Long Fit as a fiddle Poems
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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
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
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.
FIT AS A FIDDLE
I used to be fit as a fiddle
When I was in my prime.
I could run the London Marathon
In a perfectly reasonable time.
I would play five sets of tennis,
Then dance throughout the night
And still be at the local gym
Before it was even light.
My body was slim and wiry;
They called me a fitness freak.
And all the prettiest girls in town,
Admired my fine physique.
But all of that was long ago,
These days I’m uninspired.
Just watching the London Marathon,
Leaves me feeling tired.
Yes, I used to fit as a fiddle,
Slim and full of grace.
But now, alas, my figure
Resembles a double-bass
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Jimmy put the mighty back in Blighty
Our riper sniper
Viper and pied piper
Didn't want to budge
Depravity of sporting gravity
But given the nudge
So off he did trudge
Issue won't fudge
Still got a grudge
The king of swing..conker on a string
Chestnuts curve...swerve with such verve
You rarely see him hobble our wizard of wobble
Still wiry and fiery...fit as a fiddle so he can
Continue his riddle out in the middle
Definitely more Harrods than Lidl
It seems unfair the flair.. his control in the air
Precision of a physician...our own homegrown musician
Magician keeping alive a glorious past tradition
With his own fantastic rendition
But Selector Trifecta Sedition
Means we've seen the last edition
Humdinger....swinger...gunslinger
Bellicose blows..predicts & inflicts woes on his foes
Audacious soul...born to bowl
Continues to rage..this sage you can't cage
Yearns to still be on the ultimate stage
Despite...or to slight...in spite of his age
Well why should it encumber..its only a number
Like losing an olden golden friend
We will never ever see his like again
Final fix of his bag of tricks
Reminds me of the Matrix
Masterly plan of this remarkable man
So smooth..sublime
Divinely refined
In the groove..prime grace
Our forever adored Time Lord
Who could bend even space
Ah Mr Anderson
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
(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.
Unsolicited feedback
across rock of ages woke
beguiling ghostly busty spectre
courtesy Marie-Antoinette,
(i.e. bride of France's arty choke
King Louis XVI) bespoke
let him eat cake, and (sic)
send back the bloody bloke,
aye suddenly begot idea rye
Jack Corner of zee desk
didst impale and provoke
moderately painful injury
right side rib cage
analogous to intriguing
unfortunate circumstance
mysterious secret shrouded
as dagger and cloak
(think Alfred E. Neuman,
viz MAD Magazine), yes no joke
lovely bones of me body electric,
(particularly right side rib cage)
severely traumatized, nailed, injured...
crucified oft told umteen times,
yet omitting key mirrors and smoke,
significant Dorian Gray parallel,
when former antique,
viz secrétaire looking glass reflection,
spider hairline fractures radiated
resembled bay of pigs in a poke
ham handedly oinked,
quaked, shattered... broke
into bajillion pieces
deafening, exploding,
glowering thunder stroke
jagged shrapnel size shards
unleashed cosmic force
lacerated, gnashed, beribboned...
impeaching flesh with
one engulfed masterstroke,
no rhyme nor reason aiming to choke
off promising poet (ha) of corpse
resembling scrambled egg yolk
posthumous fame besmoke
salvaged mine besmirched reputation
courtesy humble cartoon character
bugs bunny and kinfolk spoke
daffy fully eulogizing humor did evoke.
Hmm... on second thought
lemme join anorexic club
until rib cage protrudes taut and visible
doubling as drum to drub
synchronized within heart of darkness,
especially when electrocardiogram exhibits
absolute zero vital sign,
cardiac arrest translates
as cessation to lub dub,
hence yours truly
declared dead as doornail,
coroner report deems arrhythmia
directly linkedin to deliberate Machiavellian flub
courtesy the missus attempt to poison me
actually aborted cuz nanobots
loosed upon body gripped with rigor mortis,
a minor inconvenient truth
cuz odorless and tasteless deadly toxins
rendered me convalescing
from bout with death, an oxymoronic
former slenderman gourmand.
temporarily deceased
until said microscopic robots
avidly analogous to frenzied
figuratively hogtied pigs
buzzfeeding at a trough
creating porcine hubbub
invisible nanoids (0.1-10 micrometres)
accomplished programmed task
whereby fatal microbes they did scrub
away leaving me fit as a fiddle.
No matter she thoroughly, painstakingly
and lovingly didst strew
haphazardly she threw
leftovers together,
this blustery march like
November twenty six figuratively view
wing the remaining thirty plus days
of two thousand twenty one
thoroughly cooked in microwave until...
poor excuse for my meal appeared
with consistency of shoe leather.
Think the missus not afraid
of Virginia Woolf keen to experiment
treating me like the Gingerbread Hag would:
questionable resultant glop pantomimed
for my guessing pleasure
never figure out in bajillion years
as amateurish Marcel Marceau charade
performance courtesy the spouse,
an entrée she gave - yours truly
immediately sought to evade
me subsequently evincing
horrific puckered mealy mouth
as though I swallowed hand grenade
figurative exploding oral cavity
feeble futile gesticulation inveighed.
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!