Best Chowder Poems
Oh, clam chowder, how I would love
You to be like the thing you claim you taste of.
You're seafood, soup, potatoes, all warm
And bubbling in a splendrous, thick liquid form.
Your amount of potatoes, though is extensive,
Because I guess that clam is just too expensive
To be present in amounts that meet my desires.
But I suppose you'd be too costly for buyers.
But aside from that, clam chowder, you're alright.
I'll probably still have some tonight.
Manhattan Clam Chowder
Warm and wet a real delight
Our roots run deep into the Philadelphia bells of acoustical waves of your musical melodies, sound in my distant ear, the sailors storm on the wooden ferry I ride, into the depths, of a swamps crossing, saved by the mind, we traveled together with a song in a line, oceans wake we travel across to a hay ride wedding and chowder horns of blessings we dine.
Rings true to the bells of a flashing red nose of St. Nicholas flight we sit and fight occupied by the Christmas Night. Songs we would sing from an Old English Story carried on by our families from generations ago. A musical history of wooden winds along with an Indian Pipe we remember from back then, the long journey of the stalagmites of millions of years you shown to me. Nature we live to see, what's right in front of me, horses we gallop to the lake filled with trout, and into the rivers of the Chattanooga with a stripped root beer of truth in its colors are bound into a saltwater taffy candy entwined.
Built from the foundation, a brick and a pebble, we rise through the years of lessons we learned, the barrel of two guns and logs of fire on a cold night.
A loss so great grief long and hard two people so young and so soon they were gone. Torn apart into a new life and it begins with the truth that lies beneath. From the strength above we pulled through.
Snowy rooftops and a seasons leaf, roaring rapids and a bridge line of cobble, a Water Wheel and Indian Tales in a Grey Stone Prayer of a white candle lit. We move along through it all filled with adventure and love carrying the music within to find ourselves back to the oceans again deep in our hearts. The Tropics we know.
Constructing the intelligence broad waters rise and a house from the 20's you kept alive, hard as it was a paradise you built, home you always were where ever you went.
My heart sank when the news came, I never have thought of a day without you. Brave I was with all that you survived, I made it through, darkness came and they attacked with secrets people never knew, I almost died, but came through because of you.
As years went by then at last comes a son I thought who lives in the memory of you. Lessons we learned will carry on to him too. Bless our lives with many more of you. As I sit here today missing you, all I can do is carry on...and hope to make you proud as I am of you.
A Chowder Of Cats
There's a chowder of cats on the corner
an exultation of larks in the sky
a troop of monkeys high in the trees
where the rhino's doth daily crash by
A pack of dogs patrolling the lane-way
a herd of cows at rest in the byre
a bellow of bullfinches grasping hawthorn
A mischief of mice staying warm by the fire
A parliament of owls swoop over golden corn
where an army of caterpillars stay low
a flock of sheep look down from the hills high above
a congregation of alligators sleeping in a row
A pandemonium of parrots rudely laughing
an unkindness of ravens unamused
a drove of bullocks seriously unimpressed
a bloat of hippopotami singing twelve-bar blues
Too much drink, someone had just implied
When she passed out, it couldn't be denied
Face down in stew
Rising askew
"There's a soup in my hair!", she then cried
A man said, "You're having trouble I see!"
"May I buy your meal and some coffee?"
She brushed off rice
And said, "Coffee's nice!"
"But it looks like the meal is on me!"
Shay play chowder me, a miracle of motion still a movin’
Just a waste masks the Master of all design
Walk we upright in the deficit of night
Depth of darkness not repeated in the generations of beings
Bent a willing root dimension three
Welcome gnashing, it’s only me
Pass me by again today, no message to receive
Partition-on my friend to survive sureality
Despicable
How it drips down the side
Bubbling up from the innards of the pot
I can hear the sizzling
The smell of the butter drenched corn
I throw in a bit of salt and pepper
To spice up the contents
Cream splashes up, upon my cheek
I leave it.
The light burning sensation begins to fade
As I step away, breathing intensely
This alone reminded me of my younger years.
Frightened yet interested
In how the cream drizzled corn was hesitant to conform.
How I yearn for the old me
Who could make batches of milky substance,
Yet now I struggle
With the makings of one
My fingers felt greasy
Like those nights years ago
How I would work every evening
Hoping you enjoyed the taste
My eyes sparkling,
Lost in the thoughts
The slurping and screeching
Of the boiling brew
The fragrance of corn graces my nostrils
Flashes of memories flood in
Your body, yet again
Covered in the opalescent matter
You used to love my cream corn chowder
The same way I still desire you
Yet there’s always a bowl of higher quality.
Saddened, as I turn the flame on low
Let it seethe,
Let it come to a halt.
Now I await to enjoy
Like those feasts years ago