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The Best Fit As A Fiddle Poems
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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Chrysalis
As healthy relationships go
Ours is as fit as a fiddle
Peak condition
Well fed on truth and
Admission
Tantrums I’ve thrown each
Childish full-blown
Cherished by love and
Compassion grown
From vulnerability
Liberty born on
The scream of my song
Heard as blue bird angels
By the heart of my biggest fan
This man of mine
Cocoon for emergence
In it’s early delicate form
For him I’ll be me
I’ll share who we are as we
Love
Now, then, ever be.
Copyright © Fiona Callaghan | Year Posted 2016
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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Just like the football I am
small on the ends and big in the middle.
Sharp as a tack and fit as a fiddle,
seventy four (in the waist) and can still bounce back.
Of course it’s pretty hard on the sacroiliac .
I think my shape is no big concern.
Some say, I look like a pregnant earth worm.
I’m bald on my head and have hair ‘tween my toes.
I shave with lectric scissors,
but, sweetheart I braid the hair in my nose.
Now, I do pluck those awful ones growin’ out my ears
cause when I turn sideways, heck
If I’m too close to you they might wrap around your neck.
Then where would I be with a obeasty charge to cover.
Shucks, I ain’t no beast, I’m a lover.
and I play football, when I get a dare.
© Steal this one, I don’t care.
cgh for Kristen Bruni’s “football” contest
Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2011
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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Switching channels, trying to stay on top
Mannings and Favre are the cream of the crop
Afraid to miss a single great play
Is this how a lady should spend her Sunday?
Vikings fans stand up and cheer
Purple and gold are winning this year
Look like dem Saints gonna 'Brees' (Understood?)
No more bags, no more 'Ain'ts" (Better knock on some wood!)
Not much success for the Tampa Bay Bucs
But faithful fans are still wishing them luck
The Giants appear to be bouncing back
Eli and team mates try to regain their track
Great quarterbacks like Luckman and Tittle
Let's hope our Giants remain "fit as a fiddle"
Touchdowns and field goals get fans outta their seats
While I scream and applaud, my cheerleading repeats
Reviews and replays are part of this game
As great football legends, their names shall remain
Let's get ready to watch game of football.
It's the number one game to watch in the fall.
Choose a team that will be a winner.
Watch the game just before dinner.
Oklahoma sooners is my team who's yours?
Many thanks to the football fans who contributed, including Linda-Marie Bariana, Karen
O'Leary, Tim Ryerson, Matthew Annish and Teresa Skyles (the Sooner fan!).
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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A Perfect Pair
Could a cat who has claws?
Ever become a Santa Claus;
Give out gifts like their play things;
Colorful bracelets with a bell that rings.
How about a Ho Ho Santa Claus hat;
Once was tall and is now flat
With a wide belt around the middle
And appears to be fit as a fiddle.
It always seems like and somehow
He will let out a loud meow;
He is sometimes proper and prim
And will find another just like him.
Both together make a perfect pair
And at each other just sit and stare;
When sundown does start to creep
You will see them fall fast asleep.
jthorn5656@atmc.net
Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2013
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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O! Rabbit, I am sincerely sorry!
For you were once alive and well,
But now you don't have to worry,
Because you are now dead,
We missed your head,
But we ran straight over your middle.
O! Rabbit, I am sincerely sorry!
You once were fit as a fiddle,
Until now of course,
Because we ran you over,
Once apon a time you jumped in clover,
And frolicked in the meadows,
With your fellows.
O! Rabbit, I am sincerely sorry!
Rest in peace, poor thing,
Were you still here,
I would take you under my wing,
Did it hurt much dear?
O! Rabbit, I am sincerely sorry!
We tried to miss you but failed,
So you got nailed.
O! Rabbit I am sincerely sorry!
Copyright © Eitak Nella | Year Posted 2016
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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Of antiquity's Gods I know little,
And yet somehow feel fit as a fiddle,
God of poems and plague
(Though connection's quite vague!) ,
But real life seems to rest in the middle.
Brian Johnston
August 2,2014
Poet's Notes:
With special thanks to Daniel Brick of PoemHunter.com for tempting me to enter arena's I would normally not dare to enter. I've been eaten by lions in too many different lifetimes! : -)
Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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I'M AS YOUNG AS I FEEL
I'M NOT GETTING OLD. I'M AS YOUNG AS CAN BE.
THERE'S NOTHING AT ALL THE MATER WIT ME.
MY HAIR IS NOT GRAY. THERE'S A SILVERY SHINE.
MY BACK IS NOT BENT I'VE A FANCY SHAPED SPINE.
WHEN I BREATHE, I DO NOT HAVE A WHEEZE.
I HAVE FUNNY SHAPED LEGS, BUT NOT BANDY KNEES.
MY TEETH ARE NOT GONE BECAUSE THE WERE OLD.
I EAT TOO MANY SWEETS, OR SO I'VE BEEN TOLD.
THESE HEARING AIDS, NOT FOR DEAFNESS, I'M SURE.
THEY SAY THAT PREVENTION IS BETTER THAN CURE.
I'M NOT GETTING SLOWER. I JUST TAKE MY TIME,
THE COLD DOESN'T GET ME. I ALWAYS FEEL FINE.
I DON'T HUFF AND PUFF MY WAY BACK FROM THE SHOP.
I DON'T GET TIRED AND DON'T HAVE TO STOP
YES, MY HAIR IS A LITTLE BIT LIGHT.
IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE SHAMPOO I WAS USING LAST NIGHT.
MY PULSE IS NOT DIM, IT'S JUST HARD TO FIND.
MY BONES ARE NOT BRITTLE, THERE ONE OF A KIND.
THESE ARE NOT WRINKLES, JUST MATURE SKIN.
I AM VERY WELL PROUD OF THE SHAPE I AM IN.
I'M AS FIT AS A FIDDLE, A SPRING CHICKEN STILL.
I AM NOWHERE NEAR OR OVER THE HILL.
THE GOLDEN AGE IS A LONG WAY AWAY.
UNTIL I AM READY, THATS WHERE IT CAN STAY.
BY SHIRLEY MOODY...
Copyright © Shirley Moody | Year Posted 2011
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Some days I wake up smiling
Today's sure not one of those days
Caught some kind of a flu bug
Wanna sleep the whole day away
Feel like a ruddy zombie
Got no drive, no get up and go
No longer a reason for living
I've come to the end of the show
Hide the pills and the liquor
Get rid of the knives and weapons
Feel like harming little animals
Looking for bugs to step on
Normally charming and lovable
But when bugs invade my body
Don't handle the invasion very well
This nasty man gets really snotty
Eventually I'll get back to normal
To my sweet and lovable self
Until then, please bear with me
Don't feel like a big happy elf!
© Jack Ellison 2012
Have no fear... wrote this a while ago.
Today I'm fit as a fiddle and feeling fine!
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2012
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The House That Jack Built (Pt. 2)
During Summer’s sweet vacation and sometimes on a school night,
When most were safe in Dreamland and the Village bathed in moonlight,
Nancy would toss gravel near my bedroom window, and loudly whisper my name,
Then wait for me to join her and others in a majority-ruled game.
I’d crawl through open window and grasp ledge with strong hand,
Then grope for shoulder or ladder with dangling feet, before leaping to land.
Occasionally we’d chase lightning-bugs down to the river,
Where sailors strolled about on anchored ship,
We would dive, swim, and play in the usual way,
But secretly ‘neath moon and starlight it felt more hip.
Oft times we’d pursue tree-climbing,
Racing as close to summit as we could,
It was on one such occasion I fell to the ground,
Disfiguring many branches on the way down.
It was awhile before I stood!
Almost crawled back to The House That Jack Built.
Grandpa would transform tree branches into bows and arrows,
And sometimes a nifty slingshot.
With jack-knife and chunk of wood he’d carve whistles,
And delight curious children with gifts of many a spinning top.
Each evening Grandpa would kneel by his bed and I'd strain ear to hear his prayers,
Then he’d straighten his back and his bones would snap,
As I’d creep down the tattle-tale stairs of The House That Jack Built.
When Pa had time off from his Section man’s job with the CNR,
He’d begin some home improvement but rarely got very far,
Because a neighbor would often show up with a watch needing repair,
Or he’d be obliged to help dig a well or cut some fella’s hair.
Pa often labored long into the night with tools of slightest degree,
With kerosene lamp as his only source of light by which to see.
With deep concentration and God-given skill, Pa persisted ‘til victory was won…
The time-piece was fit-as-a-fiddle before arrival of morning Sun.
The oldest girls helped nurse we younger four through measles and mumps,
With love, homemade chicken soup and Salada Tea.
After recovering our Great Lake Sailor brothers often rescued us,
From branch of tolerant Maple or Willow tree.
When glass fragments or slivers pierced foot or hand,
Pa removed the party-poopers with tweezers and ease,
Then shoo patient away with a smile, making the injury somehow worthwhile,
I felt pirouetted and squeezed... there in The House That Jack Built.
(Continue to Conclusion Pt.3)
Copyright © Joan Donnelly Ellis | Year Posted 2015
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A funny thing happened on the way to the Soup
Was accosted by a young girlie with a sign
A sign that read “WE WANT MORE GIGGLES”
And Jester Jack's our fellow of rhyme
Jester Jack's been missing for quite a while now
He's been writing bout mushy love stuff
Don't know what's come over this dear fellow
Of his funnies, we can't get enough
It's just a phase old Jack's going through
Maybe thinks his number's almost up
Naw that can't be it, this guy's fit as a fiddle
He's still as spry as a young pup
So for those who are patiently waiting for fun
Jester Jack promises giggles real soon
Getting back to his roots that's where he's heading
Won't be too long so y'all stay tuned
A funny thing happened on the way to the Soup
© Jack Ellison 2013
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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"You know this frigging tooth has been giving trouble since 1918 I can go on no
longer. For as long as my Name is Mark by God it's coming out bfore the night. I'll go
down to Shivnan's bar and the good doctor Gaffney will pull it out for me. I'll go
there quickly".
Parking the black bike against Shvinan's wall Mark went into the bar
Be god Tom Pat how ya doin. How are your cows? Are they giving any trouble.
Ara no Mark sure I had the best of Blue kerries at the back of my crop.
They are small but give the greatest volume of milk in the west.
So your fine. That'll do. Give a medium (half pint of guinness)
and a half one (measure of Whiskey) Mama. Thank you. Will doctor Gaffney be in.
We'll Mark how ya doing. He'll not be in till evening. He had to drop the sister back
to the train station in Boyle and she goes to Balla from there. Going back to States
you know. Doing well for herself. A writer no less. How many did he have. Six Mark,
three less than you and all doing well in the America.
Give me a meduim and a half one there mama again if you would. Yes but are they
sending the dollars home. That's the question. Then you know they are doing well.
Be god I ate little today Mama. Have you a plate of meat and bread Oh and a
medium and a half one before you get the pan.
Grand Mama a lovely feed. Six red pennies. What did you say Mama ?
Sure I did not say anything Mark. Give me a half one and a medium Mama.
Ara tom Pat sure I fought with the best of men over in Balla during the troubles.
Sure you told me before Mark an hour ago and a half hour ago. Do you want a drink
Mark.
I will. Good man yourself. We'll I was a man. And shot no one. Thanks be to God.
Sure I was with you then Mark I know well.
Latch goes on the bar door.
Ara John James come in. A half one for this man and meself. Can you crap my head
seeing your here.
How are you Mark?
Never was better, fit as a fiddle.
Good. Come in the back and bring your drink. One Red penny is all ?
Ara no problem. I'm thankful to you John James.
Mama a medium half one Mama.
Mark have you had enough maybe. Where's your bike?
It's up the mountain at the house.
Well listen here one more and Tom Pat will bring you home. He has the cart and it's
too many miles to walk. Besides Baa will worry. Is that Ok ? - Right Mama make it a
double half one so.
Next morning his tooth is like fire and brimstone as the mediums and half ones wore
off. (Circa 1920- Crap -hair cut then)
Copyright © Ian Foley | Year Posted 2011
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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Apostle Who Was A Fossil
Some seem to be calling me an apostle
Who they say looks like an old fossil
With hair which is so gray as can be
And bruised body bent just like a tree
He also does look like an acolyte
Who in a cave is slim as a stalactite
Bones became hard and very brittle
And now is no longer fit as a fiddle.
The middle we found on this fellow
Can be compared to a marsh mellow
And in our each eye comes a tiny tear
When we see him waddle with his rear.
After he finally became a grandfather
Won't lose any weight so why bother
And is it true or could it be a fable?
Heaven does have a big dining room table.
James Thomas Horn
www.poetrysoup.com
Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2014
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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My grandfather Hymie
spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes as testimony
to countless years
(spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittled
spumed raw elements que
sin art finest artisanal blended, crafted,
dredged by mother nature pre
pared within each trough and crest only
for thy fiercely weatherbeaten nee,
tough as rawhide, leathery,
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within
briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, prith ee
teaching him survival skills asper
getn' taut via eddy fied tests frequently de
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian mutual friend
shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man appeared quite be
coming. An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
ah...them tha many decades past
since the merchant
from Neptune to mast
to nether world, though his parting seems
like it hapt last
year, noot nay twas scores o' full moons ago,
that grim reaper came swift and fast.
Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017
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Ya know baby you're usually right
Center cut, intherace, that's your place
On target, red carpet, gotomarket
Hittin' the bull's eye, 'n baby, I'm your guy
Smack-Dab babe
Like the Nile, you flow the right way
Like Carlyle, know what ta say
With you, I'm okay
If ever I'm off and stray
Grab meaway, gimme a jab
Baby, that's Smack-Dab
You're like Ophelia, Antonin Scailia, multimedia, memorabilia
Honey, you're KarmannGhia! Oh, callmea cab
Baby, you're Smack-Dab
You're Lash La Rue, Peggy Sue, Scooby Doo, Mister Magoo
Honey, You're Super Glue! Wow! Back to the lab
Baby, you're Smack-Dab
You're so sure
We're at that stage, we needa sage
Honey, you're the rage!
Baby, you're Smack-Dab
You're like Al Gore, Dorothy Lamour, Dinah Shore, Za Za Gabor
Honey, you're no bore! Ain't never drab
Baby, you're Smack-Dab
You're so fab
Fit as a fiddle, Nelson Riddle, heat upthe griddle
Honey, you're in the middle!
Baby, you're Smack-Dab
You're Buster Crabbe, Colin McNab, take a stab, my bar tab
Honey, you're my rehab! Ah, the gift a gab
Baby, you're Smack-Dab
While it's true only you I adore
I really oughtta tell you more
Baby, Imma big time loser, a simple fleck
Honey, you're a sure winner, a stacked deck
You're my Madonna, only one I wanna
Someday you'll get rings 'n things
For now your praises, it's me who sings
I'd rope a Picasso with my trusty lasso
Ya know I'd buyeth, if I saw a good Wyeth
Honey, you're the latest 'n the greatest
Baby, that's Smack-Dab
Copyright © Greg Gaul | Year Posted 2018
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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Mark was a slo poke but a jolly rancher indeed
his wife Mary and baby Ruth his only family
life was sweet on the ranch called the M&Ms
along with his three musketeers, his hired help he called friends
His baby Ruth would give him hershey kisses every day
while his hired help couldn't wait for their payday
his loyal dog Skittles would go with him most everywhere
even as far as the Milky Way if his master so dared
Oh' Henry! Oh Mike and Ike! Mark called one day
his hired help came running without delay
take 5 Mark said, I have good news for all of you
how'd you all like a trip to NYC and the Bronx Zoo
Seems old Mr. Goodbar left mounds of money to me
I used to be his hired hand many years ago you see
100 grand is my very thoughtful inheritance from him
he was always such a very kind rancher that slim jim
So they all took a trip and even walked down 5th Avenue
getting to see Zero the new baby elephant at the Bronx Zoo
you could see the joy in his baby Ruth's almond eyes
as he handed her a tiger she named Kit Kat he won as a prize
Overweight and chunky Mark was by the time they got back
Mark hearing snickers from his wife as well as hired help
seeing his doctor he prescribed whatchamacallit pills for him
taking them daily he finally began to look himself like a slim jim
Several years passed and he was still fit as a fiddle
so he took off into the sunset with his sweet tart as she giggled
him on his horse Tootsie Roll and her on Butterfinger
stopping by for a bit o honey as by the lake they did linger.
2-18-18
Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2018
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I once knew a teacher who occasionally used the word ‘fiddle'. If perhaps he deemed something untrue or irrelevant; or if annoyed by students or otherwise disagreeable, he would simply say, “fiddlesticks”.
In the instrumental world of music, a fiddle is a violin. Have you read that Emperor Nero fiddled while Rome burned? And I once heard about a musical called, “Fiddler On The Roof”. But this is not the kind of fiddle that presently occupies my brain.
In nautical usage, a fiddle is a frame or railing on a ship’s table to keep dishes from falling off in rough weather. But 'fiddle’ of the high seas is not what I’m thinking about.
There’s such broad usage of a most simple word. Very interesting. Why, this most interesting word also addresses, ‘waste of time’. It also refers to being in excellent health, like ‘fit as a fiddle’.
O forbid that I should fiddle like Nero and ‘let things burn’. May I always be productive, never given to ‘wasting time’. But let me be energetic, useful, caring, and ‘fit as a fiddle’.
The word ‘fiddle’ also expresses one acting in a subordinate position, such as, ‘play second fiddle’. Finally! This is the ‘fiddle’ that I am talking about. If you have always been on top and driven to be number one or else, then perhaps the two spot is not for you. If you said 'no' when offered a VP position, or if you would never show up for a 6th man award, then second fiddle is not a good fit for you. Nevertheless, at some point, we all must ask the Gatorade question, “Is it in you? ” It took me a while.
After many years, I discovered a pattern in my life, and have come to believe that the pattern revealed the purpose of my life. Understanding my purpose
brought great peace.
cj02122014 PS Post 01082018
Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2018
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thirty-six twenty-four thirty-six... fit as a fiddle
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Monoku 5: Cliche - Poetry Contest sponsored by the Silent One
Friday, January 5th, 2018
Copyright © Mick Talbot | Year Posted 2018
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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Low sodium fare, less stress plus exercise ~happy, healthy new year!
Cliché used-Fit as a fiddle
Submitted for Monoku 5 Cliché Contest sponsored by Silent One
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2018
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Fit As A Fiddle Poem
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PLAYING WITH CLICHÉS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
recycle plastics... what goes around comes around
~~
thirty-six twenty-four thirty-six... fit as a fiddle
~~
where there's muck there's money... all that glitters isn't gold
~~
see the facts... use a mirror... don’t get your knickers in a twist
~~
speak out or... has the cat got your tongue...
~~
history... good or bad... only time will tell
~~
true love... every cloud has a silver lining
~~
how times have changed but.. opposites will always attract...
~~
mother nature begs... recycle... don’t cry over spilt milk
~~
who told that lie... all is fair in love and war
~~
don't whisper... speak up or shut up
~~
be in it to win it... a bird in the hand is worth two in a bush
~~
recycle... live long and prosper
~~
at weddings... many a true word spoke in jest... i do...
~~
if only... speak now or forever hold your peace
~~
playing with words... isn't that a cliché...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inspired by Silent One's challenge Monoku #5 cliché
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/contests/monoku_5_cliche_11070#MemberContestDescription
Copyright © Mick Talbot | Year Posted 2018
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If you press an elevator button three times it comes faster
A well known fact but it also makes you a love making master
Understand what I'm sayin'?
For a break you'll be praying
Only try it if you're fit as a fiddle or it could end in disaster
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2018
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Must have been something I ate no doubt
Spent the early morning hours down and out
Quite unusual for me
As fit as a fiddle dee dee
Not often it hits me with such a clout
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2018
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(scoured from dregs of me muss held head)
I shore up a vignette to free
my ("FAKE") grandfather Hymie,
whose scrunched countenanced
evinced beetle that of browed monkey
he spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes smoothed
nick holed money
to countless years (spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittle nee
where watery terrain spumed
raw elements piscine
art finest artisanal blended, crafted, nein
mean feet resources dredged reluctantly
relinguished by mother nature mean
craftily pared within each trough and crest
found thee old man with privateer mein
whose skin fiercely weatherbeaten
leathery and lean,
epidermis tanned tough
as rawhide, reptilian, prithee
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, 'ee
got taut learn'n survival skills asper
pre ponder hunt via eddy fied tests frequently dee
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian
mutually bonding friendship
via shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man
appeared quite becoming.
An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018