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.
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 rebellion...like 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!!
A day that’s spent in the forest is a day that’s heaven-sent,
with the air so crisp and clean with ample shade,
where Mother Nature’s in control with the forest as it’s meant,
and the struggle’s all around me in the glade.
I am down in a valley, preparing for a day with fishing gear,
below a trestle bridge that spans across the vale,
and before walking to the river, I gaze around me here,
while I enjoy a morning coffee near a trail.
This hidden trail amongst the ferns has got to lead somewhere,
‘though I imagined it’s a place without acclaim,
but being curious by nature, I followed it down there,
and found a lovely little stream without a name.
When I gazed up and down the stream, in my first train of thought,
was with the gentle rippling of the constant flow,
and wondered if the overhang might hide a fish I may have sought,
but without an hours fishing here, how will I know.
The shelter logs and sandy bottom, and with shadowed canopy,
camouflage crayfish and minnows - not fishing game,
for they’d barely take a hook, and swim quite safely actually,
here in this lovely little stream without a name.
Would the Agile Antechinus, or the Spotted Quoll drink water here?
and does the little stream distribute wattle seed?
If I stroll beneath tree ferns, I could find a wallow from a deer,
and I’m sure the Rainbow Trout come here to breed.
I wonder if some gold miners, have sifted gravel, rock and sand,
in their pursuit to find a fortune in this stream,
but there’s no indication a disturbance, occurred upon the land,
perhaps that time could be a healer, it would seem.
And with blackberry and sword grass to defend the forest life,
where a lyrebird dances and a whipbird makes a crack,
water ripples through rain forest where, blood sucking leeches can be rife,
and where mosquitoes might go all out on attack.
And so beneath the trestle bridge and in the forest up beyond,
this flow of water twists and turns not seeking fame,
and the flora, fauna and the water have induced a special bond,
so I believe this little stream deserves a name.
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
5-22-15
Psalm 127: 1-3
For many years, the creek, ran passed as a drain,
Polluted and unloved; a poisoned murky vein.
A favoured dumping place, for household unwanted things -
out of sight, out of mind; and no good what it brings.
Life was almost non-existent in the creek
and weed infestation makes it sad and bleak,
but turning a blind eye has gone too long,
and allowing this pollution was so wrong.
So, ‘friends of wattle creek’ were duly formed
and at meetings their ideas quickly warmed,
with working bees to help remove the mess,
and from there, reclamation could progress.
Weeds became victims, of mattock and the hoe;
there’s room for native vegetation to regrow.
Five hundred seedlings were there every week,
and planted by the ‘friends of wattle creek.’
Through the years, there were many setbacks,
from mother nature and her natural attacks,
with flood and storms or sometimes howling gales –
and thankfully, it was just the weak that fails.
With the foliage and the flowers an attraction
for lorikeet and honeyeater squabbling action;
weebills and pardalotes, were giving lots of cheek,
to warm the hearts of ‘friends of wattle creek.’
Undergrowth is cover for the wary bandicoot,
and the sugar glider dines on native fruit.
In the shallows of the creek; water is now clean;
once again, a spiny crayfish can be seen.
In a few short years, the volunteers with vision,
turned away an eyesore, with a right decision,
now it’s paradise restored from something bleak,
and all thanks goes to the ‘friends of wattle creek.’
The health of wattle creek is quite amazing,
and ‘friends of wattle creek’ deserve the praising.
Native fish are thriving; bird numbers are on track;
it warms the heart to know – the platypus is back.
For many years, the creek, ran passed as a drain,
Polluted and unloved; a poisoned murky vein,
but is now a thriving green belt, captivating all,
and the ‘friends of wattle creek’ are standing tall.
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”.
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.
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
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Poetic Lyrics By Thomas Lam Hsi
THERE IS ONLY ONE TRUE GOD...THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY...WHO ALONE CAN
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
LORD JESUS CHRIST HIMSELF IS FULLY GOD AND MAN...AND HE ALONE...
IS THE ONLY WAY TO GOD THE FATHER...and to an Actual Heaven!
Rustlin winds...'n...fishin holes...a...new...DIAMOND RING!
Johnny's comin...'n...company's...dining...MAKES ME SING!
Cut me a pole...'n...he's too old...broke my heart...MY ONLY HEART!
Johnny...you stole my heart...crayfish 'n tarts...MY COLORED HEART!
Hide 'n seek...'n teddy bears...a...new...DIAMOND RING!
Passin notes...'n secret jokes...a dinner prom...YOU MADE ME SING!
Crystal glass...our names to last...you forgot...MY SILK RED NIGHT!
In the middle of the night...I CRIED...you...forgot...MY 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 FORGET...in the morning...YOU DROVE BY!
Johnny...bamboo forests...'n silken soft...TEARS...STAINED THROUGH THE YEARS!
Honey...WE MADE IT...through all these years...you...HELD MY TEARS...THROUGH
THE YEARS!
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!
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.
Form:
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.!