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Jumping Catfish by Ellison, Jack
14 Catfish by Bdosa, Vee
Catfish by Gilley, Logan
Fourteen Catfish by Bdosa, Vee
Catfish by Johnson-Saunders, Rhonda
Catfish Tales by Sapp, Wayne
Catfish Fry by Kopp, Robb A.
Catfish by Enloe, Glen

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The Best Catfish Poems

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His hair online
Looked divine, so
To dine, she went.

She’d been misled
And with dread, saw
His head was bald.

What a bad dish.
Her fond wish was
Catfish instead!

*catfished (a fairly new term for those who don't know of it)
Being deceived over facebook as the deceiver professed their romantic feelings to his/her victim, but isn't who they say they are.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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A Lovely Little Daydream

I'm drifting along in a boat
In the shade of bald cypress trees
They're covered in gray Spanish moss
Hanging down to their cypress knees

With the swipe of a catfish tail
As he lunges to grab a snack
The splash breaks the afternoon silence
Minnows flee from the hungry attack

Turtles are sunning on an old fallen tree
Bullfrogs croaking for rain 
The echoing cries of a lonely loon
As he pauses between refrains

At times escaping into nature
When life gets too extreme
I go back to the days of a country boy
To a boat, on a creek, in a dream

    January 14 2017

Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2017

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WHO IS THE GIANT OF THEM ALL Animals or humans, who is the giant of them all? Bearing a two sheathed wings, the Hercules Beetles crash the Titans (beetle) growing more than six inches. Down the dirty waterways of China is the Mekong catfish extending at ten feet, tummy-filled with one full swallow of a child... Horrible! Godzilla in Japan's sea is the Nomora Jellyfish! However, the tipped nightmare fuel incorporeal spill is not at all hazardous. Jamison Stone, an eleven year old boy, killed almost, this wild giant hog of 1051 lbs. Lizards like the giant Salamanders aren't cute at all-- measuring six feet long: the largest of their kind! Nuisance to Australia's dangerous wildlife, cane toads, originally are found in South and Central America! Power and beauty quiets all his challengers when Percheron runs, runs fast in a horse race! Savory staple is the spider Crab but warning! Their claws can do some serious damage! Under a tree, don't be shock of the flying fox: vampires to sweet-juices of fruits in New Guinea... Weighing over a ton, Trigger is the cow for truckload of macs! Xenopos are Cameroon Goliath that can live up to fifteen years. Yes, humans are tough but compared to these behemoths, zings we have are just their toys! ______________________________________________________________________ ***Source: and ***nightmare fuel - stingray; flying-fox - bat ==Sponsor Name: Broken Wings== =Contest Name: Trashed #2= ==6th place== O. E. Guillermo 2:49pm, September 04, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015

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A Fish Named Ben

     There once swam a catfish named Ben
     hadn't eaten since who knows when
     my worm looked just right,
     Ben took a big bite.
     No one's seen Ben swim'n since then.

     Ben put up a heck of a fight
     was thrashing with all of his might
     when reeling him in,
     that fish seemed to grin,
     and spit out my worm just for spite.

     Old Ben made one heck of a meal
     couldn't help but think how he'd feel
     if he'd been the one,
     who had battled and won,
     from the opposite side of the reel.

Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2016

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Fishy Tale

A pond sits in the glen
bright fish dashing about
casting silvery shadows
ducks chasing after them
eels making their way to sea
flying birds circling back and forth
green frogs croaking for a mate
herons gobbling them up
in the depths a pike floats 
jutting out its pointed head
keeping hidden as it prowls
lurking between the rotting logs
minnows swim by unharmed in shoals
newts eagerly snapping them up
out in the reeds lays up a catfish
playing dead it patiently waits
quick to react to its prey
reaping the bounties little fry snack
sticklebacks swim lazily through reed beds
trout leaping catching fly's and midgets
under the calm waters life abounds
vivid rainbow trout spawn
while the blue waters thrive
xanthine filled plants floating
yellowfin cutthroat trout dart by and
zander perch fill a fisherman's net

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014

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Simple Pleasures


When summer's in the meadow
and the bluebird's on the wing
I love the simple pleasures
that a country morn can bring.

Then all the world's a cane pole
with a bobber and a line,
the catfish are a jumpin'
and all I have is time.

My back against a willow tree
the clouds float softly by,
the wind is gentle on the pond
as it mirrors the summer sky.

With bated breath and baited hook
I slip in and out of gear
and that's the way I like it
now that summer time is here.

Copyright © John Summers | Year Posted 2010

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Kids Love For Animals

       Kids Love For Animals ( Poem )

Children’s favorite shows are of animals
I have hours in a playlist that are laughable
Like a camera pecking rooster and fun monkeys
To a mom and a baby miniature donkeys

Videos of wild turkeys and charming geese
Ducks in water and chicks learning to speak
Dazzling ostrich and many free birds
Some you would not want to move towards

A large unique animal is the alligator
The total opposite of the caterpillar
Camels and alpacas are tall and exquisite
But they spit at you when you try to visit

There are also hornpout and catfish videos
and a painted box turtle that is really slow
Beautiful miniature horses and elegant ponies
Border collies herding sheep to earn their trophies

Little kids pig scramble is stunning to see
and a little fawn as precious as can be
Cow’s hair that needs braiding is fascinating
With the most assortment you’ve ever seen

Come to my view with me youtube channel
If the kids are being hard to handle
Just start it up and walk away
To get your housework done for the day

By : Doris Anne Beaulieu
At :

Copyright © Doris Beaulieu | Year Posted 2014

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Cool Waters

Deep is the water of the lagoon
filled with many kinds of things
the more you look the more you see
reflected clouds floating in the water

A host of wondrous plants on the banks
little fish darting hither and tither
tall reeds are casting mottled shadows
deep down a big catfish lies in ambush

The cool waters a pure bliss to watch
rippling waves setting off flashes
different colours glint and shatter
like light beams hitting coloured shards

The tranquillity of this magical place
calls out to me beckoning me closer
I lay on the grassy bank trailing a hand
in the soft water and feel I am restored

Keep this place secret just for us to share
come here whenever the outside world is too much
here a blissful peace awaits to bathe you
to bring comfort and soothe away the daily pains

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2013

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Sacred Lake Titicaca

Sacred Lake Titicaca

High atop the Andes, between Bolivia and Peru,
sits the birthplace of the Incas, sacred Lake Titicaca.
A powerhouse of nature through and through,
it was created by the Inca god of the lake, Viracocha.

A treetop view showcases unique flora and fauna that abound,
from llamas to fresh water snails dozing in the sun;
rainbow trout and other colorful fish are found
as sunlight reflects golden on the lake’s horizon.

Flocks of snowy egrets among the rare totora reed
share this natural habitat with slate-gray Andean coots,
snowy egrets, and white-tufted grebes diving for feed,
while parrots scratch their heads perched on mangrove roots.

Sounds of nature overcome the silence of twilight, 
as huge water frogs on lily pads croak their lullabies.
The black-crowned night heron forages in the dying light,
and gloomy catfish float underground for a tasty prize. 

Incas believed that when their time on earth was done,
the mystical clear blue water was a portal to the stars,
and into the depths of Titicaca, their spirits would return,
to reunite with their gods and venerable ancestors. 


Mountaintop Lake Poetry Contest sponsored by Brenda Chirop

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2017

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Rolling Thunder (in my chest)

I hear the willows weeping

in the corners of my mind,

I feel the sand go slipping

through the hourglass of time.

I see the catfish whiskers,

more like tentacles, thick and black,

I sense the wasp nest growing

as I wait for their attack.

I watch the full moon rising

as the sun sets in the west,

I feel the thunder rolling

like a pounding in my chest.

I hear the barn owl's question,

though the answer no one knows,

as the spider weaves her magic

in the poison mistletoe.

©Danielle White

Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2009

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Dad was a fisherman

Dad was a fisherman, he loved to fish.
But sadly, last year in July he perished.
He caught different kinds of fish, including catfish and bluegill.
Dad was a fisherman, he loved his rod and reels.

Sometimes he liked to fish with his brother.
Stanley and my dad cared about each other.
Dad bought a boat and used it sometimes when he went fishing.
Dad was a fisherman, he found it to be very interesting.

[Dedicated to Charles F. Johnson (1947-2013) who died on July 13, 2013.]

Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2014

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The Race

Pistols shoot
and rifles unload
thunderous banters
initiate the race
she dives
into the Mekong River
stealth head start
she leads amongst the pack
of four boys and three girls
paddles faster than catfish

other swimmers dive
chasing for the finish line
the Thailand border
no one trains for this race
many do not know
how to swim
instincts ignite energy
in their arms and legs
signals their brain to
pick up the skill
on the spot

splash into
murky depths
greeting a timezone
between breath
and drowning
some legs fail to flap
some racers sink
and one boy gives up
swims back to Laos
the rest continue
down to Paiyanag's home
death cries with people

either bullets pierce their
flesh or the
water filling lungs

100 meters
200 meters
400 meters
her Olympic debut
two hours long
she peeks ahead
sand and shore
on the horizon
her feet do not give up
her hands
cup away whispers
to submerge beneath the Mekong
she ignores temptation
to call it quits
the finish line waits at
Nong Khai refugee camp

no one cares
where they place
first or second
or last as long
as their knees can
sink into dry earth
rather than their corpses
be fish food
she crawls
out the Mekong River
looks back
at her homeland torched
ammo shells whizzing
no audience present

no cheers

no celebration
only the moon
and the stars
watching her
tracking her velocity
until the finish line

her medal for winning

a new Life

in America

Copyright © Krysada Phounsiri | Year Posted 2016

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Trot Lines

4:00 AM time to check the trot-lines.
Catfish and turtles strung out deep in the muddy waters
We would string the lines from cypress trees across a channel
And mark them with fluorescent tape so we knew which ones were ours
In the early morning we would get up and drink coffee and pee
Then head down to the boats to make the rounds
Sleepy but excited about what we might find had taken our bait 
Once in the boat we would traverse the cypress tress and stumps just below the water
And find our lines
With headlights we would shine down into the water as mosquitoes and gnats floated around our heads
My brother would be in the front of the boat pulling up the line.
I would sit in the middle ready to unhook whatever we pulled from the depths of the murky water.
The old man was in the back keeping the boat afloat and calling the shots.  He had grown up in the bayous of South Louisiana and knew ropes.
Sometimes we pulled blue channel cats that weighed in at 40 pound other times a soft shell turtle.  No matter we would eat them all.
After we had hauled in our catch we would turn of the night-lights and drift for a while in the night and gaze upon the stars.
Gods gift to all of us for being up so early.
There were fewer lights back then and you could see the stars piercing the night like a needle.
I never forgot those nights.
And yes I ate turtle.  At my house you ate what was put on your plate.  McDonalds didn’t exist to my father.  You gathered and you ate what God gave you.
You can’t always get what you want.  But you get what you need. 

Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2014

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Hook, Line and Sinker

Hook, Line and Sinker
I went fishing by myself today
It is not something I normally do
I like to sit by the water’s edge
 Watching the light reflect off the blue

Yes I like the fishing part
The hook, line, sinker, bobber and worm
And just in case I get a bite
I have a grip on the pole that is firm

I can’t think of a better thrill
Then to see the bobber go down
I try to remember all that you said
To make that fish land aground

But whatever has taken the bait
Is not coming in like I thought
It has other ideas in mind
I can tell you that fish really fought

Finally after quite a while
The fish gave up the fight
I was tired clear to the bone
But oh my what a beautiful sight

Twenty pounds at least I thought
I envisioned catfish filets all around
I got it close up to the bank when I heard 
The most terrible horrible sound

 I lost my hook line and sinker
The sound was the twang of my fishing line
The catfish saw me up close and left
And destroyed my vision of catfish divine
Connie Moore

Copyright © Connie Moore | Year Posted 2014

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Sweet River Man

Let's wait for the sunset one summer's day
down by the river where I always liked to play
we can kick off our shoes and bury our feet in the sand
come on please be my sweet river man
We can call the wild geese up with a little dab of feed
or jump in the water a little too deep
in that old Red River we can laugh and sing
take me by the hand, make that leap

Write our names in a heart in the sand
you can be my sweet river man
and I'll be your sweet lady river friend
we can hold on for life and scare the catfish twice
anything’s possible that time of day
my white sundress is a little bit dirty
from that red water that always stays so murky

I wouldn't want to be any other place
than down by the river where I always liked to play
and when the moon comes out tonight
and the stars shine bright
your sweet river lady
is going to sing to her sweet river man under the moonlight

watch those stars shooting in the dark as you hold me tight
until we see the sun start to rise
yeah down on the river where I always liked to play
nothing’s changed much since I was just a babe
but now I share with my sweet river man, my favorite place to play

Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter | Year Posted 2012

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Red Beans

Changes in 3/4 time. 
Can't split a dime. 
But you can sure waltz out the door. 
Sound of your combat boots on the floor. 
I hear the door slam
flies be damned
he's off to Memphis 
head long down a pipe line
cutting cards and turning life loose
train stations and bus stations
take you north
to the Big Muddy
A catfish dream
and Mud Island 
I'll stay home with my disease
Watch it all on TV 
till he shows up at my door
bigger than life
but I got a gun
and I shoot him down
now I got my red beans cookin'
Yeah I got my red beans cookin'

Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2014

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Bless these Creatures

Hurricane’s torrent forced the river to rise high
Bursting dam left catfish laying on rocks now dry
Writhing and gasping for breath in arid air warm
Lord, bless these creatures; give them shelter from the storm

Stray kittens had climbed high into the lofty pines
A stepping stone for babes, mama cat heard their whines
As with lost footing, she floated downstream free form 
Lord, bless these creatures; give them shelter from the storm

His web feet tangled in taut strands of fishing line
Blue-eyed pelican hung from a limb like a vine
Around him, voracious vultures began to swarm
Lord, bless these creatures; give them shelter from the storm

Howling I heard, driving home after the storm passed
From home, a pup had been mistakenly been outcast
Grabbed it from a sinking boat, owners I informed 
Lord, bless these creatures; give them shelter from the storm

Human costs are all we hear in hurricane tales
Only angels keep watch o’er those with scales and tails
Saving some with random acts of kindness performed
Our Lord’s blessed these creatures with shelter from the storm

*July 12, 2014 for Deb's contest

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014

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The Deep South

The deep South has a lot of swamp creatures. The South's got alligators, some frogs, live catfish, bugs (flies, e.g.), and stuff. These here parts have been a part of these Southern United States of America since the Civil War, especially when Abraham Lincoln had freed the African-American ancestors and ended slavery. Going to the deep South is like going to either the Florida Everglades, or a rural Alabama town called Summerdale on a Sunday afternoon. What's so great about the deep South is when he or she is laid back, relaxing for a little while, and drinking a glass of homemade lemonade or sweet iced tea on a hot afternoon. Sometimes, the South maybe a bit boring for some people, but the deep South has many life-changing adventures, especially that of "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn" written by Mark Twain. Now, how good is that? Everybody is friendlier in these here Southern parts, that includes the locals who are residing in the deep South. Oh, if only the deep South were to come to the Central time zone. And if there's going to be a party in the deep South sometime soon, it'll be like a Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Louisiana, on a Saturday night during the summer time. Boy, do I love the south. And if the deep South and its rural towns in different Southern states like Alabama, Mississippi, South Carolina, and Georgia were to remain a part of these here United States, that would be great.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011

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Small Gifts: Contributing To Other's Happiness

For each gift that you make to a man’s spirit,
Servant gift, not the kind that dishonor brings,
There’s a peace that comes soft. (Can your ears hear it?)
And the heart of the man soon forgets its stings.

A first kiss from a girl that you really love,
Like a star that in falling comes home at last,
With a passion that witnesses truth thereof,
The feared slap in the face just a stale forecast.

Or the one who stands with you when all have left,
Unexpectedly present when future’s die,
Putting hand on your shoulder when you’re bereft,
Oh, the warmth that assures that this friend’s no lie.

My mom’s father just beamed when I’d work with him,
And fish too, when weather did not disabuse, (1)
With a stink bait that made catfish prospects grim
A male mentor whose love was not there to use.

A gift notebook just meant for new poetry,
That conveniently can stay close at hand,
Unexpected, but still quite a treat for me,
Home for poetic thoughts that arrive unplanned.

And a minister modeling God’s caring, (2)
In the wake of Church Christmas (planned gifting) bomb,
Taught a boy (who got nothing) to love sharing,
Justice bifurcates, half is Dad, half is Mom.

All the accidents waiting, in fate hiding,
Those that never quite come to your threshold’s door.
God’s provision? His heart with mankind siding?
Your close calls alone - stains blood red mar the floor.

A sweet letter that comes from a love once lost
Can still channel cool water to desert’s gate,
Makes a lie ‘must defend love at any cost,’
Shouts that ‘true love abounds if just people wait.’

Each small gift lifts subsistence to fine living,
Even though some will think it is really odd,
Good receivers (required to complete giving)
Are what give a gift life in the heart of God.

Brian Johnston
Nov. 15, 2014

Poet's Notes: 
Surely each stanza of this poem in fact deserves its own poem of exegesis, and two stanzas actually have them already. This poem is an excellent introduction to my work and life…

(1)   	See my poem ‘Fishing With Older Men' for an expanded view of the fourth stanza.

(2)   	See my poem ‘One Man's Miracle' for an expanded view of the sixth stanza.

The last stanza of this poem suggests a reason why some gifts fail to accomplish the desired effect. This suggestion is that sometimes our gift giving does not align itself with the will of God and may fail because of that. Indeed it suggests that gift giving places a moral burden on both the gift giver and on the gift receiver that is not obvious to all perhaps.

The moral burden on the gift giver is prayerful thought as to whether the gift should be made at all. We can only give what God has given us in the end. To be good stewards of His provision for our lives, should we not give gifts that are aligned with our desire to serve God himself? Does it not weaken our stature as His servants when we ‘throw pearls before swine' and then bemoan the fact that our giving accomplished nothing? 

The moral burden on the gift receiver requires similar prayerful thought. Surely some gifts should be refused, especially those we discern are given to bind us in servitude to the giver, and do not serve what should be our joy in God's provision, but instead dredge up feelings of humiliation due to the depth of our neediness. Your debt as a gift receiver is always to God, not the gift giver. It is from God that all true blessings flow. Any hint to the contrary suggest strongly that the gift should be rejected, however well intentioned the gift giver might seem and however needy you might feel yourself to be.

Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014

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Hillbilly Hand Jive

Hillbilly hand jive is the name of this here song.
So why don't y'all come out here and help us sing along?
Yippy ki yay and howdy do.
Y'all put yer arms right in and I'll show you what to do.
First take yer finger and stick it up yer nose. 
Grab yerself a juicy one and stick it tween yer toes.
Raise up them there arms and swing em in the air
then run yer fingers right through that greasy hair.
Hillbilly hand jive is what yer doin now.
Run over yonder and tip that sleepin cow. 
Now that were havin fun lets run around the farm.
Jump into the water hole and let that catfish bite yer arm. 
Now lets go watch some Nascar and drink us lots of beer.
Sneak up on yer better half and slap her on the rear.
Hillbilly hand jive is what we want to do
so while yer up there dancin, throw me that there brew.

Copyright © Terry Burns | Year Posted 2013

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Silent River Run

Silent River Run Research fun gear, on-line or stocked. Preparation: mixing, matching, dots. Please, try not to harm the catches we snare; Eat less of animal flesh; And, plant lives matter, too.... Date and location decided -- she may or may not attend. Checking bait and treble hooks, egg sinkers and split shots; Swivels, bobbers, beads, jig heads and, perhaps, a friend. Minnows or night-crawlers -- my mind is set on snell knots. Catfish unknown seek Rubenesque waters of the Silent River Run..... Other cats spout boilerplate And form-letters to the drowned. August 15, 2016 It Takes Four - Poetry Contest

Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016

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Peace and Hope

A skeleton on the road
A Stuckey’s of the past
Pecan rolls and gasoline
A place to rest the kids
A shot glass and a flag decal
I stuck it in the back
Another cross on the road
Down in the ditch
Plastic flowers
Smell so dead

Both hands on the wheel
Eyes upon the road
There’s a deer with a rainbow nose
Crossing oh so near
Radio on an AM station
A ghost of the past
Down in Mississippi
The Tallahatchie River 
Dark and muddy
Floats the ghost

Ain’t no place to sleep
You’ll find death asunder
And a catfish for a friend
So heed my words
And dim your lights
And smile at the world
For otherwise you'll find yourself
Looking for a rope
To pull you from the current
Of despair and muddy waters

And give yourself peace and hope.

Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2013

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play with words

cats crave catfish
people prepare pasta
animals anxiously await

Copyright © karen croft | Year Posted 2011

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The Cat Man

while cataloguing catacombs
in ancient Katmandu
he chanced upon a catamaran
from nineteen sixty-two

he categorized caterpillars
in an old catalpa tree
he grabbed a limb that wasn't there
it was a real catastrophe

at night his cat would caterwaul
out back behind the house
but he categorically denied
that he smoked catnip with the mouse

he had cattle on his acreage
and catfish in the lake
he knew a mighty catamount
who went by the name of Jake

he retired to Catalonia
where he grew Catawba grapes
but cataplexy did him in
from which there's no escape

with a catafalque for his coffin
inside the cathedral tall
the people came from miles around
and mourned him one and all

John Summers

Copyright © John Summers | Year Posted 2010

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 If you want a glimpse of Southern life,
 Come close and walk with me;
 I'll tell you all the simple things,
 That you are sure to see.
 You'll see mockingbirds and bumblebees,
 Magnolia blossoms and dogwood trees,
 Caterpillars on the step,
 Wooden porches cleanly swept;
 Watermelons on the vine,
 Strong majestic Georgia pines;
 Rocking chairs and front yard swings,
 June bugs flying on a string;
 Turnip greens and hot cornbread,
 Coleslaw and barbecue;
 Fried okra, fried corn, fried green tomatoes,
 Fried pies and pickles, too.
 There's ice cold tea that's syrupy sweet,
 And cool, green grass beneath your feet;
 Catfish nipping in the lake,
 And fresh young boys on the make.
 You'll see all these things
 And much, much more,
 In a way of life, that I adore.
 Copyright 2008 Patricia Neely-Dorsey 
 from Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia - A Life in Poems
 #southern #southernpoems

Copyright © Patricia Neely-Dorsey | Year Posted 2013