Calves of the ass lovely
Nephews and nieces were darlings of mine
When they were children going around me
Like the calves of the ass. Having grown up now
They look as the ass does..
28.06.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The man to whom god gives no children, the devil gives nieces and nephews.
At The Party
you meet faces of an uncle
some nephews
and nieces, even a brother
after some long years
not seeing them
you notice some changes
how the uncle has grown
a beard
your nephews getting
sophisticated
on the latest craze
electrical gadgets on their
ears and even noses
you nieces on their own lingo
you do not know much
anymore
more than they do
and your brother
you counted the gap
before he came to your life
ten years
yes ten years
you stare at him
and you get a scare
how come
you do not know him much
what anger is there
how come love
has not built a bridge
between your
far souls
you offer him a bottle of beer
and greet him
'when did you arrive? '
you ask him
it is too late
his wife steals his attention
and you would have asked him some more
existential questions
like 'how is life going with you? '
they are taking leave at once
someone is sick
and dying
he had no chance telling you
the gap now you count again
is not just ten years
it is more than that
and there is no bridge
no rainbow
always this wide river
this vast space this endless sea
you miss him somehow
yet you cannot say the word
oh, these modern times
always a masterpiece of
distance of alienation
something we have not dared
and we have not conquered
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Guarded from sexual pleasure
My parents, uncles and aunts guarded me,
My brothers, sisters and cousins guarded me,
My husband and his members guarded me,
My colleagues and neigbours guarded me
And my children, nephews and nieces guarded me
Against my pleasure that men could give me.
23.12.2009.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I'm not all that big on rides. I sort of like bumper cars but I don't really go to Disneyland all that much unless if have nieces and nephews or people to take.
quote by Anjelica Huston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good and Bad Children
Children, you are very little,
And your bones are very brittle;
If you would grow great and stately,
You must try to walk sedately.
You must still be bright and quiet,
And content with simple diet;
And remain, through all bewild'ring,
Innocent and honest children.
Happy hearts and happy faces,
Happy play in grassy places--
That was how in ancient ages,
Children grew to kings and sages.
But the unkind and the unruly,
And the sort who eat unduly,
They must never hope for glory--
Theirs is quite a different story!
Cruel children, crying babies,
All grow up as geese and gabies,
Hated, as their age increases,
By their nephews and their nieces.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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To be on television and have my nieces and nephews see me, and seeing them wear my shirt to the games and be proud, it's so sweet. Sometimes it feels like it's just a dream.
To be pitiably old
Besides parents and grand parents,
Aunts and uncles were counted on.
Besides father and mother,
Nephews and nieces were counted on.
Besides brothers and sisters,
Sons and daughters were counted on.
Then their children were contemplated on.
I count days, with no more to be counted on.
20.10.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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They stuck by the children.
His mother and his father's mother
Had not been in talking term for life.
Yet they had no enmity between them.
His mother let her love them, six children,
Which should have softened his grandmother.
Her care for them must have pleased his mother.
They never sat near nor scolded each other.
Yet they could not be in enmity
For both wanted the welfare of the children.
It was she who nursed her in her death bed.
Her own sisters, nephews and nieces fled
As the birds did when the tree turned fruitless.
She felt her guilt and confessed it to her
Who, as blessed, had had a good death later.
13.11.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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She Gave Birth in a Fox-Hole
Victoria Elizabeth Borg
Born June 22,1920 in Agana, Guam
Died Pearl Harbor Day 2009
Victoria sang many lullabies
to her
5 children
5 step-children
26 grandchildren
36 great grandchildren
2 great-great grandchildren
and a host of heavenly nieces and nephews.
She was married to Tomas T. Calvaron and his 5 children
on the island of Guam in 1943.
After giving birth to her daughter Rosalita
in a fox-hole during World War II
she made it through
to have 4 more children.
In 1950
she was widowed and remarried to her
brother-in-law.
She passed on to be with the Lord
surrounded by her children and granchildren.
We
her many friends and family members
will keep her memory in our minds
and her love in our hearts
until we meet again.
poem by Bob Genevro
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For Gina
surely who cannot but love
the picture of your family
all in the water rising and
wet and yet still warm in their
sparkling smiles
the children made the V signs
of victory or
was it all about peace
and prosperity?
was it your mother at the back
and the nephews and nieces
at the front?
the water is greenish and i can figure
out how cool must it be
but i have one advice
will you please move the picture
counterclockwise
so i can see much better
the focal point of your
art?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Be a nephew or a niece.
The uncles and the aunts once dear to you,
Now old, might pass their last days at their homes.
You must visit them and spend time with them.
Nephews and nieces would repeat it to you.
15.03.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Idea of Ancestry
Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures: 47 black
faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1 dead), grand-
fathers (both dead), brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts,
cousins (1st and 2nd), nieces, and nephews.They stare
across the space at me sprawling on my bunk.I know
their dark eyes, they know mine.I know their style,
they know mine.I am all of them, they are all of me;
they are farmers, I am a thief, I am me, they are thee.
I have at one time or another been in love with my mother,
1 grandmother, 2 sisters, 2 aunts (1 went to the asylum),
and 5 cousins.I am now in love with a 7-yr-old niece
(she sends me letters in large block print, and
her picture is the only one that smiles at me).
I have the same name as 1 grandfather, 3 cousins, 3 nephews,
and 1 uncle. The uncle disappeared when he was 15, just took
off and caught a freight (they say).He's discussed each year
when the family has a reunion, he causes uneasiness in
the clan, he is an empty space.My father's mother, who is 93
and who keeps the Family Bible with everbody's birth dates
(and death dates) in it, always mentions him.There is no
place in her Bible for "whereabouts unknown."
poem by Etheridge Knight
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Regrets stored
Uncle, aunt and granny,
All poured me love in plenty.
They were gone before I could repay.
There were a great many
Who lent their hands and money.
They were gone before I could repay.
Parents gave me love and blood
And guarded me from any crash.
They were done in benevolent neglect.
Cousins, nieces and nephews,
On whom I showered honey.
Had licked it and slipped away.
There were scattered peers,
Whom I pleased in all spheres.
Ere my asking, they vanished.
Daughter and son were the hopes,
Who too, as grown up, broke their rope
And had no time to repay.
I leave as much creditors
As I have had debtors in my life.
Kindly tally, my Creator.
21.10.97
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I haven’t learnt.
I have understood of aunts and uncles.
I have understood of my cousins,
Nephews and nieces, brothers and sisters,
And my father and mother and at last
My son and daughter. Yet I haven’t learnt.
I love my grandsons and granddaughters.
6.11.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Transformation
To my noble parents sterling,
, I was their Daughter darling;
;
To my affable siblings, three,
I was their elder Sister, in glee.
To my beloved husband, in life,
I'm his devoted, fond Wife.
To my endearing children, four,
I'm their doting Mother spore;
To my nephews and nieces, reasoning,
I'm their dear Auntie, loving.
Alas! The label of daughter, nice,
Vanished with my parents' demise! .
My children, one by one, in course of time,
Were married, in their youth prime.
I begot sons-in-law and a daughter-in-law,
And am their affectionate Mother-in-law.
Ah! My siblings three, passed away—
The call of Sister, with them went away!
Now, when my sweet grand-children seven,
With love and care, me, they smother,
Calling me ‘Paatti'(Granny) 'Paatti'(Granny)
,
I the proud Grandmother
Am in rapture, transported to Heaven.!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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The Conducator
Silence suddenly is
Shattered by the blaring of
Trumpets and a booming voice
As a herald proudly announces:
These are happy times and
We should all rejoice
So make way for the king
The queen and the prince
The princess and nephews and nieces and others
So make way for the king
His uncle
song performed by by Benny Andersson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To The Spinster...
you know much better
i will not argue, so, you build your own house
choose the kind of wood
what color of paint is used
how things must be
everyday, you decide
you accept things as they are
and ready already for
any eventuality: that loneliness
has been converted to
solitude
you have nephews and nieces
too many, yet to no one
has you entrusted your future
or your present life
you reason out
they too, have lives of their own
they are the children of their
own plans
the makings of their own thoughts
and the shape of
their own visions
you walk alone along the shores of
time
complete and self -sufficient
you want to touch their lives sometimes
but your second thoughts prevail
you have your own life to live
the design of your own
house
architectured by your own hands
this heart that beats for no
one
but you, and you alone, at the end
embracing your own self
against the strong wind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Charlene-n-Booker 4ever
And the old men, supervising grown grandsons, nephews,
any man a boy given this chance of making
a new sidewalk outside the apartment building where
some of them live, three old men and their wives,
the aging unmarrying children, and the child
who is a cousin, whose mother has sent her here
because she doesn't know what to do with her,
she's out of control, she wants to be a gangsta, and
the old folks talk to her as if she minds them
and already has that respect for their years her mother
finally grew into. The girl who does not look
like them eats and eats and sleeps late, sneaks away
when they are busy, and tonight will write herself
all over the sidewalk while it is still wet but
the old have gone inside, and the grown gone home,
and her mother who is somewhere overseas thinks of
writing her that long long letter, but decides not to.
poem by Forrest Hamer
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Exile House
EXILE HOUSE
Our tiled roof dripped
and the four walls threatened to fall apart
but we were to go home soon,
We grew papayas
in front of our house
chillies in our garden
and changmas for our fences,
then pumpkins rolled down the cowshed thatch
calves trotted out of the manger,
grass on the roof,
beans sprouted and
climbed the vines,
money plants crept in through the window,
our house seems to have grown roots.
The fences have grown into a jungle,
now how can I tell my children
where we came from?
Changmas – a tree usually planted for fences; flexible and flourishing
poem by Tenzin Tsundue
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Taciturn
Indeed she is different from papa, this aunt of mine
Is reserved, in speech and manners
Inclined always to the silence in grandma’s garden
Her expressions are always silent like a nod
When she means yes, like a waving of her hand
When she wants to leave, she is like
A quiet pond, she is like the silent fish in there,
She is like the lotus amidst the ripples of this
Family in disagreement about wealth and money,
Her reticence, her reluctance to join in the family
Conversation amazes me, her fragility I am bound
To respect like she is a delicate beautiful butterfly
But then, when the extrajudicial partition was
Laid on the table, she cries foul, she wants more
Than what we must fairly get, and we all say that this
Is unfair, oh sure, I realize, she is stern, she is
Silent for some other reasons, she must be thinking
That we her nephews and nieces are morons
Enough not to know the law of inheritance, about
The fact that when she and papa were young
She was always adored and grandpa’s favorite.
In fact, papa died a very sour, shouting old man.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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