I met a jolly fisherman with hair as white as snow.
Everywhere he sailed his ship, the kids were sure to go.
He came down from the north, after a little nip and tuck.
Smack dab in the middle of his boat was a giant ice cream truck.
While he baited his hook, his elves would stir the cream.
The kids would come down to the beach and everyone would scream.
Could this man be Santa? Boy that would be slick.
How could someone catch a fish with chocolate push up stick?
The elves just kept on working, they seemed to never stop.
Little Billy swam on out for a drumstick and fudge pop.
The king cones all sat ready they were the next in line.
The snow cones didn’t taste that great, but the eclairs tasted fine.
The kids just kept on swimming and ate up every treat.
The sandy beach was all packed down from tiny little feet.
If you ever run out of bait, while fishing on waters blue.
Remember this little story, fish like ice cream too.
A Jolly Fisherman Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Warden
8/21/22
There was laughter in the crisp autumn air,
And a large bonfire blazed on the beach,
As the birds came singing from everywhere,
Under a sunset orange and gold as a peach!
The burnt orange flickering of the bonfire,
Echoed the feverous light of a waning sun,
Like euphoria that always takes you higher,
Smack dab in the middle of revelry and fun!
There was a brownie name of Zeke
Who lived big and large beside a creek
Rumors said he was a lecherous freak
They came quickly, more like a flow than a leak.
The truth I steadily decided to try and seek
An elf-maiden I have never been considered meek
When I crept onto his porch, the boards did creak.
Rousing from sleep that forlorn and lonely Zeke.
It was smack dab in the middle of a crazy week,
A day after a war between mice and men who go “eek”
A war of which many decided never to speak
But I decided to share the story with lonely Zeke
His eyes were vivid green, the color of Love Creek.
I fell solidly under his spell, this brownie named Zeke.
His pureness and his sweetness was nothing to seek
For I did not know about him, this brownie named Zeke.
We fell in love, and I agreed to stay forever beside this creek
With a darling man, I decided to live, my own darling Zeke,
So if someone warns you about another, says they are a freak,
Run to them quickly, and for your own truth, please do avidly seek.
This poem that you now
Hold in your hands
Has only a middle
No beginning no end
The second you blink
Your half way through
Smack dab in the middle
Without a clue
Moving along
Nary a care
Before you know it
You're hitting thin air
With nothing that you
Can grasp onto
No beginning no end
In front of you
Take this from the middle
For all that it's worth
Subtract a few lines
Take out a few words
That would start it out right
Then perfectly end
This poem of the middle
You now hold in your hands
How is it I'm only 26
Sitting here in the middle
Of a mid-life crisis?
I haven't even had time
The older ones tell me
To slow down my rhyme
To find the logical reason
Behind these actions
Of unquivering self treason
But its all I've known
Living paycheck to paycheck
Was how I'd grown
Job to job, city to city
Cut the lights off and
Look I'm still pretty.
But this face doesn't pay the bills.
And my body can't handle paid thrills
And the circle comes right back around.
At the ripe young age of 26
I'm smack dab in the middle
Of a mid-life crisis.
Jonquils bloomed overnight.
Purple crocus popped through
last year's mulch and sticks.
Hyacinth buds nestled in thick
green arms holding snug,
ready to burst into color.
“28 degrees tonight!
Back to 47 by noon tomorrow.”
unwelcome news
from the meteorologist.
A cold snap designed to kill
the impatient fledglings
showing their pretty faces
in early spring.
Is this the “Blackberry Winter”
Grandad talked about long ago?
Check the blackberry vines, Hon.
Are they blooming?
If the answer is yes, here we are
“smack dab” in the middle of
Blackberry Winter, like
walking backward in the rain.
© cfa 3/28/2015
Strange how it goes, they're waiting their turn
To flood my thoughts, these ideas to burn
Other times nothing, just rack my old brain
Get all pooped out, my attempts are in vain
Is there no place smack dab in the middle
Where rhymes reside and efforts are little
Why do we suffer a blankness at times
There must be a pill for starting these rhymes
Oh well, I'm really having the time of my life
Annoying struggles just add to the spice
We'd ALL be poets if these rhymes came easy
Wouldn't stand out with our words so breezy
Do you catch my drift, am I making any sense
Keep plugging away, don't be so damn tense
Rhymes will soon come, have ye no doubt
Flooding your brain, you'll stand up and shout
Lordy, I'm a poet just knew it all along
My heart doth sing a happiness thong!
© Jack Ellison 2013
I just realized our humble abode
Is smack-dab in the middle of dinky-house road.
We muddle along in our simple ranches
And their add-ons that shoot off like stubby branches.
We fuss with our lawns but appear as mice
From outer space through a telescopic device.
We barely make waves in the grand scheme of things
Being no larger than droplets in a stone throw’s rings.
But maybe someday it won’t be that way
Perhaps we’ll be something or have something to say.
That will be larger than tiny, louder than ka-boom
Until then we’ll exist in our dinky-house room.
A peeing machine, a peeing machine
That's what I've now become
About every two hours like clockwork
It's off to the toity I run
While making a speech at a banquet
Right smack dab in the middle
That old biological urge rears its head
And off I go for a piddle
Considered installing a porta-pottie
In every room of my house
It sure would make a whole lot of sense
Especially when I get soused
It certainly becomes a hairy affair
When I can't undo my buckle
So I just enjoy the cozy warm feeling
Stand and piddle and chuckle
A peeing machine, a peeing machine
That's what I've now become!
© Jack Ellison 2012
I threw my legs over a rusty barbed wire fence
into a warm summer day a long time ago
landing smack dab in the middle
of my now ancient childhood
A lonely bob white sitting on the fence
whistling his heart out, I can only guess
his seranade was a lonely plea
here I am, please, come to me.
Standing knee deep in prarie grass
grasshoppers leaping from blade to blade
the smell of the hot earth
rising into my face, oh I miss that place
A corn snake slivers back under the fence
escaping into the corn field
over the hard clumps of ground
of the tired, plowed soil.
The smell of rain in the distant sky
is only passing by
a welcome sight to behold
but not meant for here, not today
A lonley cow bell tells me now
old bossie will soon be here
as she makes her daily trek
through the pasture into the pond
Indian paintbrushes, blue bonnets too
puffy white clouds in a sky so blue
all come together and bring back to me
a warm summer day, a long time ago.
Proms, Magical???
Are you serious
Like the whole Cinderella-thing
Complete with a fairy godmother
Making Men out of mice
And, turning a pumpkin into a coach
Or, the idea that We could be paired
With that One perfect person
After going Our whole adolescent life
Searching for the true meaning of LOVE
Only to suddenly, be hit with it
Upon the wave of a Magic wand
Causing Us, to be, smack-dab, in the middle
Of things-LIFE!!!
Although, the catch is to make Something happen
Before the hour glass empties
But, as We're racing against TIME
Do we find it, catching up to US
Like the ball, at the stroke of Midnight
On New Year's Eve, at Time Square
Forcing the Novelty to wear off and the whole concept
Of Our being on top of the World to fade
Taking Us, right back, to where We started-REALITY!!!
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