Tag Archives: aunt

Poem 73: Aunty Rene

(This poem continues my decision this month to post poems I wrote fifty plus years ago – this week’s poem was written around about when I was 15!)

My aunty died about thirteen years ago.
For thirteen years she has not known the
warm sun and pale breeze I now feel.
She has not known the thirteen
evenings, the afternoons, the blackbird peace and
childhood memories that swing around every spring.
As a spinster, she has no one to love her after death,
no one to be remembered by, and
not much to be remembered for.
She was just an ordinary aunty.

And I thought of all the ordinary people
who mean nothing;
whose names do not lie hidden
even in buried archives.
I thought of all these people,
once so wonderful, so friendly,
and now indifferently forgotten…

Oh what is life? and what is life? and life?…
My aunty never died,
she has only been forgotten.

Feel the warm sun and pale breeze,
Sing to the universe,
Tomorrow you may feel no more.
Tomorrow –
Tomorrow you may feel no more.

1036. The late Aunt Hilda

I really am terribly excited! My husband’s old aunt has just died. Aunt Hilda. She was such a grouchy old bag. I couldn’t stand her. Every Sunday we would have to visit. We didn’t want to get left out of the will, and she was so rich. Unbelievably rich! But goodness! How to ruin a Sunday! In fact, how to ruin an entire week.

I didn’t bother going to the funeral. Why should I? Goodness knows I had visited her often enough. Missing out on her pre-cremation celebration was a pleasure. And then, later that same day, the will was read. Forty three million! Can you imagine? Forty three million! The things I’ll be able to do! In retrospect, it was worth putting up with her blue rinse every Sunday. You’ve no idea the relief now she’s kicked the bucket.

I’m going to start with a new car. And a new house. Not just a house, as you can imagine. More of a manor.

The only thing I have to do, and rather quickly, is to stop my husband from opening his email. He doesn’t open his email that often. I don’t want him to see the message I asked my divorce lawyer to send last week.

845. Aunt Lola

845lola

Aunt Lola was a drunk. She’d start drinking at about nine o’clock each day and would be drunk as a skunk by lunchtime. She used to knit, and half the time she didn’t know if she was knitting purl or plain, but it didn’t matter because she had no clue whether she was making a pullover or a pair of socks.

And selfish! She’d ask if anyone wanted a chocolate, and she’d produce a big box of chocolates, and when all the kids said “Yes!” she’d take a chocolate and unwrap it slowly and pop it in her mouth and say “Ha ha ha”. Everyone else got nothing as she slowly sucked on her chocolate.

And dirty too. I don’t know if she ever showered. She stunk. Apparently when she died they had to use a pair of scissors to cut her underwear off. It was stuck to her skin. Yuck!

She was one of the nastiest people I have ever met. A total conniving vixen, if you ask me.

Finally, I’d like to thank her kids for asking me to speak at her funeral today.