rules required,
“Two towels and a spoon.â€
They braced my aunt against a board,
To make her straight and tall;
They laced her up, they starved her down,
To make her light and small;
They pinched her feet, they singed her hair,
They screwed it up with pins;—Â
Oh never mortal suffered more
In penance for her sins.
So, when my precious aunt was done,
My grandsire brought her back;
(By daylight, lest some rabid youth
Might follow on the track
“Ah!†said my grandsire, as he shook
Some powder in his pan,
“What could this lovely creature do
Against a desperate man!â€
Alas! nor chariot, nor barouche,
Nor bandit cavalcade,
Tore from the trembling father’s arms
His all-accomplished maid.
For her how happy had it been
And Heaven had spared to me
To see one sad, ungathered rose
On my ancestral tree.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Uncle Norm And Aunt Audrey
As a child I remember those days
when Aunt Audrey would come from faraway.
Aunt Audrey was tall and wore jewelry like rings
she brought gifts and interesting things.
Aunt Audrey lived in Japan, the far east
she had an interesting life to say the least.
Her daughters Marlena and Renee
had played with us for a couple of days.
Then they would leave on a plane
I would see them again at an older age.
Uncle Norm I also saw when I was young
we traveled to Rhode Island when I was age 1.
Then I would see Aunt Audrey & Norm
in the Sunshine State—
they lived in a development with wooden gates.
I celebrate Christmas and the holidays
with them, Marlena and Renee.
Celebrate with them on Christmas day
they have children now who live on
the west coast in the Golden State.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on April 9,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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My Favorite Time
My favorite time of morning
Is that time of morning when
I have a cup of warm coffee in my hands
And the sun barely peeks over the land
When the day is yet unwritten
When I am alone in the quiet
With thoughts of you
To keep me company
At my favorite time
My favorite time of the day
Is that time of day when
I hear your voice or see your words
And I know you are engaged in me
As I am engaged in you
As I am replete with thoughts of you
Warm thoughts of you
Across the miles
At my favorite time
My favorite time of the night
Is that time of night when
I close my eyes and dream of you
And my dreams are vivid, sweet and real
In them we are together
In them there is no yesterday or tomorrow
Only a never ending today
With you always
At my favorite time
So my favorite time really
Is that real time
I am privileged to think of you
And to know that no matter what
You are all I could ever want
You are all I will ever need
In a partner, friend and love
I know this now because with you I am always
In my favorite time
poem by David Terry
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Uncle Norm And Aunt Audrey
As a child I remember those days
when Aunt Audrey would come from faraway.
Aunt Audrey was tall and wore jewelry like rings
she brought gifts and interesting things.
Aunt Audrey lived in Japan, the far east
she had an interesting life to say the least.
Her daughters Marlena and Renee
had played with us for a couple of days.
Then they would leave on a plane
I would see them again at an older age.
Uncle Norm I also saw when I was young
we traveled to Rhode Island when I was age 1.
Then I would see Aunt Audrey & Norm
in the sunshine state—
they lived in a development with wooden gates.
I celebrate Christmas and the holidays
with them, Marlena and Renee.
Cousin Marlena and Renee
have children now who live on
the west coast in the Golden State.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on April 9,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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The Mighty Physician
Now living with life changing news, my life’s no longer set in cruise,
Though the prognosis is not good, friend this must be understood,
I do know The Mighty Physician, One involved with every decision,
From the initial course I must take, to each decision they will make.
It is my Lord God, Who oversees, all of those glaring uncertainties,
Knowing this I could understand, God directed the surgeon’s hand,
And it is this that helps me through, all that the doctors have to do,
I’m not depending on them alone, but guidance from God’s Throne.
Many vessels are used by the Lord, as gifts to all, He does afford,
Abilities to all, for His ultimate glory, to bring light to a darker story,
Very real stories in everyday life, even those who don’t know Christ,
So if the question is ever raised, it’s our Lord, who is to be praised.
My Lord is watching over me, through all the things the doctors see,
And anything they may appear to find, isn’t news to my Lord’s mind,
For God knows every path ahead, even before the latest test is read,
Giving the doctors direction too, as they proceed, in something new.
Friend, any healing that may be done, is decreed by God’s own Son,
The very Creator and Sustainer of, everything from His Throne above,
Selecting those He chooses friend, for God’s ultimate plan in the end,
So even through these darker days, to God alone, belongs the praise.
(Copyright ©02/2011)
If I'm out trailriding, I have a favorite motorcycle. Riding on the road, I've got a favorite. If I'm jumping, I have a favorite, and if I'm racing, I have a favorite.
quote by Evel Knievel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Widows
My mother's playing cards with my aunt,
Spite and Malice, the family pastime, the game
my grandmother taught all her daughters.
Midsummer: too hot to go out.
Today, my aunt's ahead; she's getting the good cards.
My mother's dragging, having trouble with her concentration.
She can't get used to her own bed this summer.
She had no trouble last summer,
getting used to the floor. She learned to sleep there
to be near my father.
He was dying; he got a special bed.
My aunt doesn't give an inch, doesn't make
allowance for my mother's weariness.
It's how they were raised: you show respect by fighting.
To let up insults the opponent.
Each player has one pile to the left, five cards in the hand.
It's good to stay inside on days like this,
to stay where it's cool.
And this is better than other games, better than solitaire.
My grandmother thought ahead; she prepared her daughters.
They have cards; they have each other.
They don't need any more companionship.
All afternoon the game goes on but the sun doesn't move.
It just keeps beating down, turning the grass yellow.
That's how it must seem to my mother.
And then, suddenly, something is over.
My aunt's been at it longer; maybe that's why she's playing better.
Her cards evaporate: that's what you want, that's the object: in the end,
the one who has nothing wins.
poem by Louise Gluck
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Life
Pastel? don't even know what that means
Pastel? Hell! rhymes any way
My color of life?
Don't even know where I'm from,
Let alone anything else.
Don't know where I'm from
Don't know where I'm at
Don't know where I'm going
Yes I do...I'm going back to small
My favorite place, small pebbles, smooth and shiny
Small lakes and sacred woods
And tiny dreams that come true in sunsets
And porch swings on warm summer nights
And he who would continue to labor this life forever
Would be forever poorer
For all loss is only gain
poem by Midnights Voice
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Aunt Jess
Our 'Aunt' Jess died just days ago; her partner phoned last night;
the funeral was private, perhaps for reasons which
we now might guess; a village can be peaceful,
but that's no guarantee they'll be accepted -
those too full of life to be discreet.
So, rest in peace, we say and mean;
most of us, thank God, not knowing un-peace in
its most extreme;
and now we'll never know the story which she only partly told
and which I could not bear to probe,
that night when she and I, then younger, talked about
that topic which some tiptoe gingerly around,
some leave unsaid. And why, I asked,
did someone tell me that she'd changed her name
eight times when still a child?
Some live lives so livid red
that perhaps they're best not told; or if they are,
then carefully. In '44, towards the end of 'Hitler's war',
great bands of Jews from Eastern Europe,
from the camps, or outhouses of village farms,
cellars, sewers, God knows where, set out together from the East
ahead of those advancing Russian tanks,
and through the very heart - if that's the word -
of Germany; by night; and gathering on route
just like some ragged snowball, groups of the unidentified
and paperless; but soon too many souls there
not to draw a sentry's eye. Of that exhausted day
in Christian church when only she survived - and why -
you'd not believe, and I'll not tell.
So she, long orphaned, finally arrived,
and though few knew it, became a live memorial
to the eight families who, over the years,
had shielded her 'our child'. Destined, it seems, to live;
as lively aunt to child as anyone could wish.
And when I'd heard from others close,
and gently guessed, more from her silences,
just what she'd suffered 'at the hands of men' -
so choice a phrase - or how survived,
I could not be surprised she chose to live
at ease with lover of her kind.. Aunt Jess,
should I be sorry that I didn't ask you more?
I did not like to pry; and you
so needed to get on with life.
So yes, Aunt Jess:
please rest in peace.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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That Is The Way
Go and speak to your niece (do this do that)
Kiss your aunt on the cheek
Dont talk back, now run along
Its gone eight, say goodnight
Thats the way that its done
Boy and girl, girl and boy
This is how you do it and
Who am I to reason why
Wear a shirt, wear a tie
You look smart in a suit
Use your fork in the left
Straighten up shoulders back
This is the way that its done
song performed by by Xtc
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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