Long Ketch Poems
Long Ketch Poems. Below are the most popular long Ketch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ketch poems by poem length and keyword.
I cannot lie, I’m not that spry
still angling is my game
but never had luck with walleye
pickerel by Ontario's name.
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame.
Wasaksina Lake up Temagami way
has a wicked western fetch
there's trout, pike and bass, but hey
was walleye we came to ketch.
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame.
Came in late fall, paddling two canoes
made camp on the big middle isle
then west wind blew and waves tall grew
we knew we were there for a while.
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame..
Grub was short so we fished the lee
in hopes of a good fish fry
jigging for a few crappie
but felt the tug of a good walleye
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame.
The fish it started a good strong run
to the screech of my fishing reel
if we lost the lee, knew we were done
tightened drag to bring fish to heel
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame.
The reel smoked, thought all was lost
but then the fish she turned
slack line, a gust, canoe was tossed
empty hook was all returned.
We're windbound on Wasaksina
waiting for the west wind to wane
We're windbound on Wasaksina
with walleye all to blame.
Nirvana awaits dada dear
thine paternal parent,
who helped sire yours truly,
a widower these
last fourteen plus years,
he laments absence,
and sorely misses presence
regarding scatterbrain spouse,
single word description,
he would readily concur
appellation linkedin with
bubbly headed just legal bride
born November thirteenth
ninety thirty five
learned thru the grapevine
(I must telephone him...
before the curtain call...,
whence his spirit
exits stage door left,
cashes in chips
gives up ghost
kick the bucket
rest in peace
et cetera, cuz
heavy sadness still pronounced
since me birth mother (his wife)
departed about three years
following grim terminal prognosis
metastatic uterine cancer
sabotaged her vivacious person
doggedly die hard zest
Arthur Murray ballroom instructor
unbridled questing nabbed,
(albeit flirtatious Lolita)
husbanded coy demeanor
snookered young, tall, slender,
handsome, athletic bachelor
unwitting prime ketch
female instinct pheromone scented
bewitched, enthralled, intoxicated...
pretty thang wrought yoked
without resistance ohm mat tickly
generated electric charm
crackled, popped, and snapped
synapses nsync between infatuated pair
future groom invoked flying colors
courtesy maternal grandmother
marriage spanned approximately half century,
not entirely wedded bliss,
yet each swore fidelity to the other
..."until death do us part".
Herons fragment the mist,
appear and disappear while remaining motionless.
The skiff rocks as a coal barge trundles past.
A dewy sky shivers.
Nowadays he just sits in a boat looking at Ohio.
This morning the sun reached the top of a willow
and got stuck.
He rowed toward the bank thinking to get under the tree,
filled an imaginary pipe full of tangy river smoke,
sucked on the wet air
as he watched the tree struggling with the sun.
For a while it was a tussle, then the willow shook itself
and the sun slipped away like an unmoored ketch.
At first, the sun just hovered like a blanched balloon
then it found a window above the mounded smother
and it rose up like a Choctaw bass
about to mouth a trill of small fry.
He was near to the shore now,
Ohio slanted down to meet him
cattails and reeds scratching the aluminum hull.
A couple of mallards jumped out of nowhere
and flew over his eyes. The clatter of wings
ruffled the chill bank where a dank light had sunk.
His mind followed them for some time
until they settled deep down
amid a wraith-wrapped Kentucky.
A heron slowly rowed the wind
stirring up the vaporous air, Patches of clarity
drifted across sky-high filtering puddles.
Ohio becomes a river town, the huddled houses
have scuttled their roofs upon soggy pathways.
The mossy hulks of an abandoned industry
wallow in a foggy backwash.
Castaway wharfs drip a spatter and smear,
a hand me down script of a yesteryear.
A small blue-collar marina,
beer cans roll on swaying pontoons,
a couple of dry docked rowboats
and canoes.
Truck tires thump harbor chains.
Someone is up early, someone else watches him
gut and clean a large flathead.
On the damp dock cats circle the bones and scales
creep through the miasma
their fur wet and glistening eyes flashing a liquid silver.
The catfish is naked and shorn of the river
a thing to be watched least it return to life
as something beyond the ken of cats and fishermen.
On the ramp he hitches up his straggling life
and drives away from a berth awash
with the haunted cries of Loons and Redtail’s.
Soon he will be back in the patched-up pockets of Ohio
where corn husks snag hoarfrost and rattle
in a fresh rinsing breeze.
The Ozarks is filled with barefoot hillbillies,
so it says in all them old books.
We are all just lazy, stupid, and silly,
least that’s how they make us look.
Layin’ on a creek bank chewing on a straw,
with a fishing line tied to our toe.
Or stilling some 'shine' while running from the law,
they say that’s all we’ll ever know.
Marrying our sister, our grandpa's our dad,
is a life that suits us just fine.
A dollar's more money than we've ever had,
at least at any one time.
If we get hungry we’ll just ketch a 'possum,
a roadkill skunk or raccoon.
Gotta make sure our twenty kids all get some,
cause twenty-one’s coming soon.
I’ll tell you friends the Ozarks are more than a place,
where friendly people are raised.
So come on down here and I bet that you’ll fall,
in love with our Ozark ways.
Hick Phonics - is a language to be taught in all Southern schools.
Here are some excerpts from the Hick Phonics/English Dictionary.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heidi - Noun - A Greeting
Hire Yew - Complete Sentence - Remainder of greeting.
Usage: "Heidi! Hire yew?"
Bard - Verb - Past tense of the infinitive "To Borrow"
Usage: "My brother bard my pick up truck."
Munts - Noun - A calendar division.
Usage: "My brother from Jawjah bard my pick up truck and I ain't seen him in munts."
Jawjah - Noun - A state just north of Florida. Capital is Hatlanta.
Usage: "My brother from Jawjah bard my pick up truck.
Ignernt - Adjective - Not smart. See Arkansas Native.
Usage: "Them two boys sure are ignernt."
Ranch - Noun - A tool used for tightening bolts.
Usage: "I think I left my ranch in the back of that pick up truck my brother from Jawjah bard a few munts ago."
All - Noun - A petroleum based lubricant.
Usage: "I sure hope my brother from Jawjah puts all in my pick up."
Far - Noun - A conflagration.
Usage: "If my brother from Jawjah don't change the all in my pick up that thang's gonna ketch far."
Bahs - Noun - A supervisor
Usage: "If you don't stop readin' these Southern words your bahs is gonna far you."
Tar - Noun - A rubber wheel.
Usage: "Gee I hope that brother of mine from Jawjah don't git a flat tar in my pick up."
Tire - Noun - A tall monument.
Usage: "Lord willin' and the creek don't rise I hope to see that Eiffel Tire in Paris someday."
Retard - Verb - To stop working.
Usage: "My Grampaw retard at 65."
Tarred - Adverb - Exhausted.
Usage: "I jest flew in from Hatlanta and boy my arms are tarred."
Arggh me hearties! We're takin' a long-awaited vacation!
Th' enchantin' isles uv th' Caribbean is ar final destination!
Hoist th' Jolly Roger an' them billowin' sails an' let's git 'er underway!
Th' Spanish Main is ripe fer pillagin' so let's git thar without delay!
Ye signed on fer this here little cruise knowin' I runs a very tight ship.
Ye do yer jobs, don't complain an' don't ye dare give me any lip!
Ye'll git three squars a day an' yer daily tot uv rum as well.
An' I 'spect ye ta stick wit' me tho' we may ketch almighty hell!
Now if'n we happen ta meet a sloop er two upon th' boundin' main,
Ah'll 'spect ye ta wield yer swords an' cause th' scoundrels pain!
Jes' keep in mind that ye'll share in th' booty that we acquire,
An' I promise ye a proper burial at sea if'n ye should expire!
Arggh me maties! Ah'm anxious ta run me fingers thro' them pieces uv eight!
An' git me paws on them thar island beauties! Aye! I kin hardly wait!
Ye! Up thar in th' crow's nest! Keep a sharp lookout fer any ships at sea!
An' ye fellers on th' deck aim them cannons true when ye hear "far!" frum me!
Ah don't reckon that we'll be received as welcome guests in any port,
An' them wily natives will 'ave thar guns aimed at us frum ever' fort!
But if'n ye keep yer swords honed an' yer blunder busses' powder dry,
We'll carry off thar wimmin an' swag as we wave ta them goodbye!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 9 in Paula Swanson's "A Tale o' Pillagin'" Contest - July 2010