Get Your Premium Membership

Best Haddock Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Haddock poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of haddock poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Haddock poems, articles about Haddock poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Haddock poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...

New Haddock Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Haddock poems are below this new poems list.

View all new Haddock Poems

The Best Haddock Poems

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Sage of Glasgow

~ 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 Replied Abigail 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

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Maple Syrup

Most Canadian boys
Love to play with big toys
If they really had their druthers
They'd want Syrup
Out of
Mother Cow's 

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
On haddock
In my coffee
On my toffee
Let's all try
Maple Syrup
On pecan pie

Maple Syrup
In chicken soup
The rooster flew
The coop
Maple Syrup on Flapjacks
The ducks love it
Hear the quacks
Maple Syrup
On asperagus
We can eat it 
With no fuss

Maple Syrup 
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

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Eating from the Sea

trout haddock catfish
clam chowder and lobster tail
seafood is a feast

Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2016

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Fishy Tale

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

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Food Fun.

Food Fun. 
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
removing it.
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

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.


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

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Menu that built the Empire

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

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.


pancakes barbara with cream
a buckwheat galette
haddock,prawn savoury wraps
brandy crepe suzettes
dribbled with treacle
Flip,flip Hoo

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Dreams of Spring

frost covered shamrock
belly full of steamed haddock...
slow swinging hammock

Copyright © Robb A. Kopp | Year Posted 2011

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.


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

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.


A walnut pate encoute
Haddock with rarebit
Cheddar & onion tart
Cream cheese fresh baked scones
A lemon cheesecake
Dairy cream
Please !

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Sweet corn & haddock chowder
Onion millefeuille
Pheasant breast in mushroom sauce
Poppy seed bread roll
with fennel butter
Plat au jour

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Ass arrangement is an ass assortment

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

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.



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 
stewed carrots  

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

Details | Haddock Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Wish Rider

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