Best Crawdads Poems
Golden rays filter through rustling red leaves
Oscillating fall colors to rhythms of evening
Amid sounds exotic as animals roam freely
Deep into wilderness, where rare birds sing,
Where trees groove merrily to musical winds,
Whirling, weaving motifs of autumnal glee;
While leisurely they stroll, exulting playfully,
Exchanging stolen looks of notions romantic,
Divulging, without words, secret love-missives
Lying dormant, yet simmering for some time,
Virgin passions strumming enamored minds
Revealing now openly, fervent beats of life.
“Oh! how I wish” she says, “to live in a cabin,
lingering timelessly, savoring realm pristine,
of blazing autumn prairies, burbling streams,
wandering to spring reveling your company;”
As moonlit vibes sparkle, love in bashful eyes,
Rejoicing first-ever kiss, blissful in paradise.
January 3, 2023
Placed 7th: Feel Free Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sara Kendrick
“Autumn leaves don’t fall; they fly. They take their time and wander on this, their only chance to soar.” Owens, Delia. Where the Crawdads Sing.
Based on quote 7 above.
Down through the thicket,
Over and across the forest bend,
A tail sways, as the wind lifts leaves
of red and yellow.
Aside a pond kissed with moss,
we take a long walk on a clear day,
crawdads and minnows astir.
With hind quarters stiffly creaking forward,
he pants and sniffs at vibrant life
before stopping to rest and regain.
At the edge of the lake,
he laps the fresh water,
his fur glistening, hot to the touch.
Back home, he gets a warm bath,
the fragrance of his fur calling to mind memories
of previous days.
And as he sleeps, that labrador of love
on four legs, I am thankful for the
leash-led life.
We loaded up for a Sunday drive
The Ozark Mountains were alive
Wild dogwoods of pink and white
Every shade of green in sight
Blooming jonquils and daffodils
Woodpeckers, blue jays, and whippoorwills
Even though the painting was unfinished
Nature's bounty was being replenished
On switchback mountain roads
Past gray bluffs where eagles abode
A long slow roller coaster ride
With buzzards feeding alongside
Headed to our favorite place
A canyon God's finger had traced
Where echos and memories yearn
Friendly fires cleanse and burn
The raccoons, the skunks and the deer
Cared less that we were here
A nervous lizard escorted us to the creek
Clear running ice water froze our feet
A white misty blanket of fog
Spread out for the picnicking frogs
The rocks played a gurgling tune
In the middle of Mother Nature's bedroom
Sitting under a cottonwood tree
It all comes back to me
Generations of family laughter
Roaring in the treetop rafters
I saw an old man with his two sons
In shadowed waters catching crawdads for fun
My children's voices heard in the wind
As they both were learning to swim
I started coming here at age five
We've camped here hundreds of times
Back then this water was deeper
Each year the stream grows weaker
But time's wind blows no weather vane
All around memories remain
I come here a lot to look
And color in my life's coloring book
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
~
deep in the woodlands
surrounded by pine and birch
live deer; buck and doe
~
where creeks trickle soft
bedded with stones and sand, frogs
and crawdads exist
~
under moss and fern
hide reptiles, spiders, insects
who don’t come from dens
~
amid the chatter
of crickets and forest sounds
come howls of the night
~
woodsy welcoming
sings the animals who play
graceful and peaceful
~
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
Hot sun on my back, leaning over the horse trough,
scrubbing the green slim off the sides.
The edge burns my hands and arms as I look for a hold,
Finally cooling the rim with water from the pump.
The bouquet from the trough instantly painted a familiar picture
Of hot, still summer lakes,
Sitting under ancient willows,
Fishing for what ever small life would sacrifice itself to a young fisherman.
Water bugs scoot around the tall grasses ringed with green algae.
Teased by a breeze, willow fingers wrap around a daydream.
One of conquering its mighty branches, with tree houses and rope swings,
While crawdads keep stealing the bait.
The water is clean and clear and cool again.
With memories of her own, my horse pays homage to my work
By burying her face in the trough up to her eyes,
And blowing bubbles out of her nose.
(Some warm nostalgia for a cold winter day.)
In her slippery salmon swim
And red streaked Crawdads chute
Into her eddying pools
To stare at her from beneath rocks.
Whitewater rapids challenge men
To stand against her torrential frame
And face her, screaming out in pain
Torturous centuries of ecstatic rain
To be her solitary stone
To stand against her all alone
A true man to soften her cold soul.
And who’ll be her Reigning Lord
Echo her insanity
To lover her shade and slippery slopes
Crevices’ waiting, sharp inclines.
Once a current in the sea
So filled with green and mystery
To her a man did rarely come
Then, pulled up by curious shapes
Like lambs, in white puffs she flew
And traced her shadow cross the land
Till the puffs released her soul
In little flakes, gentle and slow
For a time entombed in frozen snow.
There men saw her as a sprite
Reflected in her cage of white
Men chased her form of watery light
In dreams that came hard in the night
Her body lucid, long and lean
A cold corpse, frozen to the earth
Blue hair, bent arm, frozen knee
The sun took pity, broke the back
Of the ice block and set her free
So through high mountains, cliffs
And rocks she trickled
In a gathering streams, in rivulets
Of tears, mouths open
Her bosomed skin slipped as ice
Pain built up the rage within
And sorrow brought it to the light.
Green – the color of fast and deep
White – the foam that came in waves
Along the long and joyous vein
She spreads her long body
Knee bent, her heavy breasts pinned
Blasted, rippled by the wind
She’s touched only by old earth’s hand
Its gravity like a naked man
Basking in her pools
Her faces and belly ghosting him, a mirror.
Watch her through the thickening trees
Her body sliding toward the sea
A torturous rape, a rapid ride
For all who’ve hung upon her side
Hearts pound, as she shrieks and sighs
With each down stroke a demon dies
Within the man who’s bourn the pain
Endured her crushing fingers round
Who’s felt the pound of her breasts soft
Been beaten by her to the blood
And awaits for centuries her cold flood.
I've just come to realize
Probably some of you don't know
How to speak the hillbilly language
So, I'll show you how to give it a go
We call them crayfish, crawdads
Cause they're not really a fish at all
A skunk we call a polecat
You better run and hope you don't fall
You say you all, we say ya'll
We just shortened it a bit
You say potato, we say tater
Are you startin to get the hang of it
We call a bag a paper sack
And sometimes it a poke
We say wanna hear a funny
But you say wanna hear a joke
Pretty close to you is pert near to us
And the devil is the booger man
Your bathroom is our outhouse
And a skillet is a frying pan
These are a few of the words we use
Almost everyday
I'll teach you more Hillbilly Language
The next time I pass your way
A Wolf and A Fox
Roamed A Southern Wood
Most Folks, Who Caught A Glimpse
Said, ‘They’s Up To No Good ! ‘ …
But, Few Brave Enough To Follow
Their Trail, Into The Night
Past The Thickets and The Holler’
And Thru The Swamp, Saw A Sight …
The Wolf and The Fox
Swam A River, By Moonshine
Jumped Across A Dam
To Escape A Tracker’s Line …
And There On The Wildlife Side
Wolf, Was Kicking His Heels, To Fox’s Trot !
Dancing ‘Round in Circles, With Glee
‘Bout Huntin’, and What They Got …
There Was Smoked Ham In A Hole
Crawdads, Catfish-Creole and Plump Lil’ Critters
They Were Herding Buffalo-Wings and Other Fowl-Things
And Frog-Legs, and Hot-Water, Corn-Pong-Fritters …
( now, Fox, had tried a Vegetarian-Dinner
but … It Just Wasn’t In ‘er ! )
and Wolf Howled, Com’ On ! As The Moonshine Shone
on Fresh, Collard-Greens, Not Too Bitter
So, Rancher and Farmer, Don’t Be Alarmed
If You See The Wolf and A Fox
Just Leave ‘em Alone … They Mean You No Harm …
(Unless You Got An Ox –
‘cause Oxtails is a Favorite of Fox !)
A Wolf and A Fox
Roamed A Southern Wood
Now, Those Who Run In Their Circles
Finally Understood …
take some shrimp, crabs, crawdads, clams
and corn on the cob
a lobster and smoke saugage
and boil it for me
spread on a table
say it's done
yes!
Lived in Tyler when I was ten
And not too far from my home
Was a creek in an open field
I often played there alone
The creek was very low one day
There was a funny mud mound
It made me wonder, what built it?
It was a Crawdad I found
Crawdads are miniature lobsters
They are known by many names
Crayfish, Crawfish, Crawdads, Mud Bugs
These creatures are all the same
I asked my Dad when I got home
“How do you catch a Crawdad”?
“Just tie some bacon on a string
And drop it in the creek bed”
In the morning, I couldn’t wait
Go Crawdad fishing, what fun!
Mom gave me a strip of bacon
Got string and left at a run
Found a deep spot, I threw it in
Then I sat down on the bank
Holding the string, I felt a tug
I pulled it out with a yank
That's not the way to fish for them
When jerked they always let go
If you want to land a crawdad
You must pull them out real slow
I got pinched by one now and then
I caught a pail full that day
Not knowing you can eat Crawdads
I let them all crawl away
take some shrimp, and crabs
and corn on the cob
add smoke saugage, crawdads
and maybe a lobster and clams
boil it till the ingrediants
turn bright orange or red
through it all on a table
and make sure that all are feed
no plates or forks
napkins thats for sure
make sure all the shells
are properly disposed
when the parties over
and everything is gone
then you know forever
what they call a low country boil
A barefoot boy on an old dirt road
Kicking dust up as he went
His lips all puckered, whistling a tune
He was happy and content
He carried a bucket by the bail
Had a cane pole on his back
And under his arm, all wrapped up tight
Was a burlap gunny sack
“Where are you going with all that stuff?”
I asked as he skipped on by
“I’m headed down to the Jack-Knife Creek
To catch Crawdads for a pie”
Wild child, , she ran free
barefoot imagination
soul born in the country
full of life, fascination
She was a wild mustang,
rearing, racing over hills
heart was full, spirit sang
lifetime memories were filled
She believed in fairies
knew elves were in the woods
leprechauns were scary
she’d catch one if she could
Pine trees and bracken fern
Crawdads in babbling streams
she embraced them to learn
what living really means
Fire flies that flit at dusk
She’d catch them in a jar
then let them free , she must
dreams fly, beacons from afar
Never really caught her dreams
now she has grown older
fire flies have flown away
Yet, time has made her bolder
Loves have come, gone in life
Children she has raised
wild child has seen strife
On knees, to God, has prayed
Wild women, you run free
full of imagination,
full of childhood memories
and lifetime inspiration
What was missing in my life?
You!
I lived many years without you,
not knowing what I was missing.
One day a surprise came to us
at an unexpected late- in- life date,
it was a baby boy.
He smiled at us with blue eyes
and bald little head,
and we were complete.
I treasured the cuddly feel of you,
fitting into my arms so well,
your weight seemed just right,
to pack you around every day,
even as you grew and grew.
You added an element to my life
that had been missing.
I now learned to slow down,
stop at playgrounds, push your swing
and sit in the one next to yours,
leaning back, looking up into
the crowns of swaying trees.
Taking walks, delighting in gathering fallen
red maple leaves, watching bugs
and birds.
Frogs and crawdads appeared in our bathtub,
I emptied your pockets while doing the wash
of rocks, seashells, dried katidid shells,
sticks and marbles.
I learned that stepping on jacks
at night while going to the bathroom hurts.
On your first fishing trip you accidently hooked a duck
and cried because you thought you hurt it.
I already knew of your compassionate heart.
You and I laughed and cried watching " Free Willy,"
"The fox and the hound" and "Alladin."
You brought joy to my life.
I learned that it is exciting to watch you play soccer,
I cheered and hooted and watched from the bleechers,
while you ran your little heart out,
I watched for signs of your asthma acting up,
but luckily you seem to outrun it.
On the first Halloween you were a little
smiling pumpkin that I pushed in the stroller,
but soon you were running with your buddies,
dragging a pillow case filled with candy,
and I had to scurry to keep up with you.
On your first day of school I was nervous,
I had to leave you with strangers.
Several of us Moms were hanging around the hallway
peeping into the door's little window,
until they made us leave.
Then came field trips, help with homework,
I was "room mother" to be near you and help,
and visited you in the cafeteria at lunchtime
on "Parent's day."
Suddenly, you are taller that me!
The braces came off, and you have a summer job,
and you are very good with it, I am proud of you.
You now have a Highschool Diploma and
are getting your driver's licence,
but you will always be my little boy,
and I will love you forever.
Love, Mom