Related quotes: always there, when- ever Nancy...

Aunt Fritzi II

always there, when-
ever Nancy came home from gallivanting with Sluggo
that sometime visitor from the other side of the tracks,
sitting vigilant, reading the paper

in smiling deference to Pascal's advice
to dodge unhappiness by sitting quietly in a small chair; what,
by lamplight was she reading, forever? The obits
the classifieds? maybe the funnies?

Anyhow Nancy, hush,
wash your ears, strap on your training bra, and
by the way, forget your allowance, you're grounded
till your homework's done, corrected to perfection,

or better, go to bed. TV,
that influential new medium, might as well be orbiting
the earth with Sputnik as far as your concerned.
The trouble started here,

and you, Fritzi, brilliant fake, meet another.
Out of those polka dots, now, and into some black. Live!
Get a baby sitter, gam lady, make yourself smart,
I'll pick you up at eight.

poem by Morgan Michaels
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Related quotes

My Spouse Nancy

'Husband, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, Sir;
Tho' I am your wedded wife
Yet I am not your slave, Sir.'
'One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;
Is it Man or Woman, say,
My spouse Nancy?'

'If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience;
I'll desert my sov'reign lord,
And so, good bye, allegiance!'
'Sad shall I be, so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy;
Yet I'll try to make a shift,
My spouse Nancy.'

'My poor heart, then break it must,
My last hour I am near it:
When you lay me in the dust,
Think how you will bear it.'
'I will hope and trust in Heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;
Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse Nancy.'

'Well, Sir, from the silent dead,
Still I'll try to daunt you;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you!'
'I'll wed another like my dear
Nancy, Nancy;
Then all hell will fly for fear,
My spouse Nancy.'

poem by Robert Burns
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On My Wife's Birth-Day

'Tis Nancy's birth-day--raise your strains,
Ye nymphs of the Parnassian plains,
And sing with more than usual glee
To Nancy, who was born for me.

Tell the blythe Graces as they bound,
Luxuriant in the buxom round;
They're not more elegantly free,
Than Nancy, who was born for me.

Tell royal Venus, tho' she rove,
The queen of the immortal grove,
That she must share her golden fee
With Nancy, who was born for me.

Tell Pallas, tho' th'Athenian school,
And ev'ry trite pedantic fool,
On her to place the palm agree,
'Tis Nancy's, who was born for me.

Tell spotless Dian, tho' she range,
The regent of the up-land grange,
In chastity she yields to thee,
O Nancy, who was born for me.

Tell Cupid, Hymen, and tell Jove,
With all the pow'rs of life and love,
That I'd disdain to breathe or be,
If Nancy was not born for me.

poem by Christopher Smart
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Aunt Fritzi I

What she was is not exactly clear
but as often shown resting in an armchair reading the Times,
a journalist, perhaps? the way she looked
she could have been an ex-rockette.

It is natural and understandable
that she kept so firm a rein on Nancy,
her ward, troublesome child,
who lived with her for reasons

equally not clear; her parents dying
simultaneously in a plane crash? ; maybe her father
was a diplomat in a communist state;
maybe she had a learning disorder

or colic, and her mother,
kinder than an antique Greek, declined the exposure option;
or maybe the child was just impossible
in all the many ways a child can be

and her parents said: 'here, Fritzi, you take her
otherwise it's the orphanage'. And never
having had children of her own (maybe she just forgot to)
decided to make the supreme sacrifice.

It isn't clear, like most of life, even if
you thought it was, early on,
it isn't, and comely parts failing, you'll
learn to value a Fritzi,

poem by Morgan Michaels
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La lyra es, telemann, suite

You were wearing a polka dot one piece
Got your pic
From that white sand beach
You look smaller this time
The sadness is not visible
On your face smiling at the
Digital camera

Got your pic

My own pick
Is the sound of the lyre
On polka dot
On a polka dot one piece
Hiding the bruises
In your breasts

There is really no sense
There is really no sense

White sand as hideaway
A smiling face
And a piece of polka dot
Bikini
Can be more accurately revealing
The bruises
On your hips
The bruises
On your breasts

Junk him you pride a kind of your own story
I never believe you, you make no sense to me.

Polka dots, white sand and bruises do not
A true picture make, my dear.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Actually I've never had formal training, I was lucky enough to continue working most of my career and aside from sitting in on a couple of classes, here and there, I basically just use my own instincts.

quote by Nancy McKeon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I love comics. All I've been doing is reading every day, sitting in the house. Because I've not been feeling too good, so I've been reading and reading.

quote by Jason Mewes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad Grades

grounded,
really, really grounded
because of my grades
it's not my fault
the teacher does not......
like me.
that's why I'm sitting alone
all alone at home
without a friend to cry to
because they're at the game
and I'm sitting in shame
with a bag of chips on my lap.

poem by Faith Franklin
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Neglectful Edward

Nancy

'Edward back from the Indian Sea,
What have you brought for Nancy?'

Edward

'A rope of pearls and a gold earring,
And a bird of the East that will not sing.
A carven tooth, a box with a key--'

Nancy

'God be praised you are back,' says she,
'Have you nothing more for your Nancy?'

Edward

'Long as I sailed the Indian Sea
I gathered all for your fancy:
Toys and silk and jewels I bring,
And a bird of the East that will not sing:
What more can you want, dear girl, from me?'

Nancy

'God be praised you are back,' said she,
'Have you nothing better for Nancy?'

Edward

'Safe and home from the Indian Sea,
And nothing to take your fancy?'

Nancy

'You can keep your pearls and your gold earring,
And your bird of the East that will not sing,
But, Ned, have you nothing more for me
Than heathenish gew-gaw toys?' says she,
'Have you nothing better for Nancy?'

poem by Robert Graves
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The Place

Under the shade
On the north side
Of an old Victorian home
There is a place

Chained from its roof
Is a simple swing
This swing created
The 'Place'
The place away from all chaos

While sitting there.......
Imagination can take you
To 'your place '

Once while I was sitting there
I let myself travel
To a day
That felt like it had no end..

I looked at that 'swing' now
Being pushed from side to side
By winds without time
Its loneliness makes me shed a tear.

There was a time
The swing and I
Were not alone
A day I still remember passionately
It had no end
The day darkened to night
Its end was only the light.
The sky changed
Weaved in colors of blues
Progressively going to black
Light of stars breaking through the darkness
The end of this day was only the beginning
Beside me
Was a fine lady
Fair and kind
Once upon a time
Her hand
grasped inside mine
Small and simple
This kind affection
Given to me

There came an end
To an endless day

That lady kind and fair
Said 'She was not there
For me

Today I will shed another tear
And another tear
For that lady dear

I will never forget
Sitting on that swing

Complications and commitments
Of life pulled her hand away from me

Thinking to myself
Was her hand really in mine
Once upon a time

poem by Howard Johnson
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A Song For Two Children

'Make a song, father, a new little song,
All for Jenny and Nancy.'
Balow lalow or Hey derry down,
Or else what might you fancy?

Is there any song sweet enough
For Nancy and for Jenny?
Said Simple Simon to the pieman,
'Indeed I know not any.'

'I've counted the miles to Babylon,
I've flown the earth like a bird,
I've ridden cock-horse to Banbury Cross,
But no such song have I heard.'

'Some speak of Alexander,
And some of Hercules,
But where are there any like Nancy and Jenny,
Where are there any like these?'

poem by Robert Graves
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The Words Of Aaron

Maybe the years have told you
Do you remember when life was just a new day?
You know the story dont you?
The one they told you when life was slipping away
Aah! look at the brand new day
Sitting here upon the milky way
Aah! look at the dancing girls
Sitting holding hands across the world
You got a brand new lady
Just like the one you left down in some other place
Reading all the letters
Saw your face coming through on the ouija board
Aah! look at the brand new day
Sitting here upon the milky way
Aah! look at the dancing girls
Sitting holding hands across the world
You heard the words of aaron
He spoke the truth in these things both great and small
You can throw away the ashes
You sweep them over the world on your own accord
Did you know the real answer?
Youd see the kind of mistakes that you cant afford

song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wicked Witch from the West

(parody to tune of the Beatles “Lady Madonna”)

Nancy Pelosi, looking none too sweet
If we paid for your face lift, hope you kept the receipts.
Who pays out the money for your private jet?
Don’t think that is helping the environment.

Your face pulled tighter than a tambourine skin
Your botox treatment botched and overdone
You’ve got a face that terrifies small children

See how they run! !

Nancy Pelosi, the taxpayers oppressed
as you donate their savings to the “poor distressed”.

Nancy Pelosi, lying to the press
seems there’s a “for rent” sign hanging round your breasts
Your sense of self importance is unending
Too bad impeachment papers never come
your reign of error shortly will be ending.
Run, blue dogs, run!

Nancy Pelosi, the taxpayers oppressed
as you donate their savings to the “poor distressed”.

poem by John F. McCullagh
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Flippity Floppity Plop

am sitting by the side of a pond,
the fresh morning crisp,
full of new born oxygen,
waiting to meet my lungs

am sitting watching still waters,
the liquid surface glassy,
thin like gossamer,
unbroken by bulbous eyed frogs

am sitting inhaling the silken fog,
the moist sweetness enlivening
wispy blanket around,
wrapping me in my thoughts

am sitting listening to birds,
deep distant sounds,
some quarreling, others singing,
my eardrums playing along

am sitting giving nature company,
lilies quietly rubbing their eyes
lazy morning stretching her arms,
sunlight plucking his guitar

am sitting by the side of awe,
when a cheery little fish
breaks through the surface
and flips me a good morning plop

poem by Prathap Suthan
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A Small Elegy

My friends have left. Far away, my darling is asleep.
Outside, it's as dark as pitch.
I'm saying words to myself, words that are white
in the lamplight and when I'm half-asleep I begin
to think about my mother. Autumnal recollection.
Really, under the cover of winter, it's as if I know
everything---even what my mother is doing now.
She's at home in the kitchen. She has a small child's stove
toward which the wooden rocking horse can trot,
she has a small child's stove, the sort nobody uses today, but
she basks in its heat. Mother. My diminutive mom.
She sits quietly, hands folded, and thinks about
my father, who died years ago.
And then she is skinning fruit for me. I am
in the room. Sitting right next to her. You've got to see us,
God, you bully, who took so much. How
dark it is outside! What was I going to say?
Oh, yes, now I remember. Because
of all those hours I slept soundly, through calm
nights, because of all those loved ones who are deep
in dreams---Now, when everything's running short,
I can't stand being here by myself. The lamplight's too strong.
I am sowing grain on the headland.
I will not live long.

poem by Jirí Orten
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Listen To Your Mother

'Wait till your Father get's home'
that was what my Mother would say
but he'd see me all well behaved
so I'd be off out again to play.
'Look at the state of your clothes'
that was what my Mother would say
but I'd tell her someone pushed me over
when really I'd played Football most of the day.
'Don't you forget to do your homework'
that was what my Mother would say
but instead of writing about Kings of England
I'd be reading about Footballers like Greaves and Pele.
'Your a right little cheeky Monkey '
that was what my Mother would say
but I'd tell her that she loved me really
which always seemed to make her day.
'I won't be around for ever you know'
that was what my mother used to say
'What do you mean of course you will
you'll be here in the house all old and Grey.'
'I really miss your Mother you know '
that was what my Father used to say
but I thought she'd be here forever
nobody told me that Mothers can pass away.
But we had a great Mother and Son relationship
and she knew I was just being a young lad
but when I'm down I just think of her
and those thoughts always make me feel glad.

poem by Kevin Halls
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To Live A Hundred?

To live a hundred, I cannot
Imagine how it will be
With silvery hair and all that
Oh, on a wheelchair I could be.

There will be bladder trouble,
And my memory may falter-
Perhaps I will be able
To wear polka dotted diaper?

My teeth will sink in the corn cub,
And my ears will dwell in silence;
Lip reading! There's the rub,
And this silly incontinence.

Names won't be remembered
And faces will be vague,
I may struggle with each word-
Yes, old age is such a plague.

I cannot go to a hundred,
I may opt until I'm seventy
For senility is what I dread
When I go, I want to know I'm me!

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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