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Best Crayfish Poems | Poetry

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The Best Crayfish Poems

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Summers Everlasting

Sand in sheets
scuffing skin and reminding 
last nights attire reaks like bonfire
 a hundred days like this 
   a sea of endless laughs rolling 
     like filmreels infinitely looped fantastic

Their cars rolled in, shiney and pretentious
  personalized plates waxed clever wit
crowding this small town to gloat in sand-side castles
Yacht club yucks shelling bucks like bayou crayfish
  condescending, fun loving, brash Chicago touristas
Bless their daughters who filed in sassy
  chin up, chest out trustafarians
scents of coconut lotion and clinique perfume
  wafting through our warm lake breeze reality
Giddy and loving our rough edged style
  intending to slum with townies, like we minded...
  smiles glowing in those bonfire nights
     mischievious and promising...
Every action thereafter defied catholic school education
   ...benificiaries of repression we minded!

Lake Michigan was paces from my bedroom window
 These sparrow serenaded mornings..
  ...morphing into something amphibious 
when the alewives were raked, we lay lazy 
Bodies melted into sand~~ sated with sun
 splashing back to cool off in sandbars
   coolers anchored in those cool waters
     taking long pulls off a perspiring Heineken

Beach days concluded with seagulls off to hunt
  Squaking as they ascended into pink and orangecicle skies
The water shimmered like a million illuminated snakes
 ...side winding-mirrored the suns final say
Couples pulled up to Harbor landing to see the show
  heads melted into one mass in windshields all around
    lovers seeing nature's beauty more vibrant as lovers do...

The sunset brings a new purple backdrop
  squaks are replaced with crickets chirps 
Bright-then-fading green...BRIGHT-then fading green
  Children gathered fireflies in jars laughing
Ice cream stained faces aglow with captive glee
Then to black and star filled, became the sky
  we returned to cooler sand pushing between our toes
scurrying through dunegrass seeking driftwood and brush
 creating a structure to take to flame...a science for proud boyscouts
There we gathered with newfound gals from cross lake 'burbs
  sunrise would end our night tonight...awaking to lifeguards scolding.

Inspired by John Heck's Summer Contest!!

Copyright © Steve Voorhees | Year Posted 2009

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Wavelets On The Pool

Tiny wavelets on the pool today,  a gentle
breeze and raindrops fall with a rhythmic
pitter patter. The ducks and wildfowl pay
no heed, around the sedge bob and feed. 
The Heron standing as if frozen, his
cunning eye a prey has chosen. And the
elegant Swan glides, the Cormorant
beneath the water slides. And the grey 
clouds float on by on this quiet day at the
pool, the reeds sway and insects hide away,
dry wings are required to survive. The Otter
on its back dines on an unlucky Crayfish,
seems well at ease with his surrounds, and
the Water Vole enters a hole to the squeak 
of hungry mouths. In the centre of the pool
a love dance, two Crested Grebes court, 
ducking, bobbing, all magic to the eye. All
this beauty in the pitter patter, life goes on 
it does not matter. Nature gives in many
ways, and as always this heart enslaves.

Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010

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 HOME. By Ted Bundy

There is a place not far from here where purple maggots are the size of deer, pink frogs are there wearing bowties  and hats, now put your hands together for the rolling skating rats. Green fluorescent tawny owls are snorkelling in the pool,while a wallaby in swimming trunks tries to play it cool. Its also the island where neon zebras are found,they plug into a capsule buried underground, the lions fish for skunks and illuminous crayfish dress up as monks.  Theres a barrel of laughing monkeys and some gigantic leathery snails, cockroaches modelling footie boots,even anorexic whales. 
Spiders in tracksuits riding pushbikes with ease, with a cross-dressing chipmunk flying high on trapeze. Bristly skinned donkeys snowboard on thin ice, and a 5 headed emu shoots craps and rolls dice. Glance over yonder at the transparent camels, their glass humps are crawling with mice, stare at the turtles dressed to the nines, and here comes a beard complete with head lice. Theres some inbred iguanas,and some lukewarm limey lugworms,  snorting clear cider through straws, gorillas dress as men and theres a psychotic hen, taping rusty razors to her claws. Over at the gym, theres  miss matched mastiffs, squashing each other underfoot, and an armadillo in a pin striped suit is trying to pick up a shot-putt. Hidden amongst the undergrowth you might be lucky enough to see, our south american weasel sloth sucking leather splinters from a tree, and theres no need to stare in awe if you see a tartan wild boar,trying to saw his assistant in half, his illusion tricks are a mystifying mix,  guillotine, two nuns and  a bloody  laugh. Up here on the right is our new Bull arena, the atmospheres heavy, ive never heard it meaner, in runs the first one already *****scared,beaten and blind, running in circles and ****ed out of his mind, the poisoned steely spikes creating pus filled blistered sores, the crowd ****ing love it killing Spanish matadors. A family of minks are enjoying the show, sipping their juice and gin, i especially admire their matching attire, its top of the range human skin. This is a change from the norm, a better way of life, a lot more colour,  and a lot less bleeding strife. Its a paradise for sure, and packed with fun and glee, where a hip hop alley cat, a sabre toothed fruit bat, and a clarinet playing koala, will serve you cake and tea. Yes, this is the place where pink Buffalo roam, Heaven on Earth for them, they call it Home.

Copyright © Ted Bundy | Year Posted 2012

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A Gummy Fisherman

Kevin L Fairbrother
The sheltered bay disguised what was to come
Around the headland we hit it head on
Four to five meter waves and breaking on top
And a wind that was building making lots of spray

A man takes many risks for a crayfish on his plate
For the pots needed to be pulled from the deep reef
Then baited with a fresh lot of stinking fish bait
Hoping to lure the wily crayfish into the pot

With the sea boiling the boat cut through the waves
Sending water and spray every which way
The fisherman holding on to keep their feet on deck
As the motors strain to keep a forward motion

The fishermen search for the buoys in the white water
As the rolling sea tosses them about like a cork in a bottle
The buoys know sighted make ready to haul the pots up
Hoping that they contain a few crayfish for their effort

There is no color in the first three pots, they are baited
Then tossed back into the rough and deep water
The last pot pulled and on the deck contains one small cray
Not a keeper, what a bummer, throw him back to grow bigger

With head down low kneeling on the deck
The rotten bait smells so ghastly get up my nose
Dry reaching, pale and feeling quite sick
I heave it up and let it flow over the side

Boy oh boy did I let the sickness flow
Breakfast, dinner and tea all in one go
I heaved it up my false teeth went with it
Over the side and into the boiling sea

Feeling miserable and quite ill, we headed back
To the bay and much calmer water
I thought about my teeth now in the water
Maybe a Gummy shark ate them up?

So now I fish the bay with a toothless mouth
And I target the Gummy Shark, hoping in vain
That one day whilst fishing, I will be lucky 
And catch the Gummy that has a toothy smile

Copyright © Kevin Fairbrother | Year Posted 2016

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Another New Year

Another New Year
Kevin L Fairbrother

2014 done and dusted
I’ve welcomed in 2015
With a beer and a crayfish
Round a campfire with some friends
New resolutions, not for me old mate
Cause I won’t keep what I promised
So I’ll just open up the gate… and
Let fate decide what’s in store for 2015
Like the man in the barbed wire canoe
Spearing tadpoles with a crow bar
You can bet my year won’t be great
But I’ll tough it out and see it through
I’ll do a bit of travel in me Ute and Van
Probably round Australia and free camp
When I can
Catch up with some mates along the way
Have a chin wag and a beer or two
I don’t really give a rat’s ****
What goes on in this world of turmoil
As long as they pay me pension
I’ll just live my life as free as a bird
But I will say this old mate
That’s it’s your family and friends
That will get you through the gate
Should a little trouble strike
So enjoy your life one and all
Leave your troubles behind the gate
Love your family, friends and mates
 Be kind to your heart, it has only so many beats

Copyright © Kevin Fairbrother | Year Posted 2015

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A Time Honoured Stretch of a River

There’s a time-honoured stretch of a river
that’s a cog in the natural wheel
flowing longer than mans’…
time upon earth
and home for the blackfish and eel.

They say that the time of the crayfish
goes back to the dinosaurs’ day 
and rocks that are fighting…
the endless flow
ever slowly, have eroded away.

There’s a time-honoured stretch of a river
fighting the log on a bend,
diverting through snags…
rippling on sand
finding it’s own way to wend.

Platypus live in a backwater swirl,
where flotsam is blending with foam
a track has been worn… 
down from the bank
and leads to a water-rats home.

There’s a time-honoured stretch of a river
Well guarded by wattle and gum.
Sword grass and fern…
ti-tree and hazel 
are providing a haven for some.

The parrot and fantail along with the bellbird
create many tunes in this vale.  
Whistles and shrieks…
one syllable notes
or the currawongs’ melodic wail.

There’s a time-honoured stretch of a river
where I am a gourmet delight
for march fly and leech…
bush fly, mosquito
or the bull-ant’s unbearable bite.

There has been flood when the river runs wild,
and the land is totally drenched,
the litter from hills…
is wrapped around trees
with mountain silt weakly entrenched.

There’s a time-honoured stretch of a river
with a calming appeal for my mind,
Where I can sit…
where I contemplate.
It’s a place to completely unwind. 

Nature has given me more than the peace
in the harmony it does deliver
here in the valley… 
pristine, unspoiled, 
on a time-honoured stretch of a river.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015

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She Had Sunshine in Her Hair

Everywhere she went her hair sparkled. It glistened in the morning sun, the noonday sun, and at dusk too. The waves in her auburn hair were her glory. The freckles on her cheeks even stood out as a unique mark of her beauty. Her pigtails messily put together as she grabbed her rain jacket and ran out the front door only to return at the end of the day.

All day she played exploring secret hiding places in the woods behind her home, and finding delight in the smallest things like crayfish and daddy-long leg spiders who became her childhood friends. Playing in the mud and rolling down the hill at the back of her property, she imagined it covered with snow in the middle of the summer. Being outdoors was her delight. To be called in at the end of the day was the greatest disappointment. An earth angel not a house dweller.

One day while she was playing, she heard the voice of God who had been playing beside her all day long. He gently spoke to her heart in a way that only she would know that it wasn’t her imagination. He said to her, “Come on! Let’s climb that gigantic apple tree!” Up she went exploring its branches. Spindly yet strong, she could handle the highest limbs. Up, up, and away to the highest spot. Next she found the most magnificent apple of all. A Granny Smith with not a single worm hole on its surface. She took the biggest bite and was so proud of her newest accomplishment.

After that warm afternoon she began to conquer the other trees in her yard. They all had different kinds of fruit and they all had different kinds of rewards. Nevertheless, she climbed and she climbed making every tree a mental mountain to overcome. As she mastered every tree in her yard, she began to look at other trees outside of her yard. Her appetite for adventure was limitless. Her appetite for adventure was given to her as a gift from her God. Soon she will travel to Mount Everest and conquer its surface. First she has to find the right climbing gear!

(This story is a true story of my early years with my Lord).
Gwendolen Rix 

Psalm 127: 1-3

Copyright © Gwendolen Song | Year Posted 2015

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Cheeky Smile

I remember the sail boat gliding
down the stream,over slippery
boulders and frothy cream.

The Kingfisher darting by, the
tangerine flash catching eye,
minnows hide, scattering fry

And ratty on the grass bank,
gnawing on a crayfish shank,
once he'd eaten the water drank

As Dippers bathed and the
Wagtail's played, in the safety
of the willows shade.

Jam butties covered in soil,
yesterdays bread curling up,
A bottle Tizer there to sup

Scratched knees and nettle rash,
Oiled legs from the bicycle chain,
The long walk home in pouring rain

Then mothers arms at the open door
A whack round the ear, asking what 
for, your late, dinners on the plate.

 A cheeky smile across this face

Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010

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Boy Bitten By A Crayfish

Boy Bitten By a Crayfish

When women seen with no powers to create

Vessel to feed male seed for generations

She could make images live and update

Both of procreation and creation.

Once drew a painting of a laughing girl

Sent to Michelangelo to review

Quickly returned the painting with a hurl

Draw on the subject of crying child anew.

She painted “Boy bitten by a crayfish”

Tear-eyed brother weeping over the cut

The sister trying much hard to appease

And make peace with great master’s guts.

This feat, noticed by artists of her time

Was placed with “Cleopatra” in prime.

 Fifth place win
in Cindy's contest

** I was inspired to write this poem by her painting BOY BITTEN BY CRAYFISH, one of her earlier painting**

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2013

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Job Offer

I was driving down Webb road, with the thoughts I’ve had all week,
And that is upon the crayfish that I net in Shady Creek,
Webb road is not a long one, but it’s narrow and it winds, 
And scrub that’s clinging to the edge is thick and often blinds.

That’s why I guess a cat is squashed upon the edging of the road,
Because pedestrians don’t stand a chance with cars in travelling mode
Where they fly around the corners at a speed that’s way too fast,
But who cares about a flattened cat when they are driving past.

When I parked me car beside the bridge, with the Shady flowing under,
I thought about the lifeless cat, and how I could have made a blunder,
The bait I have is mainly bone, with bits of meat to lure me prey,
When knowing that the meat of cats, is loved better by a cray. 

I laid me nets out on the grass, while in me mind there is debate,
Should I use the bones or take a drive, and grab the better bait.
It will take a short ten minutes; therefore the cat will bear the load,
So I’m changing gears back in me car, when driving down Webb road.

With the cat upon me mind, and driving past a farmers home,
The last thing that I expected was a rooster on the roam,
I felt the bird go underneath, and through my mirror at the rear,
All I could see was flying feathers and the Rooster on its ear.

That buggered up me day alright, I’m fishing on this farmer’s place,
He’ll probably mention ‘shot gun’ when I tell him face to face,
So apprehensively I tapped his door and when he stood in front of me,
I said “I’ve got news you will not like. Your rooster’s a fatality”.

He stared at me with misty eyes; I thought he found it hard to face it,
So I shrugged me shoulders and I said, “Look, allow me to replace it”.
I was nervous waiting his response, and then he threw me right off track… 
When he shrugged and answered, “Suit yourself. The chooks are ‘round the back”. 

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015

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Large but in a Small Size

A one time monster in military prowess but unbelievably luke-warm in all global turmoils. After one and two, it stands tallest in shipment of melodious sounds; from its creative mind comes the modern-day seat belt and the first to eradicate kid’s domestic judgments. Tradition is highlighted by its crayfish party, while the woods and beings share equal ration of existence. The moose then creates an Irony in the danger of death all in confinement of the most highly taxed population in the globe.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015

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To a person, they say, frigid, Translation of Paul Verlaine's poem: A celle que l'on dit froide

To the person, they call, frigid, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem : A celle que l’on dit froide

(Poem written on September 5, 1889 at Aix-les-Bains, which I found a bit jarring with abrupt exclamations and interrogations, not to mention the repetitive « jusqu’à/aux » which somewhat marrs the tour de terrain of the young lady’s seductive contours. The second person familiar pronoun « tu » is used throughout by the persona.
T. Wignesan)

You are not the most loving
Of those who partook of my flesh ;
You’re not the most appetising
Of women other winters me enmesh.

But I adore you all the same !
Besides your body sweet and benign
Overall in its supreme calm,
So generously endowed feminine.    

So voluptuous that words cannot suffice,
From the feet upwards lingeringly kissed
Up to those clear pure ecstactic eyes
So much for the good or better be appeased !

Rising from the legs and the thighs
Green fresh under the taut young skin,
Your odour of medical splnts well-nigh 
Comes through the smell of crayfish*, looking 

Winsome, discreet, a soft little Thing
Hardly slender or the shadow of one,
Out as an apotheose unfurling
To my raucous desire numb.

Upto the budding nipples infantile,
Peaking hardly at puberty of a miss,
Upto your neck triumphant while
Swan-like sail down your body Venus,

Upto these shoulders lush and glowing,
Surging over the mouth on to the forehead
Looks so naïve innocent-looking
Such that the truth may be forfeited,

Upto her close-cut haïr curling as
The tonsure of a handsome young lad,
But whose waves, overall, charm us,
The way they dress without fuss or fad. 

Then, going past slowly down the spine
Made for pleasure undulating, up to
The sumptuous buttocks, whiteness divine,
Roundness by the scissor legs apt to

Fluffy Canova ! Upto the thighs
That we salute yet once more,
Down the calves, deliciously tight,
Down to the heels of golden rose !

Were the ties that bound us unforced ?
No, but they were their own attraction.
Was the fire engendered by us mad ?
No, but it provided the heat in unison.

As for the Point, Frigid ? Not at all. Fresh.
I said that our « earnest concentration »
Was above all and I lick my lips,
Something surely better than masturbation.

Although this’s also those propensities
Which got you prepared well together,
As you/they say, such improprieties ,
Made of me a Lodger.

And I keep you among the/my women,
With regret, but not without some hope
That by the way we may make love when
We see ourselves again, I hope !

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2013

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River Life

                           River Life

     Between ancient rolling chalk hills the age old river flows

     Where orange and blue cloaked Kingfisher over chalk stream feeds.

     Water Voles hunt and the family of an Otter grows.

     White petalled Water Crowfoot among fresh water reeds

    And in clear running brooks the Trout, Crayfish and Grayling swim.

     For the Contest 'River Line' by Rick Parise
     14 syllables per line checked by ''

        Barry Stebbings

Copyright © Barry Stebbings | Year Posted 2016

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The Emerald Doorway

There lies a location with an Emerald Doorway
leading to a shared past.
Waiting for it's own children to visit.
We slipped thru the portal again this summer,
Jacquie, I and another child, her son Joe.
Immediately, I sensed decades of joy surrounding us
And heard the echoes of our horses hoofs
tamping down the path.

Undisturbed, the path lay awaiting our return.
Fertile earth delighting to feel our familiar tread..
The ancient beech, carved with our milestones,
stood sentinel over our clearing.
Sunbeams lighted the moss, remembering long

Gnarly grapevines dangling memories of our Grasps,
ready to swing over the ravine, into our past.
Inviting us to a smokey treat, flavored by  long ago.

A musical voice...the stream, called to our
remembering and our playfulness...
urging us to slide it blue-smooth slate
Among the creatures, salamanders, crayfish and 
minnows, staring in wide-eyed wonder at seeing us again.
into our swimming hole, waiting to baptize us in 
the wonderment of nature... to carry with us, 
Our childhood home.

Copyright © Lydia Brescia | Year Posted 2014

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New Orleans Visit

In New Orleans, we 
Make crabs, crayfish, gumbo, then
We'll all come bayou!

Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2011

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Surreal Nature

the old grist mill leans nestled in the rocky bank red fall leaves surreal
The swift red stained creek that energized the mill's wheel still runs over ancient rocks on its course to the mighty sea. Its course unchanged for eons but the use of its steady resources remain. The red leaves upon the trees surrounding the creek will soon be spent.Their usefulness soon to be gone..
the red sweet gum leaves fall twirling land 'pon hard rocks... crayfish hide beneath
Small white water rapids gush over the stony bottom and tiny waterfalls continously rushing forth to the nearest river and then onward to the mighty ocean touching on all continents then coming home to rush forth once again..Rushing water that supports all life upon this good earth..The gushing water that supported the grist mill and the small community..The water is still there and the mill is still there but the people have deserted the once thriving way of life..
lapping water flows as people flow far away... bream wait spring to spawn
Sponsor: Broken Wings Contest: Haibun Written: September 21, 2013

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2013

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Hillbilly Language

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

Copyright © Larry Belt | Year Posted 2010

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She doesn’t remember what
she loved about me
so i hold her in my elbows
as if she needed someone to save her
and i hate that i’ve always believed in
things i couldn’t touch

tree house ladder i climbed you
with the weight you swung into me
told the sky
glow heartbeat
glow strong
glow window pane
hold me tight with your seatbelt arms
i am hammock swing
stardust cough
xylophone fingers
bruise easy rock swing
the meaning of yes
the language of whales
she doesn’t remember what we felt like together
she pauses like maybe i won’t see myself in hers
bones i shift
and the city deserts me deep
and indigo sky knuckle down nosebleed
i resorted to creating new memories with you
by looking at old photographs
and pretending i had been in them
glove compartment hawk heart i pulled
sky captain kite punch like
you name me adventure
name me skip trunk keys scrape
name me stranger
like elevator kiss
like storm clouds
like hummingbird heartbeat
i said i like who i am as a person
and you pulled away
as if my skeleton wasn’t big enough to hold both of us
you wore apple core lips
like i should never be sad
that i spent all this time kissing someone who
didn’t want to be kissing me
as if i tasted like relief
like you wanted to cut me into your esophagus
and hush
like quiet city
like loves becoming a plea bargain
like spit me out as a watermelon seed
you say lets get married and name all of our children ribcage
i pull through her thumb locked
and aware of all the times she said apologizing would
just sound empty
and i whisper i hope if i’m getting old
it’s because you make time nonexistent
do not cantaloupe smile
do not flashlight heart
do not risk what you cannot promise on me
do not wear me like we are the same size
i’m building life with slice wounds on the bottom of me feet
deep enough to hide hopes in
so i can wear them into the ground
how to reach from my heart
so you don’t apple adam promises that
sound like
i never lied to you
i want you to teach me
to glow heartbeat
glow strong
glow windowpane
with blood in your
mouth like you thought climbing trees
could teach us to fight distance
remember to hold me
like you know how to shake
remember to keep everything at arms length
remember to palm scoop crayfish
remember to break me
like you know what you cared for about me
these are my confessions on a street corner
bent shattered and proud
I promise to never use words like always 
refer to you and I in the future tense 
or reveal wishes before they come true 
because every person I’ve ever loved 
has said I was the best thing 
that ever happened to them when they left me.

Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012

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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

Copyright © Charles Sides | Year Posted 2011

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Sex Life Of A Crayfish

Is checking crayfish gender easy as you might guess?
Tugging on the legs results in quite a mess! 
First know your species, molting phase and such
Lift the legs and "peeks" won't tell you very much
Gender identification your first step towards success
Knowing if you have a Red Swamp or Bayou Cray is best
Although it's not impossible to identify mating phase
If appendages missing you'll have no sex to praise

So "good luck" as you struggle to burn the midnight oil 
Enlighten with your knowledge the hopes,dreams and toil
Just remember "never give up" if it's sex that you must know
Carefully spread the legs ....your experience will show!

Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2013

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Bamboo Forests

Poetic Lyrics By Thomas Lam Hsi

SAVE FROM Satan...who plays 'all' roles...the devil...the 'Lord Jesus'...
the 'Father'...the 'Holy Spirit'...all 'Other Gods'...and 'alien gods'...HE...THE
IS THE ONLY WAY TO GOD THE FATHER...and to an Actual Heaven!

Rustlin winds...'n...fishin RING!

Johnny's comin...''s...dining...MAKES ME SING!

Cut me a pole...'n...he's too old...broke my heart...MY ONLY HEART! stole my heart...crayfish 'n tarts...MY COLORED HEART!

Hide 'n seek...'n teddy RING!

Passin notes...'n secret jokes...a dinner prom...YOU MADE ME SING!

Crystal glass...our names to forgot...MY SILK RED NIGHT!

In the middle of the night...I SILK RED NIGHT!

Johnny...bamboo forests...'n holes...'n poles...MADE TO LAST...CAN LAST!

Those diamond rings...'n colored roses...CAN LAST...A DIAMOND RING...TO LAST!

That sparkle in your eyes...FOREVER MINE...A SUNSET...IN THE SKY!

My silk red night...A NIGHT TO the morning...YOU DROVE BY!

Johnny...bamboo forests...'n silken soft...TEARS...STAINED THROUGH THE YEARS!

Honey...WE MADE IT...through all these MY TEARS...THROUGH

In the middle...of the forest...with company...DINING...PAST...SUPPER-TIME!

We laughed...we cried...THAT DIAMOND RING...IT...KEPT...YOU MINE!

The memories...WE CARVED...through the years...left SOME STAINS...and SOME TEARS!

Johnny...a fisher...A MAN...a silly boy...A MAN...WHO MADE...ME...TEAR...just SOME TEARS!

Copyright © Thomas Hsi | Year Posted 2014

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Soul Tunes

You almost have to be from New Orleans to understand
the mixture of the music that wails throughout the city,
It's zydeco, jazz, Cajun, classical, rhythm and blues
any combination from which you can pick and choose. 

Fats Domino and Huey 'Piano' Smith live down the street
along with Harry Connick Jr, Ronnie Kole and Mac Rebenack.
Mac came to record one day missing a finger, laid down his guitar
took up piano and called himself Dr John. 

You can't stop the music in New Orleans. You can't stop the musicians.
They are the soul of the city and the only time they hang up their ax
is when it's time to eat a hot plate of Red Beans and Rice, boiled crayfish,
hot boiled crabs, shucked oysters and thin fried catfish . Yum Yum 

When Fats was playing in New York he called Mrs Leah Chase and said, 
"Send me a hot shrimp po-boy and  toast the bread crispy!"
That po-boy was on the next plane headed to the big apple.
Hence the song,  "Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans"

Every bar of which there are many, too many perhaps, has music
and every establishment has excellent entertainment or they're fired.
A known New Orleans fact is "You cannot have music without food"
Hence, Soul Music and Soul Food, wipe your hands,  let's dance! 
Contest:  Soul Tunes
Sponsor: Kristen Bruni


Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2011

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Black Tracker

Smell of fresh horse dung on the breeze, Not far away, just north of here, Keep walking on the rocky ground , No panic, yet no fear, Palm island Prison, I escaped, Swam ashore, I nearly died, Saw the fins of noahs arks, (sharks) Dog paddling, still so tired, Black tracker follows me, I see him in my mind, Jacky sticks like glue, does he, My tracks are pretty hard to find, The Traps they come, at walking pace, Tracker picks the way, Up or down the river , Might cost em half a day, Eat a few mussel clams, found under the waters edge, just a creeping through the water, doubled back under a ledge, Traps they hurry away to the west , follow them, I might find, And now I’m tracking Jacky , I think the buggers blind, So the Traps get tired of looking, My track just can’t be found, So they return to the coast, say they think I’m drowned, So I walked inland four hundred miles, Went home to live in the bush, Lived off the land, Goanna and Sheep, In the land of the wait awhile. lovely Crayfish that I keep, In my home land I do sleep, me Boomerang goes woosh, no need for me to bloody rush, wild duck will have me fed. Don Johnson
Dedicated to Bill Hopkins who did just that....know as hoppy...

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2012

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The road I took

Blame  me for the road l° took
Yes, you saw  me walk through it
But what else do you know

A choice l° made  while both eyes
Suffered from glychoma
But, l° did stare as far as l° could

It is my choice
Like a sail during a tempest
But l° am no christ

Did l° but have the luxury of choice
Like a beggar
l° wouldn't have chosen this part

Where torn are my marbles
Snakes, my children's dolls
Scorpion my crayfish

Blame me for the child l° have
l° chose to be raped
Who enjoys sex under assault and battery

Blame  me for being a convict
l° wish l° didn't own that parcel of land
That l° refused to sell to the Governor

Blame  me for failing that course
l° should have slept with that lecturer
l° wonder whether he has a daughter

Blame me for dating a cougar
My first class couldn't secure  ?e the job
I deserve good housing and accommodation too

Blame  me friend, for not believing in love
l° have an irreparable heart
How do you mend a broken glass?

Blame  me for being barren
l° allowed my boyfriend push  ?e into several 
He said l° should do it, if l° love him

Blame  ?e for prostituting
l° wish l° had parents
or maybe that education was free

My friend, always ask for the tale
When you have heard the story

Copyright © Magnus Nwagu Amudi Esq | Year Posted 2012

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True Story A Whales Tale


Believe it or not this story is true it occured on 11/6/01.  at Kiakoura in the south 
island New zealand.

At a place called Kiakoura, the other day,
there was a thirty foot whale, in distress in the bay.
A crayfish pot,and rope, around the whales body was wrapped,
it struggled,and struggled, slowly its strengh was being sapped.
So a group of men, out in a fishing boat went,
to see if they could help, before the whale was entirely spent.
Scuba gear on, into the water went Tom,
around to the whales head he swum.
On seeing the man, the whales struggles ceased,
Tom swam up, and touched the mighty beast.
One by one he cut the ropes strands,
the whale turned on its side, to lend a hand.
When the cray fish pot was cut loose from the tail,
thinking it was free, off swam the whale.
But after a hundred yards or so, it came to a stop,
allowing Tom to swim up, and remove the whole lot.
Turning around, the whale looked Tom in the eye,
shook its head from side to side, as if to say thanks, and good bye.
Then with a flip of its tail, it dived and was gone.

Copyright © 38 Tango | Year Posted 2007