Long Crayfish Poems
Long Crayfish Poems. Below are the most popular long Crayfish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crayfish poems by poem length and keyword.
Razor back clams
she put the veggie
oil and olive oil
together in a bowl
and put cayenne and
dried peppers in the oil
where she had
crushed 10 cloves of garlic
heating the oil to extract the flavors
she let it cook
for 6 minutes
cooling over night
for lunch the next
day she would be entertaining
more than 55 people
for rehearsal
of the orchestra
razor clams
and nutria
and lsenga
would be the stars of
the table
chef Monday would
cook to the delight of these people
who needed to fine tune
there act.
Stuffed Nutria
the hindparts stuffed with
crayfish and sausage
a dry Alsatian pinot blanc
to accompany the parmesan and
lemon and pine nut combo
that coupled with crayfish and sausage
I asked my wife what was the best way to
cook a Muskrat and I told
her done. I aint got nothing against the thang
I just wanna do it with people I will likely need there
opio and loyalty to me and I to them
like this opera player
due to there need to
focus and fine tune to be absolute professionals.
the Fox 41 has never lefted us abandoned.
The soups and breads were fixed
know seemed to have interest
In that. One commented that the
Chickens used in the soup were as
big as geese, naming one kingKong.
Garlic and margine was used with
Garden herbs to create the croutons.
He would be a one man ed gang to
complete all the tasks still needed to
be done before the party goers arrived.
She like using terms for the chores
which were incomplete and offered to
do them herself, Fee-end she spoke of the
staff lacking to clean both softshelled crabs
and the softshelled crayfish. They should be
I ed of put in the frig she said.
Leaving the crew of one puzzled. A hall of fame
to the genius who invents a robot who isn't afraid
of my tongue lashing. Until the both you and I are
are at best the seasoning of which is to follow.
The need to be on time and prudent.
A GUMMY FISHERMAN
By
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
Moon gazes down, at
Two howling hounds.
A crayfish, emerges,
From within the water.
An ocean view seen,
Illuminated behind
The path of the Fool,
Guiding him away from the pond.
Something in your life,
Just isn't quite right.
A misunderstanding, maybe
A truth you can't admit,
Secrets being kept from you.
This unknown, carries alone,
Anxiety, a need to know,
It's a source for depression,
Causing insecurity & delusions
Message from the moon;'Rely! only on you'
To see through subterfuge
A signal will come, time to be strong,
Use courage to face your fears.
R.K.H. 10/10/2021
Too much intervention, by ground shifting machines
To devlop some windpower, a results being seen
The crayfish are threatened, the flow rate impaired
As its ecology is battered, for some millions they dare.'
Yes there's cash in the offing, its all good was the blurb.'
Forty years we have listened to the green gods; priests
Words.' While the weapons are selling, as the shells
Rain around, the very earth they ( so value) removing
Lithium from the ground.' Its all one and the same.' So
Often its been said.' Viable sense ways were sidelined
It was just; said, spoken, sez, jammered and hammered
Driven like nail in the lid, as the people were coughing
And hacking in the 'green deisel mists' in the minds of
Some bankers 'could percentages have?' Played a part
In that drive in the 90's is that fair enough said.? For
In dense populations in dense streets all round would
Not more humans be dead.? And a motive be found?
To push for alternatives like electric and such.? Yet the
Minings not done in London.' Still we can see its all going
South.' All the heated debating all the damage round about.'
Its all promise of perfection. But that ain't how it goes.'
We know when its raining, for it drops down on the nose.
Yet back up to Norfolk, where the Claven is damaged by
A wind-up, that won't turn up that's the shout; going out.!
Surreal nature encapsulates the scene spread out in front of my unbelieving eyes. Years ago this was the center hub of activity in the rural community. Forgotten way of life as people congregate in crowded cities. It is good to visit the quiet rural area if only in pictures.
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
Written: 09-21-2013
Updated: June 08, 2018
By many aliases they're known:
Crawfish, crawdads, mudbugs, yabbies.
They abound in brooks, and streams, and swamps,
As well as roadside ditches and rice paddies.
Their astacology has shown
They prey like scavengers and mobsters,
While some, more taxonomically aloof,
Try hard to pass as mountain lobsters.
Throughout the world as food they're meant,
Both from the wild and from the grocer,
But not as a substitute for meat at Lent
Because they're not considered kosher.
And so the cunning, craven crayfish,
The ones that didn't get away,
End up in boils, or bisques, or soups,
If not served up as étouffés
In swanky overpriced cafés.
The bayou sky flies a catfish moon over swamp gators
And cottonmouth vipers. Accordions, fiddles, and rub board vests
Make their ramble through the undergrowth hot on the trail
Of a sultry midsummer house party in Sweat Neck, Louisiana.
All the usual suspects are there. Sharkskin Slim doffs his topper
To Ruby and Rose - the Harlequin Twins. They curtsy in reply.
They came to town to show local folks how business gets done.
Fast Man is fresh from stabbing Satan in the back; same as before.
Snorkel-nose Nelson lays his blackjack on the table.
Pelican-neck LeBeau considers the odds and spits.
A honeysuckle breeze wafts across the terrace.
Eucalyptus, peppermint, and pine tar grace the veranda
Where Miss Bunny Bouche, in her famous lavender velour,
Garners attention from spy boys eying Cajun temptations
With considerably hardened intentions. Several teamsters
Just in from Shreveport dance lively while a claw hammer fiddler
Plays Tee Nah Nah. Essential words are suggested in the space
Between the jug and the mason jar. They speak of collard green
Creole rice served with crayfish in roux étouffée. The snap beans
Are sure enough salted. The shrimp gumbo is suitably spiced.
Sad Hannah sits off in the corner, her motives transparent
As parish politics. She’s been rumored to have dabbled
In arson crafts she’d learned at Magdalena’s Den of Sin,
But no one ever really pays her much mind.
She’s been deliberating the consequence of a life not lived,
And sees a glimmer of hope in the eye of a hurricane lamp.
Her chance of escaping obscurity erupts through the hall.
So now, it’s last call and damn it all, take a left at the crossroads,
And be sure to turn your mattress over when it’s time to climb downstairs.
And as for Hannah, sad Hannah, well, it’s either up Ladder Lane
Then down Hemp Alley, or else it’s just a lonely walk home.
I wade into my creek...
I wade into the Prairie
Crayfish scuttle about my feet
I can feel its slippery algaed rocks
slide perilously under my feet.
The sun is high
90 degrees, even in shade
in this stiffling July heat
Not a creature is stirring
anywhere above this rippling creek
Not a bird, not a bug
Only me and only me.
The noonday sun
turns its pools
into lighter shades of bronze
tinged with some copper
Leached from its bed
of slippery stones
Copper mixed with mud.
The water pulls at me...
Pulls at me...
Tries to pull me from my feet...
But its wet coolness
keeps its hold of me
Coolness versus heat
and I wade on...
Although I know that somewhere
Somewhere closer than I think
in the deepest, darkest pools
A snapping turtle or two lie waiting...
Jaws of iron in this creek.
I still wade on...
(January 21, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
"Lo! the dolphin dotes laughs
My passion is the maritime coast
'Ocean!' said I, 'thing of seawater.'
Oceans dolphins
In a kingdom full of coastlines
Eagerly I looked for the seaway
I crave the marine, more mare
That up bound jellyfish - that unbound jellyfish
I felt compelled to sniff the territorial waters
I am shorn of my catfish
I discovered the riverbanks
Suddenly, I heard some tiding
Rise, fly mighty dolphin up through the skies
And its eyes have all the ponding
Resulting and resulting with my pacific
But in the fact that it was fluttering
I had dreamed of ribs cluttering
Only this and a ameba
The west water whaling
The dry dock smiled
How they were curtailing, prevailing - derailing
I discovered the crayfish
I crave the marine, amidships maritime
Ah, distinctly I was swallowing
Rise, fly mighty dolphin up threw the skies"
11/19/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©