Best Haddock Poems | Poetry
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The Best Haddock Poems
~ I - I Arrive in Glasgow ~
When I arrived in Glasgow town
I knew nary a soul
So tired I's nearly fallin' down
Yet I'd no place to go
I wandered up Buchanan street
In hopes to find a bed
Or e'en a simple mat o' hey
On which to lay my head
Lady Fortune must ha' smiled on me
For as I ambled up the road
An elf-like fellow waved me down, said pray come in
And rest your load
Upon our hearth awhile
Abby, fetch some haddock stew!
For this establishment is meant for weary
Travelers such as you
A dram'll do ye just fine
Let us turn now to converse
I am Seumas MacIntyre
Ye'll no yet heard of me of course
~ II - I Become Acquainted With the Sage ~
My family's been in Glasgow
Since Saint Mungo was a bairn
My Da he was a boatwright
'Twas a trade he had me learn
Aye but I's a restless lad
An' struck out on my own
For nigh on two and twenty years
The wide world did I roam
I've stown away in oxcarts and
Dined with Turkish royalty
I've climbed glaciers o'er in Canada
And sailed the Indian sea
When I returned to Scotland
I'd learnt a thing or two
Would ye hear my admonitions, lad?
Pray, tell them to me true!
~ III - The Sage Imparts Wisdom (As Sages Do) ~
Well first ye see, there's Confidence
Ye must look a man in the eye
And keep your shoulders squarely back
This today's in scant supply
A man's friends are his family
Wherever may he be
Though brothers ye may sorely lack
A true friend's as good to ye
Lastly be not in a rush to
Leave thy mark upon the age
For only two, three, four score years
Have ye wisdom 'nough to wage
~ IV - I Meet Bonny Abigail ~
'Twas about this time a-night
A ruddy girl with auburn hair
Drew upon our table and
Sat down 'side MacIntyre
Now must you so prater on,
She said patting his head
I'm sure our guest is weary
And longs but for his bed
The words she spoke were kindly
Yet she had no Scottish brogue
Miss, are ye not from Glasgow then
If I may be so bold?
You're quite the perceptive one
Though I've lived in Scotland half my life
From America I hail
For when I was but a young girl
Not more than ten and three
My dear Papa, a whalin' man
Was lost upon the sea
Having never known my mother
I'd then to make my way alone
Whilst trav'lin' Seumas found me and
Kindly took me to his home
He's like a father to me hence
And in his Inn I serve
Though I've a mind to strike out again
One day if I've the nerve
~ V - Revelry, and I Take My Leave ~
Aye, America lives in ye lass
Spoke Seumas with a grin
A fine proprietor ye'll one day make
Of yer own New England Inn
But the hour has grown late, my dears
And to rest 'tis nearly time
So let us toast one wee dram more
And sing of auld lang syne
We laughed and drank and drank and sang
We merry travelers three
And I thanked my Lord, such friends to meet
Though we must soon part company
On the morrow I set out again and
Bid a fond farewell
To the one true Sage of Glasgow and
The lovely Abigail
Oct. 2, 2017
Copyright © Andrew Jung | Year Posted 2017
Most Canadian boys
Love to play with big toys
If they really had their druthers
They'd want Syrup
Maple Syrup on bacon
Ready for the takin'
Maple Syrup on ham
Try it on spam
Get's my taste buds flowing
On my skin it's glowing
I am a fanatic
For Maple Syrup
In my coffee
On my toffee
Let's all try
On pecan pie
In chicken soup
The rooster flew
Maple Syrup on Flapjacks
The ducks love it
Hear the quacks
We can eat it
With no fuss
The smell of it
My all time fave
Dab a little on your face
Girls go wild
© 2013 Rick Zablocki
Copyright © Rick Zablocki | Year Posted 2013
trout haddock catfish
clam chowder and lobster tail
seafood is a feast
Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2016
Said a Cod to a wise old Eel,
I would like to know how you feel?
Though people snack on dips,
Lots more eat fish and chips.
They say it has great meal appeal!
Said the Eel to the wise old Cod,
I find that unusually odd.
I've never had to worry,
As so many eat curry.
Very few are after my bod!
Just then a worldly old Squid,
Doing what Squids always did.
Went swimming slowly on by.
Said he "Me, they'll never fry"
"They'll only eat me jellied!"
Next came a Lobster and Blue Crab.
Followed by a Flounder and Dab.
They agreed with the old Cod,
A fish with a succulent 'bod'
Always ends up on a slab!
Then a Shrimp, Whelk and a Mussel.
All went by in a hustle.
Then the Winkle with the Clam,
Who said "I'd better scram!"
"Cos I give chowder its muscle!
Following next came the Herring,
In a disguise he was wearing.
For he was truly afraid,
That the batter being made,
Was for him. His instinct unerring!
Then both a large and small-mouthed Bass,
And a lone, solitary Wrasse.
Not to forget the Scallop,
Going by at a gallop.
All getting away en masse!
Next Mackerel, Haddock and Plaice.
Not one with a smile on its face.
The handsome Halibut too,
Was looking glum and blue,
Which went as well for the Dace!
Now to all fish its crystal clear.
Most of them have plenty to fear.
Be they skinned, fried and eaten
With bread - White, Brown or Wheaten,
Or soaked and battered in beer!
Rhymer. December 6th, 2016.
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016
The Cook she fancied Chef.
She truly loved his meatballs
and as for his spotted dick. Sublime.
Chef he fancied Cook.
He really loved her chicken breasts
and wished one day to cover them
in a thick cream sauce.
Cook loved his chocolate eclair
and loved the taste of the cream
in her mouth.
Chef loved her pastry to,
and when she slapped her
dough on the table.
Well, he knew she kneaded it.
It always took a good pounding.
Nothing like a bun in the oven.
The smell of the finnon haddock
gently poaching in its milk
was enough to make an old Tom
howl with delight.
At last the eggs were poached.
Chef waited till his sausage
was properly stewed before
Finger licking good.
Those melons would be ripe soon
and the pudding had reached
boiling point and would be left to simmer.
It was nearing the end
of another busy day
in the mixing bowl of life
that was the kitchen.
Only one question remained.
Who would get custody of the custard?
Copyright © ned flanders | Year Posted 2009
Hey there! You've cheated! The fish deck is stacked!
Never trust rabbits with side eye contact
They look at each other and not straight ahead
And deal themselves haddock, straight flush so it's said
I'm floating, I'm flying, I'm soaring up high
With hippos and rhinos, I'm sharing the sky
Antelopes, zebras and camels as well
The ground isn't safe! A bombardment from hell!
What exam is this now? What's quantum physics?
I've revised algebra so I'm feeling quite sick
My pencils are noodles, my pens are chop sticks
And what's worse above all, I'm only aged six
I stand on the stage to deliver my speech
I'm wearing no trousers, they're still on the beach
My notes in the pockets, crabs take with their claws
And lecture the starfish, five legged applause!
I wake up, I sit up, I look at the clock
It's still late at night, I need to take stock
I stop and rewind and replay what I've spoken
From tape to lined paper, I write down this poem
Entry for the "talking in your sleep" contest
Written 13th January 2017
Note: the title is the medical term for sleep talking - maybe a new poetic form?
Copyright © Mark Martin | Year Posted 2017
Don’t worry about being thinner
Get yourself off down the pub
Then go home to a good British dinner,
Of British traditional grub
Delicious roast beef of old England
Served up with a thick Yorkshire pud
With roast spuds and cabbage and carrots
Plus gravy in which the spoon stood
What’s wrong with a good stew and dumplings?
Made with some prime neck of lamb
Or a thick slice of home boiled bacon
Instead of that wafer thin ham
Fried eggs and bacon for breakfast
A steak that’s surrounded with chips
Some mushrooms and beans or tomatoes
Can I hear you smacking your lips?
Give me pork chops with a kidney
A helping of wild rabbit pie
With carrots and peas and thick pastry
For which old Auntie Bessie would die
Kippers, smoked haddock or winkles
Mussels or soft herring roe
Jellied eels, tripe or pigs liver
I think I might give it a go
A thick slice of cheddar is pleasant
Coated with pickle of course
Or maybe a plump well hung Pheasant
Plastered with cranberry sauce
Blackberry and apple crumble
A dollop of cream on the plate
This is making my tummy rumble
Give me some quick I can't wait
A big lump of home made bread pudding
Or maybe a nice spotted dick
Served up with syrup or custard
Providing the custard is thick
A stuffed Sheep’s heart makes a good dinner
Or a nice deep-fried black pudding ring
On a slice of fried bread, did you hear what I said?
This is food that is fit for a king
When you’ve feasted on cabbage or brussels
Don’t ever consider you’ve sinned
Just be certain your close friends and family
Are seated some distance up wind
A plateful of boiled new potatoes
Dashed with salt taste exceedingly nice
If you give them a try will you no longer buy
Bean shoots or Chinese fried rice
Avoid all these kebabs and curries
They look like they’ve been eaten before
You’ll be finding them most Sunday mornings
On the pavement outside your front door
Don’t listen to these dieticians
Between themselves they can’t agree
Nobody mentioned cholesterol
Until nineteen seventy three
Make sure all your dinners are British
Now you know the foods that I mean
We never defeated old Hitler
Eating Pasta or Nuevo Cuisine
Copyright © roy may | Year Posted 2011
pancakes barbara with cream
a buckwheat galette
haddock,prawn savoury wraps
brandy crepe suzettes
dribbled with treacle
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009
frost covered shamrock
belly full of steamed haddock...
slow swinging hammock
Copyright © Robb A. Kopp | Year Posted 2011
I sauce a capon
but chine a salmon
I spoil the hen
but truss the chicken
I lift the swan
but disember the heron
I side a haddock
yet disfigure a peacock
A mallard I unbrace
but a coney I unlace
Olde English terms
Now lost without trace
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009
A walnut pate encoute
Haddock with rarebit
Cheddar & onion tart
Cream cheese fresh baked scones
A lemon cheesecake
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009
Sweet corn & haddock chowder
Pheasant breast in mushroom sauce
Poppy seed bread roll
with fennel butter
Plat au jour
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009
An assortment of assorted asses assessed antelope antics angelically arranged
A vibrant and charming assortment of periwinkles, mints, truffles, sliced peanut cubes, diced baps, and a haddock basted in creamed lard. Now that must surely be an acronym for an actor but actresses prefer the wafer thin biscuit truffles under a melon spray and the painted opaque plaques of prawns and lettuces. Equilateral is a nice neat swooping swerve arriving at ten past six and ten past six is neither ten talking tents timing tuna steaks and nor is it six mammoths doing a handstand in a bandstand. All heads move then. Move around the garden plates with the trays. Little clinking cups filled with bud dews and sandwich stands to make a speech with the cress microphones and the cheese leads. Fantastically flaming flambés flamboyantly flashing fishes. And a little mouse holding a dish was hopeful to gather some creamed buttoned brie and camembert. But only if attired correctly. Rather swim in a puddle then on the top of a flooded skyscraper thought the pigeon. And the balls of the woolly moths and snails in all the walk in wardrobes worldwide clapped until the predicaments were aligned from the large banqueting buffers. Trains did not attend. And neither did Mr bus. Nor terry toweling tram. Bring the eleven cakes at once to get tote song. And strong is a stem and a steam is a stewing steak. Z representational Z at nineteen bangles booming to twelve aerial photographs of a little seeded bun. Z *** HAHAHA XX Z
Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2017
In the afternoon sun
the asphalt road shines like an ice rink;
flanked by green trees that
cast black shadows,
helped by the breeze
they flutter slightly,
soundless articulation a symphony for the deaf
My memory brings me
the aroma of curried
chicken and rice,
but since it is Friday, it will
be smoked haddock, boiled potatoes and
Still a twenty minutes drive,
before getting home,
shadows merge with the evening and
the ice rink is a memory
Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2017
A sum of wants and needs
To write a verse or two before I die
To recreate a beauty that I’ve seen
To cause a tear to form within an eye
From seeing a thing that’s gone tho it had been
Common as a haddock small thrown back
Through eyes as blue as sky or salty green
Though it were all I carried in a sack
With staff aswing on shoulders bony bold
Would e’er that I could take a different tack
And keep your precious soul from growing old
This life is hard on souls as wild as mine
So tethered to the sum of day to day
I cannot ever seem to work as fine
To give a reason for this feeling fey
The fear of being alone is here again
As ever it enthralls these days of gray
Let all the fetters fall and I can fly
As free as any nightingale to sing
A verse or two of love before I die
To balance all the joy of life you bring
Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2006