Long Catfish Poems
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Catfish and Jack
Here a lot. Oh, there a little. Every where there is some catfish. Here a little. Oh, there a lot, is a jack being played by that catfish.
Jack, not again. Dude, you're such a fool. You really lack understanding.
Oh, here a rub. Oh, there a tug. He dances at their request. Oh here a tug. Oh there a rub. He jumps at their distress. Jack, he is simply a catfish marionette.
Dude not again. Jack your such a fool. You really do lack discernment.
Here a lot, oh there a little is always some kind of jack and some kind of catfish. Oh here a little, Oh there a lot, is that someone like Jack being played by that some kind of catfish.
Yes, she was svelte, she was gorgeous, this gal of mine was 21, and had my heart jumping.
Her photo was of a beautiful waif, with a head of red hair that had my heart pumping.
We had talked a lot about catfish, both the kind that we eat, and the kind that intrudes
All over the Facebook and Snapchat pages, laughing at the antics of others, some rude.
“You’re probably 65,” she said, laughing after she had called and asked to meet me as the real me.
“You’re probably 64,” she said. We both laughed, knowing we’d know when we met at the sycamore tree.
When we arrived, at the exact same time, I instinctively knew it was her, by her walker.
We were arriving with matching walkers, and completely unknown by the cardinal, a big squawker.
I was 66, and she was 66 too; we had met in school over fifty-years ago. She had not changed a bit.
“Hey, there,” she said with happiness. “You’re much younger than I suspected,” She gave my arm a gentle punch; damn, that girl could hit!
We had a catfish dinner, and split the tab.
Both knowing we had been rather bad.
Moving to Lake Shore sites was definitely cool
Our home was so large and faced the water
Cameron fixed up an old boat
We held hands on the dock
He taught me how to cast a line and bait a hook
He caught catfish, crappie and sometimes perch
One night our dog got lost so we started a search
Our friends joined us and we went out to look
He'd seen birds and chased the whole flock
Feathers stuck to his coat
In June we had a visit from my granddaughter
It was summer break so she was off school
She had not swam anywhere other than a pool
She wanted to fish so grandpa taught her
She loved to splash, swim and to float
She'd sunbathe on a rock
She didn't like to clean fish but she would help cook
Summer at the lake was the best on earth
01/06/2021
Written for contest, A Little Memory-My Invented Form
Sponsor, Constance La France
I was on my way to school when it happened.
You see, I never miss school and for me,
playing hooky has an entirely different meaning!
Well,
I was scrounging up some lunch along the way.
By the by, the Mississippi river is a great place to eat!
and I came upon what I thought was a great big
Seaweed salad.
Opening wide for my first taste, snagged!
my left whisker caught in a net.
Yes, I know what you’re probably thinking,
he’s still in school and he has whiskers?
I was really scared.
I for one, do not intend to end up
covered in corn meal, sizzling in a frying pan.
You know, I have aspirations. But, my mom says
stay in school so I have something to fall back on.
I can sing!
Sure, some may call it noise but hey,
there was Hootie and the Blowfish, why not
Codie and the Catfish?
The swan was not satisfied, she felt her neck was way too long.
And the way it bends, she argued, it is embarrassing.
I look in the water all the time; I would like to see the sky.
I am always looking at the sky the catfish told her,
because owls and hawks are forever diving down here
and eating my relatives. My uncle Fred got taken on Tuesday.
The frog on the bank rolled his eyes. Hoping he had not
moved them fast enough to warn the fly who had been coming.
Snap! Slurp! Lunch was delicious.
A small child was walking on the path, so they all moved along.
They did not fancy humans. They had seen what the ones with
the long pieces do to a poor defenseless deer
A deer must have read my thoughts, for she bound over the
bush into a bramble of thicket just beyond the pond.
Doggy! The child yelled.
So that’s what they call deer.
Wisemen, shaman, and medicine men understand skin-walkers
These are usually quiet meditative types, not the biggest talkers.
People who can transform into bears, wolves, eagles and fox.
Men and women who self-hypnotize and live outside of society’s box.
Through dance, hunting rituals and songs they learn to let go.
Their egos do not hold them back, they are filled with a knowing glow.
The dancer becomes the spider, the eagle, the hummingbird, the catfish.
Shapeshifters transform into part or all of an animal as the skin-walkers wish.
When I shapeshift I feel the energy in my hands and they begin to spin.
Being a skin walker aka shapeshifter helps me to score my big win.
I am a badger some days, outgoing, personable, independent and bold.
Other times I am a bobcat, nocturnal, and keeper of all secrets gold.
Written 5-18-2022
Contest: Shapeshifters and Shapeshifting
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
Foley Sound
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Part two
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Saying that the intent of the project was novel ;but the actaul programing was both morally and ethically wrong"
The Professor developed a mist that would cause ducks to run in circles and a fox chased it's tail until it became exhausted. He mentioned Superman and sought a sythetic kryptonite, it's beleived to be the loot missing since 2006. A fish mercahnt selling catfish at a market found the loot while delivering catfish to a custumer. "The Mardi Gras Christmas Show. Ordered the fish, when the guy went to deliver the fish, no one was home, but the door was open and a glowing rock was on the floor at the door. He picked up the stone and went on his way. They sent a prototype robot to retreive the stone and that's when all the Superhero showed up.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------No Speech Balloon Here----------------------
Faching in movies are traditionally an operatic system of vocal classification used to match singers to specific character types based on their range, voice weight, and physical appearance, its logic translates seamlessly into modern film.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Alice and Alex always ate apples.
Bobby brought baked beans
Carol cooked cleaned catfish
David decorated delicious donuts
Ellen endured eating eleven eggs
Freddie fried five fish
Gina grabbed green grapes.
Holly had Heavenly Hash
Ivan indulged in Ice cream
John just jostled jello
Kim kept kool aid
Lisa loves long licorice
Mike made mini meatloaf
Nan needed new napkins
Oliver offered olives
Peter preferred pumpkin pies
Queenie quietly quit
Rosaline roasted ribs
Sharon sampled strawberry sauce
Tom tossed the tomatoes
Ulysses used utensils
Valerie vegetables varied
Willy wasted watermelon
Xavier x-irradiated xacuti
Yolanda yielded yellow yogurt
Zack zested zucchini
The swan was not satisfied, she felt her neck was way too long.
And the way it bends, she argued, it is embarrassing.
I look in the water all the time; I would like to see the sky.
I am always looking at the sky the catfish told her,
because owls and hawks are forever diving down here
and eating my relatives. My uncle Fred got taken on Tuesday.
The frog on the bank rolled his eyes. Hoping he had not
moved them fast enough to warn the fly who had been coming.
Snap! Slurp! Lunch was delicious.
A small child was walking on the path, so they all moved along.
They did not fancy humans. They had seen what the ones with
the long pieces do to a poor defenseless deer
A deer must have read my thoughts, for she bound over the
bush into a bramble of thicket just beyond the pond.
Doggy! The child yelled.
So that’s what they call deer.
I am Sheberra, the Ruler of Christmas Town of Swiss Miss lore.
Overlooking the decorating that will begin at six minutes past four.
My subjects are getting off work early to begin satisfying me.
Some of the suck-ups may begin as early as a quarter past three.
It is two forty-six now, so I am high on my queen’s view ledge.
I can see some of the spies hiding under bridges; one is under a hedge
Christmas Town will be beautiful decorated to its height by tonight.
It will be a gorgeous, awesome, curiously terrific bright sight.
Some of my subjects will climb up here trying to coax me down.
They are not my regulars, rather new to merry ole’ Christmas Town.
The ones who know me, have already left gifts at my door.
Salmon sandwiches, tuna casserole, catfish cotton candy and more.
I will be haughty and dainty, and let them wonder and think.
My husband knows me better, I shall give him a wink.
We will be the Santa and Queen Sheberra of Christmas Town.
I can smell those delectable dishes calling, so now I climb down.