Best Crappie Poems
It is morn in the countryside late in the spring,
and the lake is so placid and birds they all sing.
All the flowers in bloom and the air is so clean;
not a day that’s so lovely has ever been seen.
As I walk to the lake I can see little swirls
where the fish break the surface as morning unfurls.
It is late in the spring when the fish end their spawn
that the fishing is best; to this place I am drawn.
For the crappie are biting or so I am told,
and a stringer of fish is a sight to behold.
There’s a fish fry tonight; I can taste it right now;
to my house you can come and your friends I’ll allow.
But my telephone rings and it brings me to life
brings me back to my world which is filled with much strife;
many deadlines to meet and my day is extreme,
and my walk through the country was merely a dream.
I was a mere lad of ten living on a prairie farm in Hoosier land,
Roaming the fields in my old straw hat, barefoot, carefree and tanned.
My faithful dog, Spooks, was always with me chasing rabbits,
(And rabbits were very plentiful due to their prolific habits!)
We had no inside facilities such as running water or a bath.
Our privy, as it was called, was located at the end of a winding path!
A Saturday night ritual was taking a sitz bath in a metal washing tub,
Then we'd pile in Dad's '35 Dodge and head for town after my scrub.
There was no TV in those days and my ears were glued to the radio,
Following the adventures of my heroes, filtered through static-filled audio!
I spent my meager allowance buying model planes and crafting the things.
Dozens hung from the ceiling of my room floating on gossamer wings.
I used a supple willow branch for a rod and a safety pin for a hook,
Angling for crawdads and wily crappie in the cool and flowing brook.
The Great Depression was ending way back then when I was ten.
Alas, World War Two began and things were never the same again.
On languid summer afternoons on a limb of the old oak tree I'd stretch,
And watch the scudding clouds as boyhood dreams I'd sketch.
Those were some of the things I did way back then when I was ten.
I'm four score and five now, but how I cherish memories of way back then!
Entry for Kelly Deschler's "Way Back When I Was Ten" Contest
Two young boys and an old man in a metal fishing boat
Got a mess of crappie poles and strings
Headed for the camp house gonna’ fry up a mess of fish
Roll them in flour and cornbread and hit the pan a sizzling.
Momma going to holler to clean up that mess
Grease is a popping and the old man is drinking beer
Once they get them fish nice an hot they lay them out on newspaper
And let it soak up the grease while they wait for them to cool down
Buddy likes to eat the fins first they are nice and crispy but Beaux goes for the meat
And don’t care nothing about the bones
The old man keeps drinking beer and laughing at the boys
Remembering when he was a kid and fish was all they had to eat
But nothing feels better than blood on blood and they drift away into the night
For morning will come and the day will dawn and if God is willing they will still have each other. And that is as good as it gets.
A COLD MALE GOAT
Chilly
Billy
SQUIRREL RUNNING IN CIRCLES
Whirly
Squirrely
ANGRY MILK COWS
Scary
Dairy
DOG WAKING FROM A NAP
Groggy
Doggy
HAPPY KITTY
Sanguine
Feline
SHORT TEMPERED FISH
Snappy
Crappie
I've got a dish of killifish
I wish to eat that silly fish
Baked, or fried in peanut oil
Roasted, dried, or let to boil.
Make me a star-gazy pie
Take me to the Catfish Fry
Lead me to the China Sea
Feed me hermit crabs and brie.
Help me out with rainbow trout
Salt and thyme and wedge of lime
Filet of sole, or snapper red,
Served up whole, or just the head.
Meals of eels caught on reels
You're the star with caviar
Butter clams served with yams
Can't say no to salmon roe.
Tuna eyes baked in pies
Oh so daring pickled herring
In the lurch for snails and perch
Ring the bells for cockle shells.
Canned sardines on toast with greens
Sturgeon, sprat, and stuff like that
Grouper, pike, that's what I like
Smelt and bream that make me dream.
Cajun shrimp for my new pimp
Lutefisk and lobster bisque
Flying squid and yellowfin
Silver carp and capelin.
Give to me a plate of oyster
Eat them raw, that way they're moister
Tilapia and tiger prawn
Eat them 'til my hunger's gone.
Hake or krill would be a thrill
Bass and shad will make me glad
Tasty crappie makes happy
Give a nod to Greenland cod
Oo! I'd like a northern pike
Barramundi served on Sunday
Grouper, alligator gar,
Halibut or no cigar.
Amberjack atop hardtack
Pan-fried kipper for the skipper
Mackerel, tasty as hell,
Lox and mullet down the gullet.
Kokanee or marlin blue
Arowana, bowfin too
Bring to me your soups and stews
Sing for me the dogfish blues.
I cannot lie, I’m not that spry
still angling is my game
but never had luck with walleye
pickerel by Ontario's name.
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame.
Wasaksina Lake up Temagami way
has a wicked western fetch
there's trout, pike and bass, but hey
was walleye we came to ketch.
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame.
Came in late fall, paddling two canoes
made camp on the big middle isle
then west wind blew and waves tall grew
we knew we were there for a while.
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame..
Grub was short so we fished the lee
in hopes of a good fish fry
jigging for a few crappie
but felt the tug of a good walleye
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame.
The fish it started a good strong run
to the screech of my fishing reel
if we lost the lee, knew we were done
tightened drag to bring fish to heel
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame.
The reel smoked, thought all was lost
but then the fish she turned
slack line, a gust, canoe was tossed
empty hook was all returned.
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame.
ANIMAL FOOTLES
JOYFUL FISH
Happy Crappie
SMART CHAMELEON
Lizard Wizard
DRUNKEN RHINOCEROS
Rhino Wino
UPBEAT DOLPHIN
Chipper Flipper
OVERWEIGHT CHIMP
Chunky Monkey
BUNNY'S ADDICTION
Rabbit Habit
ALE FOR A DOE
Deer Beer
A GEEKY OWL
Bird Nerd
written January 26th for "Footle Fun" Contest
This is the first time I ever tried to write a footle!
My feet are stuck in the muck, cried Chuck the duck.
Sean the swan came to his rescue across the lawn,
Chuck, grab my wing, and we’ll swing into the spring!
Chuck used his beak, as chic feathers tickled his cheek,
They flew out of the muck, we’re now unstuck, Sean clucked.
Chuck felt happy, Sean felt scrappy as they fished for crappie.
Chuck felt struck with luck as he caught one, but it stuck,
Sean the swan, brave and brawn, caught the prawn.
Now a pack, enjoyed their snack, as they happily clacked!
Georgia Crappie Fish
Delicious to eat white meat
Also fun to catch
I'm tired of being blurry
when everthing is so clear
I'm tired of being lost
Living with such fear
I'm tired of being broken
when everthing is whole
I'm tired of being ashamed
and loosing my soul
I'm tired of being depressed
When everthing is so happy
I'm tired of all this luck
why does it have to be so crappie
I'm tired of being alone
when everyone is their
I'm tired of being the outcast
and living in despair
I'm tired of being compared
from one person to the next
I'm tired of judged
it's really starting to perplex
But'
Most all I'm tired of being tired
abondoned alone on a single wire
Im trying to wake up, and better my self worth
God help me, give me a spiritual rebirth
COPING WITH POO!
Two young boys left in charge of a baby,
A recipe for disaster that’s no maybe,
Take baby to the local fair,
Without a care, they did dare,
Head for the whip, put baby on one of their laps,
She has missed one of her afternoon naps,
Is out of her comfort zone, she has a big poo,
It’s really stinky, now what do they do?
The stinky nappy angers more than a few
The atmosphere had a certain poo hue!
The whip, twists and whirls and twirls, baby’s nappy
Begins to come loose and baby is not happy,
She’s feeling sick, she vomits, and the nappy snaps,
Poo and vomit fly everywhere, poor chaps!
They run, the situation has now become crappie,
Most of the people are agitated and unhappy!
On the way out buy mom a sweater,
Thought she might favor them better!
Put baby to bed, she sleeps poo and all,
Still wrapped in mom’s new shawl!
On her return Mom saw her little angel asleep,
But also could see the poo that had begun to creep
All the way up to baby’s neck and deep,
Into her bed where it had begun to seep!
Mom got very cross at first,
But thinks of the nappy that burst,
She begins to giggle
And baby woke up, and began to wiggle,
Spreading the poo
Which had become like brown glue,
Into the sheets, the wall and her hair
So now poo was everywhere!
It became a hysterical situation,
Mostly from moms absolute frustration,
Go outside and play she said to the boys, shoo, shoo,
I have a great deal of cleaning to do!
Fred visits Bill every month at
the facility he’s been in for years.
Age and booze brought Bill there.
He's still strapped to his bed
so he can't go wandering again
when he gets a taste for a beer.
Bill calls Fred by name this time
and asks if Jim has found a job.
Fred tells Bill no but doesn't
remind him their cousin is dead.
All three would go fishing as kids
for bluegill, crappie and catfish
with cane poles in summer.
There’d be a big family fish fry.
Bill says he’s going home soon
but there is no home to go to.
His trailer was sold long ago
to help pay the bill at the facility
where every so often nurses
turn him to avoid bed sores.
The state checks for those.
A license can be suspended.
Donal Mahoney
When In the arms of an ANGEL you are pretected like
something valuable.
And you're also very cherishable.
In the arms of an ANGEL they listen to what you
have to share.
And they let you know they really care.
In the arms of an ANGEL they wipe all of your
tears.
And they keep away all of your fears.
In the arms of an ANGEL they always make you
smile.
And it even goes on an extra mile.
In the arms of an ANGEL they always make you
happy.
And they never make you feel crappie.
In the arms of an ANGEL they always tell you that
you are very pretty.
And your face looks like a GOLDEN CITY.
In the arms of an ANGEL they never let you down.
And they never ever make you frown.
In the arms of an ANGEL they always keep in touch.
And they always tell you they miss you very much.
In the arms of an ANGEL they never let you go.
And they never let you fall down below.
In the arms of an ANGEL they never tell you a lie.
And they never ever say goodbye.
In the arms of an ANGEL they hold you tight.
And they protect you with all their might.
In the Arms of an ANGEL they stay right by your
side.
And they always comfort you with their arms
opened wide.
In the arms of an ANGEL they show you their love.
And they always send it by a little white dove.
In the arms of an ANGEL they show you their trust.
And they never ever let it rust.
In the arms of an ANGEL they lend you their help.
And they never make you yelp.
In the arms of an ANGEL it's only you they carry.
And they never make you worry.
Are you in the arms of an ANGEl?
Or are you just not in the right angle?
A BUM FISHERMAN
A fisherman’s wife waiting for her man.
The slight finger she lifts, for waving fan.
Grilled bass and crappie,
a cure for flappy?
The bum’s been devising a diet plan.
3/14/2018
Most evenings, right around supper,
when the sky was streaked red
right before dark, the old man
would talk of Oklahoma-
the first time he hunted squirrel,
down by Coal Creek, and how
you could usually sense the rain,
long before it actually started.
How he caught a big crappie
on the Fourth of July, and how
it snowed that same year, first
white Christmas he had ever seen-
he recalled finding an old graveyard,
now at the bottom of Eufaula Lake-
whether the Corps of Engineers
moved it or not, he couldn’t say.
Mostly he remembered;
the damp smell of red clay,
and how on real clear nights,
he always wished on the stars
If the wishes came true
nobody will ever know,
now he’s there forever
beneath the stars
and damp red clay.