Long Haddock Poems
Long Haddock Poems. Below are the most popular long Haddock by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Haddock poems by poem length and keyword.
He knew all there was to know
About the frying game
Haddock, cod, skate and ling
All treated just the same.
A deft flick of the wrist to draw
Each piece through the batter
Then the basket lowered into
The hot oil’s spit and splatter.
A basket full chips
Placed alongside
For food of the gods
Quickly deep fried.
Well wrapped in clean paper
When the order was complete
Or the wrapping left open
To be eaten on the street.
Salt pepper vinegar
To add to the flavour
Giving a hot meal for
Any person to savour.
Sits well on top of pints
Calms a stomach down
Known to all and sundry as
The best chippie in town.
The third generation
Carrying on from his dad
A point he emphasised
When he ran his local ad.
Proudly above his shop was
Displayed his family name
And they knew all there was
To know about the frying game.
Did the first creature to crawl
out of the proverbial, primal primordial,
onto the sand,
feel like a fish out of water,
out of its depth,
when high and dry on land?
With no wish to carp or cock a snook
I won't leave you in the lurch
but oh my cod take a look
what a plaice to perch
as just for the halibut
putting seahorses out to paddock
is enough to give one
a severely bad haddock
so no red herring I don't flounder around
take a peeled eel flake of baked hake
plus a pinch of pickled pilchard
and an ichthyic sandwich make
but if my words are vitriolic
you may grunt and kiss my bass
as it's all a load of pollock(s)
Millions and millions of bricks
Tons and tons of concrete
Lord only knows how many panes of glass
Granite, Marble, and cobblestone too
Build a city strong, steeped in history
The Adams, Otis, Hancock, and Revere
Tea parties, massacres and lanterns that hung
Swan boats, ducklings, with duck boats to boot
Hatch shell, commons and a Garden with parquet
Green Monsters, leprechauns and Pops play grand
West End, North End, Southie and Back Bay
Chinatown, Beacon Hill and Government Center
South Station, North Station, M. T. A.
Red line, Green line, Orange and Blue
You may find Charlie still riding too
Baked beans, chowder and don’t forget scrod
Lobster, cannoli’s, haddock and cod
Brown bread, beer, oysters and cream pie
Corned beef and cabbage with blarney a’plenty
Fenway Franks, Hoodie Cups, whoopie pies with Dunks
Marathon, Head of the Charles, and St. Paddy’s day parade
Bunker Hill, Faneuil Hall, the old’s North Church and Ironsides
Streets Beacon and Boylston, Avenues Commonwealth and Mass
Northeastern, Tufts, along with the Boston’s College and University
Brigham and Women, Beth Israel Deaconess, Massachusetts General
Bobby, Espo, Raymond, Bergy and Z
Russ, Bird, Hondo, Couz, and Jones boys
T.B. 12, Hog, Andre, Bruschi, and Troy
Teddy, Pedro, Papi, Jim Ed, and Yaz
These are our guys; this is our city!
Let’s sail away to Acapella,
A celebrity haunt owned by Penn and Teller.
I shall act as your prince, you’ll be Cinderella
When we’re sat on a beach in Acapella.
It’s not as sexy as Cannes or as dowdy as Rhyl
But their choirs and ensembles will give you a thrill,
Acapella compares well to old Casablanca,
As you will observe once we have dropped anchor.
Their libraries don’t hold any musical score,
Acoustic folk singers are considered a bore,
All keyboards and trombones were sold overseas
And whistles restricted to football referees.
So you won’t hear the bagpipes of Kenneth McKellar
Or repetitive bass notes plucked by Paul Weller.
Your voice will entrance all the ladies and fellas
Once we’ve moored in the harbour of Acapella’s.
There fishermen bring ashore haddock and bream
Having sung shanties as a well-rehearsed team,
The salty sea breeze gives their voices a rasp
And the youngest amongst them let out a gasp!
Melodic and manly, the crews ride the waves,
Proud of their seamanship, masters not slaves,
They heed the advice of their mothers and aunties
But rarely acknowledge the source of their shanties.
Once a solitary busker was found in a yacht
And by all accounts he deserved what he got,
He was forced down the plank at the tip of a sword
Then his vintage viola was flung overboard!
On the pier you’ll find orators and callers at bingo,
But no jukebox is pumping out John, Paul or Ringo.
Pop or rock music gives locals the creeps,
It’s no wonder that George’s guitar gently weeps.
So, if Customs Control takes your squeezebox or trumpet
Don’t seek compensation, you’ll just have to lump it;
Those instruments go to a processing plant
Because singers are welcome but musicians aren’t.
We shall seek out the nightlife in numerous bars
Where the locals all sing without playing guitars,
Dodge the Lambrettas in quaint cobbled alleys,
Then stride across hills and along peaceful valleys.
So, if you’re tired of concertos or singles by Queen
Book a cruise to a place where they’re considered obscene,
It’s a magical island owned by Penn and by Teller -
The remote principality of Acapella.
So let us sail forth across the briny
In a luxury yacht - well furnished and shiny
To where your vocal range will be valued quite highly,
And you won’t have to sit through Baba O’Riley.
128 Gallon of Milk
"The unique medium"
Castile Dermal they spoke
as his name. They said he was
an original person
with some great ideas.
He refused to see past
the frustration
of the word can't. Some saw him as
a great person
, nut others either
needly wished him
to fail or go away.
He would use his knowledge
of science to
make better conditions
were historically
people who had needed help either
couldn't vocalize there need
or didn't know how to
readjust to the changes
that would effect them.
Do it now while
you know what's going on
one spoke. But like the wisdom of the wise
it all depends on the terminology
function and production
He understands the need
for money, but
refuses to understand the
need for investments.
the intense heartfelt expressions of a soulful cantress
and cantar.
*****************************
******Hoytt tah Mussie********
****************************
(they mad sure he had no money where
he couldn't be involved)
**********************************
a Smooth rhythmic ride
the strong presence of
pride and history
stories that inspire one
to do things that are inspirations
to the betterment of all involved.
Flatfish: i-done, haddock whiff you, sea, yawl
fluke and flounder: sea I,turbot sole!
Elopment;groom,best man,,destination wedding,first look.
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?
A Couple Of Nags
A couple of fellows who weren't very bright
Got terribly drunk in the pub one night
It gave them a bit of a shock of course
When in a drunk bet... They each won a horse
With just enough money for chips and some haddock
They couldn't afford the price of a paddock
Bob said we'll rent a small field for a start
But how would we then tell our horses apart?
Ted slurred his words and burped when he said
Couldn't we paint a white stripe on one's head
Bob said we're too skint to buy us some fags
So we can't afford paint for marking our nags
We could tie a pink bow onto one of their tails
Scratch names on their flanks with a couple of nails
Or if you're not liking the sound of all that
Could we make one of them wear a straw hat?
Bob simply belched before he then said
We need to do something much cheaper instead
We can't afford ribbon or a silly straw hat
Did you think me too drunk to have thought about that?
Well we need to do something before we get old
Or before we end up stone dead from the cold
But then Bob jumped up and he started to gloat
I've sussed it he boasted, just give one your coat
Not likely said Ted, the thought makes me chilly
So frankly, he burped, you're idea is silly
Next you'll suggest that we smear one with jelly
Or maybe we ought to make one wear a welly
The two of them sat there, each scratching his head
Then Bob had a brainwave and here's what he said
We really must get this decided tonight
So you have the black horse, and I'll have the white.
Commercial season in its full swing
boats afloat dot foggy harbor scene
we're off like a prom dress
let's catch a mega-mess
barbs a'flyin', some even obscene
Wish 'em up! Catch 'em up! Bend the rod!
tease with the herring, but not the cod.
weekend revolution
curse the thoughtless googans
less than seventy-three inch outlawed
find the school of herring, find the whale
there we'll drop anchor and chum the trail
drop the bait, throw the chum
if we chum, they might come
pull the hook, hear our woebegone wail
youngsters have chum methodology
squid-haddock mix no apology
chumbalaya soup
up goes the loud whoop
they sing a joyful doxology!
they cut the chum and then throw it in
expecting to catch a big blue fin
they hook the herring
the beeps a'blaring
land the fat cow that was in a spin!
It’s a big, fat, slob – a screamer!
if it’s a shark, you’re a dreamer
come on baby, bite me
on the hook, excite me
it’s a blue fin clever schemer
tails up! it’s safely on the deck
all this work is for a paycheck
pink, fat, and greasy
some make it easy
who’s in the lead, they’re neck ‘n neck
over the rail and into the pail
back to the dock to make a big sell
dollars, six to 28,
900 pounder is great
turn and burn, we're off to find the whale
at end-of-day when season is done
competition end, who's number one
some were lost, some were gained
tuna species sustained
next year, another season will run
[Sometimes when I’m struggling to write
I scrawl gibberish in the hope that inspiration
will lie within. Sometimes, just sometimes…
I like the result. This is one such]
There’s an ostrich in my porridge
There’s a shrew in my canoe
There’s a tiger in my trifle
There’s a Shih Tzu in my shoe
There’s a spider in my cider
There’s a goldfish in my loo
There’s an aardvark in the car park
and a coypu in my stew
There’s a monkey looking funky
With a meerkat for a hat
And an adder up a ladder
Hiding from a hungry rat
There’s a beaver with a cleaver
For he hasn’t any teeth
And a gator ate a waiter
Which was really rather brief
There’s a haddock in my paddock
And he’s in a proper muddle
An explosion in the ocean
Left him splashing in a puddle
A polar bear just over there
Has seen an easy lunch
For haddock are so juicy
With not many bones to crunch
He gave up eating penguins
When a penguin bit his neck
He won’t see that electric fence
For Polar bears don’t check
And when he got a zap
He got an aura that was fiery
He staggered round in circles
With his hair all black and wiry
He tried to brush the soot off
But he’d have to wash it later
He didn’t get the chance
Because he met the alligator
The gator had to rest because
Although he felt quite chuffed
A waiter and a polar bear
Had left his belly stuffed
But my wife grabbed a hammer
And she’s had ten thousand views
Of her alligator handbag
And her alligator shoes
[Well, you were warned!]
I have loved this dish all my life
my mum made it so ever new
but always best at chippy shop
wrapped in newspaper after a queue
Always loved splashing my chips
with vinegar, pepper and salt
haddock or cod my favourite fish
cover with tartar sauce without fault
Loved to have after the match
soccer my fab game, go every week
get my fish supper before go home
real tangy taste so to speak
Remember holidays in my twenties
Blackpool on the west coast yearly
last thing at night fish supper a must
diet forgotten weight high I did fear!
In Scotland, we called it a fish supper
if in England fish and chips was its name
over the years price has changed too high
but even so, its never lost its fishy fame
(I am writing a poem about the classic British dish... fish and chips!)