Finally Submitted to Wergle Flomp!
I won! Yay! The beautiful silver “Poet of Merit” bowl was my award from poetry dot com, and it would only cost me $150 for personalization and shipping.
Yep, back in the early 2000s, many writers felt like their dreams had come true because they were officially labeled as poets of merit. It was proof we really were good writers.
As much as I wanted to just accept their “gift” and go to the ceremony to receive it, I couldn’t afford it. That made me research the validity, and I found out plenty of bad news. One group tested things out by having a class of first-graders submit their poems. Every single poem won the “International Poet of Merit.” But the folks who conducted the test decided to make this terrible thing into something good. They created a humor poetry contest called “Wergle Flomp” with free entries and real prizes.
And now, after planning to submit for over 20 years, I finally decided I’d send a silly poem I wrote about a true event in my childhood. Here’s the poem…
Why Fish Should Not Climb Trees
If I hadn't seen it for myself,
I'm not sure I would believe,
That one could catch a catfish,
By fishing in a tree.
Though not a tree for climbing,
Mesquite brush on the shore,
Can grab a cast thrown near it,
To keep forevermore.
This bush, it doesn't grow alone,
Bad company it keeps,
Nettles that will sting the skin.
They give me the creeps.
Once I got a bit too close,
Knowing not what lay in store.
Blisters made a nice wide path,
And left my bare skin sore.
So when I cast my line that day,
A bit too far and wide,
And Mr Mesquite grabbed it up,
I snipped it and said goodbye.
I wasn't climbing down that hill,
With nettles and brush that bite,
Besides all that, twas dinnertime,
So I went in for the night.
But early in the morning,
Before I went to school,
I thought I'd do some fishing,
In the early misty dew.
I grabbed my pole with its new hook,
And weight and bait and line.
Then out the door and down the dock,
I went for some quiet time.
And then the sight that I beheld,
Made me think it was a dream,
There was a catfish in the tree,
That hung above the stream.
The tide had risen in the night,
And receded to morning lows,
So my stolen line and hook and bait,
Had spent some time below.
Below the water at high tide,
I guess the worm woke up,
And a big 'ol swimming catfish,
Decided it would sup.
I'm sure it swam and wrestled,
Till the tide went back sea.
Dangling there, it knew for sure,
Why fish should not climb trees.
And, yes, I did catch a fish in a tree when I was at my grandparents’ house on a river called “Taylor Slough” in the delta region of central California. The river had tides that would make the walkway of the dock really steep at low tide and almost flat at high tide. Early mornings were low tide, so it was a good time to fish. And it was a good time to catch a fish in a tree. Lol 😂. My only regret now is that I didn’t take a picture, but that wasn’t as simple before digital cameras and camera phones. My poem is my picture of it to share with the world
If you like poetry, remember that April is National Poetry Month so it’s a good time to stretch your poetic muscles. And in case you’re interested, you can read other humor poetry at the link above using the contest name. Maybe one of my readers will submit in the future, or maybe you already have and you’ll tell me about it in the comments.
Now, for your continued poetic pleasure, here is the other poem I wrote on the same subject. It’s a different style, but you can only submit one poem per year, so this one isn’t going anywhere but here for right now…
I Fished In A Tree
I've thought a few times,
How confused I'd be,
If I saw a fish
Dwelling in a tree.
Fish don't have wings,
And they don't fly.
So only birds,
Should be up high.
But this is true,
Trust what I say,
I saw a fish,
On a branch one day.
Nested snugly,
In the leaves.
Scales shimmering
In the breeze.
I got up early,
Near sunrise,
To do some fishing,
With sleepy eyes.
To make up for,
The night before,
When catching fish,
Became a chore.
Because my line,
With hook and bait,
Caught on a tree,
And there it stayed.
Too much nettle,
Around that shore,
So that clipped line,
Was gone evermore.
Or so I thought,
When I went inside.
I never considered,
The rising tide.
It came up high,
In the midst of night,
And the wormy hook,
Dropped out of sight.
Beneath the deep,
And watery slough,
The fish were swimming,
In green and blue.
A wiggling worm,
Became a meal.
And caught the fish,
No rod or reel.
And when the tide,
Went low again,
The fish was dangling;
I had to grin.
Hanging there,
For all to see,
Now I can say,
I fished in a tree.
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