Tadpole's Outdoor Blog

December 21, 2011

Grand-daughter Bethany with a winter poem

Winter

Winter, oh winter, why are you so cross?

You kiss the crisp sweet autumn wind away,

And send it on the wings of the north blown crest,

You make the sweet chickadee hide its bill against his breast,

Make it hide its face from the world in shame,

For he does not make the long flight from winter,

He is not scared to stay alone, unlike the rest

Winter, oh winter, why are you so cross?

You force your winds upon the white puffs in the sky,

You make them despair so they frown upon the ridges and timbers,

You breathe your wintry chill and make them cry,

Their tears spill upon the barren earth in frigid droplets,

The winds howl with a creaking sigh

Winter oh winter, why are you so cross?

The wise owl’s round orbs shut,

Not to be disturbed in until the white war is over,

It stays hidden until the forest hush,

The pigeon’s wings form a blur,

Flapping, in a rush

Soothing lullaby is the orchestra,

Shifting willows, a cooing thrush

Winter, oh winter, why are you so cross?

The bluebells shrivels and spoils in despair,

They fade to dust at the sound of your name

The bubbly creek has covered itself,

It is now nothing but a blackness, untamed

The creeping fox hides his swishing tail,

His sly nose tip sleeps until woken,

Until springs yellow rays come again

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October 27, 2011

Another Poem by Granddaughter Spiffy

YOUNG FREDDIE THE HUNTER

WHEN FREDDIE WAS A YUNG UN HE LIKED TO GO OUT HUNTIN
HE'D HUNT STAG AND DOVE AND DOE AND MOOSE
HE WOULD NOT LET NOTHING LOOSE
NOT EVEN BIRD OR SQUIRREL OR GOOSE
HE'D SLAY THE NEAREST BEAR I HEARD
HE'D EVEN SLAY A HARMLESS BIRD
HE'D HUNT PIGEON AND SWAN AND WOLF AND BUCK
HE'D SLAY BUFFALO AND BOAR AND HARE AND DUCK
THEY'D TRY TO RUN BUT NO, NO LUCK
HE'D HUNT ALL DAY HE'D HUNT ALL NIGHT UNTIL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT IN SIGHT 

YOUNG FREDDIE LIKED TRAPPIN
ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY WERE SNAPPIN
HE'D TRAP THROUGH RAIN OR HAIL OR FOG
HE'D TRAP THROUGH SNOW OR SWAMPY BOG
JUST TO GET ONE SCRAWNY HOG
BEWARE OH FOOLISH COON
OR YOUR FATE YOU'LL FIND OUT SOON
HE'D TRAP ALL DAY HE'D TRAP ALL NIGHT UNTIL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT IN SIGHT

WHEN FREDDIE WAS A KID HE LIKED TO WAIT AND SIT
HE'D WAIT FOR A SALMON FAIRLY STOUT
HE'D WAIT FOR PERCH
HE'D WAIT FOR TROUT
THEN HE'D GIVE A GREAT BIG SHOUT
SAYING THIS IS WHAT FISHING'S ALL ABOUT
HE WOULD SIT OUT BY THE LAKE
JUST WATCHING THE FORM OF HIS BAIT
NOT CARING HOW LONG IT WOULD TAKE
HE'D FISH ALL DAY HE'D FISH ALL NIGHT UNTIL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT IN SIGHT

SHOOT YOUNG FREDDIE WOULD
NO MATTER WHERE HE STOOD
FROM VERY CLOSE TO FAR AWAY
THE DEER WAS THERE
WAS THERE TO STAY
FROM IN BETWEEN THE TREES
WAS FREDDIE ON HIS KNEES
THE DEER WOULD SAY O PLEASE
JUST LEAVE MY FAMILY HEAR IN PEACE
FOR THAT WISE DEER NEW ALL TO WELL
THAT WAS THE LAST THING HE'D EVER TELL
HE'D SHOOT ALL DAY HE'D SHOOT ALL NIGHT UNTIL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT IN SIGHT

THE CROSSBOW WAS FREDDIE'S FAVORITE
HE'D DO ANYTHING TO SAVE IT
ARCH HE WOULD WITH ALL HIS MIGHT
NOTHING WOULD PUT UP A FIGHT
EXCEPT THAT YOUNG STUPID BOAR
CHARGING AT HIM WITH A ROAR
THE BOAR WAS QUICK
BUT FREDDIE WAS QUICKER
FREDDIE THEN LET LOOSE OF THE TRIGGER
I CAN OUT WIT THAT GUY THE DEER WOULD SAY
AFTER THAT HE'D HAVE HELL TO PAY
HE'D ARCH ALL DAY HE'D ARCH ALL NIGHT UNTIL NOTHING WAS LEFT IN SIGHT

SO BEWARE MY ANIMAL FRIENDS
BEWARE OF FREDDIE'S HUNTING TRENDS
OR IT WILL BE YOUR FOREVER END

+++++++++++++++++++

August 27, 2011

A poem from grand-daughter Spiffy

+++

The Ailment of A Great Blue Heron

The bird I have in question,
Yes you often see,
He has a strange ailment yes,
It’s that he never moves or sings

He has not the bluebirds tweet,
Nor the ravens ca-caw ca-caw,
No robins melody, sweet
Or boastful crows guffaw

He only moves when needed,
He only eats when hungry,
But even then,
That’s only when,
Mere juices grumble in his tummy

His problem causes interlude,
Of worrisome discussion,
Scientists now conclude,
That he has a slight concussion

Doctors have investigated,
This particular cause for illness,
Some of them have estimated,
It’s because of too much stillness

But the question still remains,
Why the bird is so solemn and still,
Has God imposed on him a shyness?
Or ordered paste put to his bill?

Some say he has delirium,
Others say the flu,
But I know better than all of them,
I think he’s plainly blue           ( Get it, Blue Heron? HA HA HA!!! )

They make it harder than need be,
Just look at him you’ll see,
He is blue, very blue,
But no bluebird . . . indeed!

Love ya,
Bethany / Spiffy

+++++

September 26, 2010

Another poem from grand-daughter, this one about me

Filed under: Family — Freddie Keel @ 6:37 pm
Tags: ,
         NOTHING LEFT IN SIGHT        

WHEN FREDDIE WAS A YOUNG UN, HE LIKED TO GO OUT HUNTIN'
HE'D HUNT STAG AND DOVE AND DOE AND MOOSE
HE WOULD NOT LET NOTHING LOOSE
NOT EVEN BIRD OR SQUIRREL OR GOOSE
HE'D SLAY THE NEAREST BEAR I HEARD
HE'D EVEN SLAY A HARMLESS BIRD
HE'D HUNT PIGEON AND SWAN AND WOLF AND BUCK
HE'D SLAY BUFFALO AND STAG AND HARE AND DUCK
THEY'D TRY TO RUN BUT NO, NO LUCK
HE'D HUNT ALL DAY, HE'D HUNT ALL NIGHT, UNTIL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT IN SIGHT 

YOUNG FREDDIE LIKED TRAPPIN'
ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY WERE SNAPPIN'
HE'D TRAP THROUGH RAIN OR HALE OR FOG
HE'D TRAP THROUGH SNOW OR SWAMPY BOG
JUST TO GET ONE SCRAWNY HOG
BEWARE OH FOOLISH COON
OR YOUR FATE YOU'LL FIND OUT SOON
HE'D TRAP FOX AND POSSUM AND WEASEL AND RABBIT
OH, WHEN WILL FRED QUIT THIS CRAZY HABIT ?
HE'D TRAP ALL DAY, HE'D TRAP ALL NIGHT, UNTIL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT IN SIGHT 

WHEN FREDDIE WAS A KID, HE LIKED TO WAIT AND SIT
HE'D WAIT FOR A SALMON, STRONG AND STOUT
HE'D WAIT FOR PERCH
HE'D WAIT FOR TROUT
HE WOULD SIT OUT BY THE LAKE
NOT CARING HOW LONG, IT WOULD TAKE
HE'D FISH ALL DAY, HE'D FISH ALL NIGHT, UNTIL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT IN SIGHT 

SHOOT YOUNG FREDDIE WOULD
NO MATTER WHERE HE STOOD
FROM VERY CLOSE TO FAR AWAY
THE STAG WAS THERE, WAS THERE TO STAY
FROM IN BETWEEN THE TREES
WAS FREDDIE ON HIS KNEES
THE DEER WOULD SAY O PLEASE
JUST LEAVE MY FAMILY IN PEACE
FOR THAT WISE DEER NEW ALL TO WELL
THAT WAS THE LAST THING HE'D EVER TELL
HE'D SHOOT ALL DAY, HE'D SHOOT ALL NIGHT, UNTIL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT IN SIGHT 

THE CROSSBOW WAS FREDDIE'S FAVORITE
HE'D DO ANYTHING TO SAVE IT
ARCH HE WOULD WITH ALL HIS MIGHT
NOTHING WOULD PUT UP A FIGHT
EXCEPT THAT YOUNG STUPID BOAR
CHARGING AT HIM WITH A ROAR
THE BOAR WAS BIG
BUT FREDDIE'S BOW WAS BIGGER
HE'LL FIND OUT WHEN FRED PULLS THE TRIGGER
HE'D ARCH ALL DAY, HE'D ARCH ALL NIGHT, UNTIL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT IN SIGHT 

SO BEWARE MY ANIMAL FRIENDS
BEWARE OF FREDDIE'S HUNTING TRENDS
OR IT WILL BE YOUR FOREVER END

September 23, 2010

Poems by Spiffy (our granddaughter)

Filed under: Family — Freddie Keel @ 6:39 pm
Tags: , ,

Picky Pete
I had a dog, his name was Pete
But he did not want to eat

I tried feeding him anything
from fish to fowl to chickens wing
He’d just toss his bowl with a cling

I tried feeding him duck but still no luck
I tried feeding him rabbit, he’d just stare at it

From then I only had one wish
That there would be nothing in old Pete’s dish

I looked at him, he looked at me
Then just then… I could see
Was he a vegetarian possibly

He gazed at me with his loving stare
For that was the end of Pete’s food affair

The Obsessive Maid
Always busy, always busy, always in a cleaning frenzy

From late July to early fall our maid will come and do it all

First she comes and scrubs the stairs, she always says they’re dusty
then she cleans the cupboards bare even though they’re musty

Next off to the kitchen where dishes are piled high
She looks at them with discontent and frowns with a sigh

I still can’t figure out, where she gets these crazy antics
She runs around… she runs about… are all maids terribly frantic?

——–

Spiffy and Papaw

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