Quotes about uncle, page 8
My Black Uncle
My uncle is a blackman but,
My mother is a whitelady;
And i have now met my black uncle after all these years!
Life to us is now like a tree with many fruits,
And life also is about how we do care about each other;
For he is an interesting person to meet.
I was glad to sit next to him when he paid us a visit,
And my days are now like the sunshine up high!
Blessings to the heavens above,
And blessings to the deep below;
And like a wild donkey on a terraced hill,
I was glad to meet him at long last.
My uncle is a blackman and my mother is a whitelady,
To him i have finally met today.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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September Chill.
Uncle brings in the dead chicken by
The neck and begins plucking out the
Feathers with a skill that fascinates
Your 10 year old eyes and as you stand
And watch the chicken gradually becomes
Nude and some how not so grand not so
Chicken-like and then Uncle cuts off the
Head and throws it a side and then guts
It and washes it through with water and
Then puts it down on a large plate where
It lays in a solemn silence without fanfare
Or hymns or prayers just Uncle lighting up
A cigarette and you staring at the chicken
Clean and pure and still and from the open
Window a cool evening late September chill.
poem by Terry Collett
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Holidays with the family
Johnny wants a brand new car
Susie wants to hit the bar
Mindy wants to be a star
Cindy just goes too far
I just flew in from mars
Sit at the table and eat some turkey
My family only likes beef jerky
They really are quite quirky
Aunt Jane, she`s just a pain
Uncle Jack just follows the pack
Jim just hits on Kim
Happy holidays to him
Has anyone seen Tim
He`s in the pool taking a swim
Where`s everyone been?
When the tree still needs to be trimmed
Uncle Jerry just farted downwind
Uncle bill drank all the gin
Fat Jim needs to hit the gym
Family dinner with all the winners
[...] Read more
poem by Joseph Whelan
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A Note from Gaza
O uncle
say how you feel when you see the tiny bodies of my friends scattered everywhere. there is a real pain and the smell of death that makes me sick
tell me
why do you get violent like the devil
why do you think you're mighty
while my mom taught that the Lord of all that exists in the world
and my dad said that the fair punishment would be enacted soon
O uncle you could handcuff my little hands
blinded me deafen ears clamped my mouth, but you can not eliminate the memories of savagery yourself
uncle know, if one day I grow up I swear on my little friends that I'm going to turn the world and will never forgive you
Copyright © 2012 ℠
poem by Sari Mavi
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Parody Of “Uncle Ned”
DERE was an old nigger, and him name was Uncle Tom,
And him tale was rather slow;
Me try to read de whole, but me only read some,
Because me found it no go.
Den hang up de auther Mrs. Stowe,
And kick de volume wid your toe—
And dere's no more public for poor Uncle Tom,
He am gone whar de trunk—lining go.
Him tale dribbles on and on widout a break,
Till you hab no eyes for to see;
When I reached Chapter 4 I had got a headache,
So I had to let Chapter 4 be.
Den hang up, etc.
De demand one fine morning for Uncle Tom died,
De tears down Mrs. Stowe's face ran like rain;
For she knew berry well, now dey'd laid him on de shelf,
Dat she'd neber get a publisher again.
Den hang up, etc.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Semantics of Flowers on Memorial Day
Historians will tell you my uncle
wouldn't have called it World War II
or the Great War plus One or Tombstone
over My Head. All of this language
came later. He and his buddies
knew it as get my ass outta here
or fucking trench foot and of course
sex please now. Petunias are an apology
for ignorance, my confidence
that saying high-density bombing
or chunks of brain in cold coffee
even suggests the athleticism
of his flinch or how casually
he picked the pieces out.
Geraniums symbolize the secrets
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poem by Bob Hicok
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First Trip To The Ranch
I had a lot of questions
Duriing my first trip
I'd seen picutres
Heard stories
I had never been
My uncle's car was loaded down
I'm not sure how many he was expecting
We were carrying enough food
To feed them all
First time I had ever been
Off the main highway
Off the last paved county road
It'd been a while since
The last stretch had been graveled
Slow bumps last leg of the trip
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poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Away Down South In The Land of Traitors
Away down South in the land of traitors,
Rattlesnakes and alligators,
Right away, come away, right away, come away.
Where cotton's king and men are chattels,
Union boys will win the battles,
Right away, come away, right away, come away.
Then we'll all go down to Dixie,
Away, away,
Each Dixie boy must understand,
That he must mind his Uncle Sam,
Away, away,
And we'll all go down to Dixie.
Away, away,
And we'll all go down to Dixie.
I wish I was in Baltimore,
I'd make Secession traitors roar,
Right away, come away, right away, come away.
We'll put the traitors all to rout,
I'll bet my boots we'll whip them out,
Right away, come away, right away, come away.
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Little Big Man
I am small because I am a little child. I shall be big when I am
as old as my father is.
My teacher will come and say, "It is late, bring your slate
and your books."
I shall tell him, " Do you not know I am as big as father? And
I must not have lessons any more."
My master will wonder and say, "He can leave his books if he
likes, for he is grown up."
I shall dress myself and walk to the fair where the crowd is
thick.
My uncle will come rushing up to me and say, "You will get
lost, my boy; let me carry you."
I shall answer, "Can't you see, uncle, I am as big as father?
I must go to the fair alone."
Uncle will say, "Yes, he can go wherever he likes, for he is
grown up."
Mother will come from her bath when I am giving money to my
nurse, for I shall know how to open the box with my key.
Mother will say, "What are you about, naughty child?"
I shall tell her, "Mother, don't you know, I am as big as
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poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Uncle Harry
Oh, never let on to your own true love
That ever you drank a drop;
That ever you played in a two-up school
Or slept in a sly-grog shop;
That ever a bad girl nursed you round –
That ever you sank so low.
But she pulled you through, and it's only you
And your old mate Harry know.
"Billy the Link" they called you then,
And it makes me sad to think
Of the strenuous days when it took three cops
And a pimp to couple the Link.
"Mister Linkhurst" they call you now,
And your kitchen garden grows;
And no one knows in your family,
But your Uncle Harry knows.
Oh, never let on to your fair young bride
How a "straight" girl stabbed your heart
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poem by Henry Lawson
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