"chowder" poems
In the storm-tossed
Chilean
sea
lives the rosy conger,
giant eel
of snowy flesh.
And in Chilean
stewpots,
along the coast,
was born the chowder,
thick and succulent,
a boon to man.
You bring the conger, skinned,
to the kitchen
(its mottled skin slips off
like a glove,
leaving the
grape of the sea
exposed to the world),
naked,
the tender eel
glistens,
prepared
to serve our appetites.
Now
you take
garlic,
first, caress
that precious
ivory,
smell
its irate fragrance,
then
blend the minced garlic
with onion
and tomato
until the onion
is the color of gold.
Meanwhile steam
our regal
ocean prawns,
and when
they are
tender,
when the savor is
set in a sauce
combining the liquors
of the ocean
and the clear water
released from the light of the onion,
then
you add the eel
that it may be immersed in glory,
that it may steep in the oils
of the ***
shrink and be saturated.
Now all that remains is to
drop a dollop of cream
into the concoction,
a heavy rose,
then slowly
deliver
the treasure to the flame,
until in the chowder
are warmed
the essences of Chile,
and to the table
come, newly wed,
the savors
of land and sea,
that in this dish
you may know heaven.
14.4k
I wish I were stranded on a tropical island
A tropical island with you
You could make art from coconuts and starfish
Yeah, coconuts and starfish might be a good place to start
And I could build a crude instrument
Out of a conch shell and driftwood
And tightly roll a papaya leaf to use for a string
Or two
Then I could play and you could sing
We wouldn't want for anything
Serenading each other by the light of the moon...
Every evening we could snuggle underneath the stars
You could be Venus, I could be Mars
We could lay our differences aside (except the good ones)
I'm safe in you, you're safe in me,
No need to hide
I wish I were stranded on a tropical island
A tropical island with you
And we'd bake clams in the hot, hot sand
Under the afternoon Sun
And brew a crazy chowder using sea salt and kelp (help!)
Then we'd make love on the beach as the water nips at our toes
Under the setting sun when the day is done
By a waterfall I'm calling you...
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
The speaker in this case
is a middle-aged witch, me-
tangled on my two great arms,
my face in a book
and my mouth wide,
ready to tell you a story or two.
I have come to remind you,
all of you:
Alice, Samuel, Kurt, Eleanor,
Jane, Brian, Maryel,
all of you draw near.
Alice,
at fifty-six do you remember?
Do you remember when you
were read to as a child?
Samuel,
at twenty-two have you forgotten?
Forgotten the ten P.M. dreams
where the wicked king
went up in smoke?
Are you comatose?
Are you undersea?
Attention,
my dears,
let me present to you this boy.
He is sixteen and he wants some answers.
He is each of us.
I mean you.
I mean me.
It is not enough to read Hesse
and drink clam chowder
we must have the answers.
The boy has found a gold key
and he is looking for what it will open.
This boy!
Upon finding a string
he would look for a harp.
Therefore he holds the key tightly.
Its secrets whimper
like a dog in heat.
He turns the key.
Presto!
It opens this book of odd tales
which transform the Brothers Grimm.
Transform?
As if an enlarged paper clip
could be a piece of sculpture.
(And it could.)
4k
Love is like a disease it spreads.
Hatred is an itch when you keep
Scratching it. It Fester an kills you.
When i think about the things I've said.
Feelings I felt. I melt inside.
It turns my in sides out.
My heart combust
An I hate myself.
Why are I not enough.
Denial will have you walk for miles.
Sorrow is a sweet after taste of a sucker punch of truth.
Loneliness is only a symptom.
An that to will pass.
I am a enigma of feeling. I cry when the rain falls to hard. When the wind blows in the wrong directions. I'm poetic. I'm also a stepping stone. The men I've let erase my soul an rewrite my blueprint. The salty tears I cry are almost symbiotic. Another symptom. Like a sonnet short an sweet. Running in a circle walking a fine line. Waiting to leap. Is it a crime to work 9 to 9. Roller coaster emotinal train wreck. An I think to myself who will love me.
I bare myself to the pit an it asks me if I'll jump. I reply not today. Slumped down I step closer to the edge. I reenact self destructive behaviors daily. Am I considered an addict. I seek validation from namless phantoms. I named them my self conscious. Are you listening my beating heart gets louder. I order cream an chowder. Sips slow on estacy. Love an lust sleep next to me. I'm smothered in one while I'm blocked to the other. Exits are closed off I think where is my mother. I shudder remembering I'm alone.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 7:59 AM UTC
Oh I’m killin myself
But I’m doin it slow
Cuz i like to get high
And i like to feel low
And I’m fallin in love
But she’s running away
Now I’m falling apart
I'm ****** falling apart
Oh when did it start
Oh what can I do
Im so stuck in the old
and I’m begging for news
And Im begging for you
to just stay
Oh please don't go away
Oh lord, wouldn’t grandma be proud
to see her powder faced chowder headed grandson now
n I said oh lord, oh, wouldn’t grandad rejoice
to see his little baby grandson spewing land mines with his voice
Oh Lord, wouldn't grandma be proud?
Oh Lord, Wouldn't grandad laugh out loud?
Oh I’m killin myself
But its taking too long
Cuz I done run out
my mind is almost gone
And though I just woke up
The sun is setting
I don’t feel like doing nothing but
Resting where my nest is
But won’t you please sing along
To make me feel ok
These rhymes are all i got
To distract from the pain
In plain view I stand
Rib cage ajar
Come dive inside
You can live in my heart
Oh lord, wouldn’t grandma be proud
to see her powder faced chowder headed grandson now
n I said oh lord, oh, wouldn’t grandad rejoice
to see his little baby grandson spewing land mines with his voice
Oh Lord, wouldn't grandma be proud?
Oh Lord, Wouldn't grandad laugh out loud?
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
Real Love
Love can be so very strange,
life you must now rearrange.
Butterflies in the tummy,
clam chowder is so yummy.
Naked massages, magic touch,
finger tips, I love so much.
When not home, I get lonely,
nothing about us, is a phony.
You're my very best friend,
I text you and hit send.
We fight more than we should,
I'd fix that if only I could.
Laying naked in the bed,
cuddling with you, no more said.
We were two halves, that became one,
my hot dog fits perfectly in your bun.
We never kiss and tell,
******* make us yell.
What's mine is also yours,
even my brand new fishing lures,
What's yours is also mine,
I don't quite fit in your Calvin Klein.
We share and share alike,
together we face problems,
that are headed down the pike.
Nothing can tear us apart,
I rode in a bus, and you in a **** cart.
On the day that we wed,
that night we will have a wet bed.
We will live happily ever after,
Lots of trust and a little laughter,
So if you ask me what is real love,
I don't know, but something not to get rid of.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
This meal will be magic
worldwide skills, are no sort of tragic
for starters may I suggest
the spinach dip, you put to the test
Broccoli cheddar chowder
to help you recoup
but served with pit
I'd choose Mock Turtle soup
It's what mock turtle soup is made from
So your hungry?
But would never eat a horse
let me enlighten thee main course
It'll keep you lookin great, in your bikini
Its the sauteed jack, pita panini
Yet wait just a second
don't be so quick to cruise
for dessert your spirit will vigor
for my strawberry mousse
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:06 PM UTC
On rainy days
I look up poems set in Seattle,
then look back at the rain set against the window
I imagine the water was carried here
from the shores of their bay
across Pike Place, through Belltown,
in buckets they use
to carry Pacific salmon off fishing boats,
or in lidded Styrofoam bowls used
to take out clam chowder
I practice walking in this manner, sans umbrella, through the parking lot of a South Florida strip mall.
When I reach the 24-hour Dunkin Donuts, past the laundromat and the check cashing store, I channel my inner Seattleite: poised in wet socks,
unrushed as the sips they take from their mugs when its **** pouring outside
I renounce sugary accoutrements and have what they're having:
Black coffee with a splash of rain,
A balance perfected on their slanted hill streets
that breed more poets per capita
than anywhere else in the country
Vegas can have its mirages in the desert
San Francisco, its gold bridge
I think I should just have this coffee,
and this rainy day
as the poem it is.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
My pudding cup won't stand up
It can't support the weight of the spoon
When it's full of pudding it holds it up just fine
but when the delicious ballast is removed
and the spoon placed back in the cup
it tips over
like a small sailing boat
in the hands of an inexperienced crew
It's like the designer of the pudding cup
couldn't conceive of a time
when a spoon would be in the cup
without pudding
So the cup is clutched in hand
then emptied
and discarded like a husk
never to meet table again
and the spoon?
tossed in the sink with a wine glass
and an emptied bowl
until recently full of hot creamy clam chowder
and crunchy oyster crackers
still cradling it's spoon mind you
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
Rain kisses the pavement
Cigarette burnt fingertips
Your warmth is god sent
I taste the salt on your lips
Black umbrellas line the streets
Clam chowder and baguette air
Like a child tucked beneath crisp sheets
Adoration the only stitch I wear
Pacific Ocean’s salt
Rain soaked cheeks
Coy, loving, exalted
We could’ve survived like this for weeks
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 1:49 PM UTC
Eye of bat and bowels of mice
Mixed into a cauldron cold as ice
Claw of rabbit, tooth of goat
Stir with a tale of a smelly stoat
Add two pints of stale perfume
Two rats whiskers and an ounce of misfortune
Ignite the mixture with a match
And burn it down to blackened ash
Gather the ashes and grind to powder
Add some Arsenic to make a chowder
Invite your enemies round for luncheon
No need to bludgeon with a truncheon
Sit back and watch the final show
Love your friends and **** all foe
This witches brew should do the trick
If they don't die they'll all be sick
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
Today she wore curlers in her hair
looking like cannons staked out ready to blare
Her lipstick and powder
like bouillabaisse chowder
And when she demanded a goodbye "peck"
I said "No way!" to the wreck
Which made her rear back and bray
"Go home then and kiss a stingray!"
She cackled and cackled
raising my hackles
Thinks she is the second Joan Rivers
but she only gives me the shivers
Soon I was fearing another fight nearing
seeing her witch's eyes evilly peering
And when she rose in those clumpy army boots
I heard an arpeggio of loud flatulent *****
Forcing me out the door needing fresh air
and away from her threatening glare
But one day I'll be back
once I can align myself on the proper son-in-law track
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
I made you a crown of dried chicken feet,
it goes with your snake eyes,
like how dice stare back, irisless.
I bet fifty clams on Steady As She Goes,
I dug them up in Maine for chowder.
Well, my Friday dinner just walked away.
I put your hand in the waffle iron and closed it shut.
That's for trying to make a better pancake, good suggestion,
pretentious Belgian *******
Next time I'll just stub my cigarette out your sweet Sunday brunch,
you'll eat the ashes out of the little cubes that are so fluffy and crisp.
Cleaning up a broken pillow after a pillowfight,
that's rough stuff.
**** feathers, it's a cotton from now on.
Let's practice making out.
Gross, I don't like girls, I was kidding. Get the **** off me.
They snuck syrup and chemicals into all your drinks,
but don't worry, I removed it.
You spit it out and say GROSS WHAT IS THIS THIS HAS GONE BAD
fine. keep ******* down on those chemicals cancer kid.
May 17, 2011
May 17, 2011 at 5:32 PM UTC
Alone
Just one simple paycheck away,
never saved money for that rainy day.
Now I'm walking down the street,
begging you for food to eat.
Haven't shaved in a week,
looking like a bearded freak.
If you drive by, throw me a dime,
I ain't got nothing but time.
Built a fort in a tree,
wishing I had some lsd.
Clothes are torn, body covered in dirt,
I sure could use a brand new shirt.
I use leaves to wipe my ***
stay away from that brown grass.
I take a shower when it rains,
with no soap, the dirt remains.
Looking for some needed assistance,
my life never had any kind of consistence.
I eat worms, I eat bugs,
I'd rather have some illegal drugs.
All I drink is animal blood,
my fort got washed away by a flood.
Now I walk the streets alone,
fighting dogs for their juicy bone.
I have no weapons to **** a mammal,
if you saw me on tv, you'd turn the channel.
Getting weaker by the day,
clouds over me are always grey.
Then one day I met you,
ripped her to pieces and made a stew.
Ate clam chowder for half a year,
she was fat and I showed no fear.
Me not knowing she had aids,
wishing now I had some razor blades.
Knowing soon, I'm about to die,
for my pathetic life, please don't cry.
Should have picked an animal with rabies,
cause I never was good with the ladies.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
I stagger cold through the halls of my indoctrination.
I do not wish to be seen.
A thousand ******* eye's gawk silent from there checker pattern perches
and my chains and prizes jingle
and attract stares
with each bounding step.
I can no longer stand my hours in this house of heresy.
Loose lipped **** lovers
spill secrets over bile chowder
chuckling about a days delicacies
and social secrets.
Second rate at best,
they all know there lover boy on the Hollister bag
probably takes it in the *** more than the average ***
and still they swoon blind batty eyed at the queens that prance the halls.
I am unamused
Feel abused
giving out my finest hobby to any takers.
I'm being used.
How am i supposed to taste my death sweet and smokey at this rate.
Like some fluff tailed hair
I hustle off with my ticking life in toe
the numbers at my waste spell ruin.
I'm late.
I'm late.
If only I had some red haired queen of hearts
to behead me.
A better fate.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
In my small town supermarket
they have a soup bar.
It's self-serve
and they allow free samples.
But,
Free sample
means samples
as in before you buy soup
so you can try a little sip
to see if you like
the clam chowder,
beef and barley which has too much green pepper,
or squash bisque
before you fill the paper cup
or the larger one
with hot
delicious
soup.
It doesn't mean
"free soup"
to eat while walking
through the store
and not buying any soup
after the sample is gone
and then
as if to add insult
to injury,
leave the empty ramekin
with your sample tailings
on a random shelf,
sometimes even with a little plastic spoon
and a used napkin,
tucked behind a roll of paper towels
or toilet paper
or catfood
on your way out of the store
to stand in the parking lot
and complain to other petty soup thieves
about how "some people"
get stuff
for
free.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
Her voice it reaches into me,
hooks me like a desperate fish.
She's singing songs of Ireland,
such a saucy creamy dish.
Seafood chowder by the sea,
a sense of you, a sense of me.
All the things we're gonna see,
everything we're gonna be
Out the window, rolling waves,
rolling round upon the floor.
Her mind is like a hidden cave,
leaves me craving, wanting more.
The wind, the rain,
our twisted brains.
The way she moves,
the way she sways.
Lost within Octobers days.
Lost with every word we say.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
benjamin franklin was created by benjamin franklin
one of his most ingenious inventions
you could never read all the books about him
when you finish one, two more have been written
i party in his colossal footsteps
thanks ben, for lending me all those volumes from your library
you invented bifocals, i see clearly
your stove warms my heart
i give away my **** too -- no patents for me either
let’s jam sometime on your glass armonica
i’m packing one of your divided soup bowls on my next ocean trip
i’m sick of losing my clam chowder to the waves
these terms you added to the lexicon:
"battery," "positive," "negative," "conductor," "discharge"
i’m positive i bought a battery the other day
you designed the first penny – only now an anachronism
no matter how many of those saved pennies have been earned
all those aphorisms, my god
i bet you mumble them in your sleep
you started the philosophical society, me the secret music society
you studied whirlwinds and gulf streams when sailing to london for a cup of coffee
you designed flippers, hung onto a kite for windsurfing
used the kite to summon lightning
invite me next time you blow up a thunder house with an ungrounded lightning rod
we’ll make pittsburgh tremble
and congrats on the grounded lightning rods
you saved millions of people and neutralized religion
it’s not the deadly finger of god, the vengeance of the lord
it’s just a buzz
lighting the streets at night comes in handy
though the night watchman concept has gotten a bit fascist
brokering the french alliance was stellar for our onion soup supply
but your suggestion that we unite these states
i’m not sure that one’s gonna stick
and thomas jefferson was a cockblocker
we declare independence from his scolding us for all our mademoiselles
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 5:12 AM UTC
milk, what a waste
you were my favourite
addressing your past
Now
salvation is in clam
chowder and bad
moon rising,
addressing our past
childhood was much
Like, a play
not a lot has changed
At least that's what
I wrote
On the postcard
Addressing my past.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 6:17 AM UTC
I greet you like a new shore with a wave that says hi and bye together.
Somewhere in between, I entertained the idea that we might have met on a train in Seattle once. We sat sideways on the edge of a deep conversation, staring out the window as the rain did the talking.
My mantra is an old Samurai teaching: defeat who you were yesterday. I told myself that I'll have something to say to you by tomorrow.
I write stuff down for inner peace. The pen is my sword.
I got it. When the pandemic is over, let's order clam chowder in lidded to-go cups and meet at the edge of a pier where ships leave. After a while, the sight of departure takes on a charm of its own.
I can talk to you more freely on higher ground, like a rooftop. Or a train platform overlooking uptown Chicago. It will feel like we've risen above the noise.
I make a pretty good penpal. I also have anime hair. And an enviable Samurai sword collection.
Do abs still count?
My brain is in great shape. Don't mind if the thoughts floating out of it are going over your head. It's better than going over heels. That would be hopelessly romantic.
Dating apps remind me of a formula in astronomy that says the odds of intelligent life beyond Earth are a statistical impossibility. Still, you can't help but look up on dark nights asking if you're alone.
I want to say I met a girl who I began writing about, the kind that doesn't just smile at you to be polite. Consider this an invitation to write back.
You'll get my name then,
-Annonymously Yours
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 9:21 AM UTC
Flavor to the max
Omegas from the Flax.
These roads are twisty
I hope the sky gets misty.
My mother
told my brother
to eat the penny.
She whacked him with a mallet
and knocked the penny out of his palette
in the middle of June
while riding a balloon.
The sky was dark
But Gary's still a narc.
Bob ate my chowder,
so at him I threw powder.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
In stories of love and conflict
The greatest were of me and you
The influence of hydroponics
Done unravelled a thing or two
Like the perfect slurps in life
Are of chowder not of stew
And the perfect us derived
From the balance of me and you
We basked in endless reverie
Though the years were but a few
This reality of fantasy held eternally
For today
my love
today
I bid you
Adieu.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
Reacting to the new dangerous trend of taking the ****** off in an until then consensual ****** act.
Dear America,
I strolled down your famous Sunset Avenue
Tasted the marine-inspired SF clam chowder
I had dreams about a Hollywood Undead venue
I had in mind Madonna, Monroe and their powder…
Dear America,
You gave me Ginsberg, Baldwin and Brooks
You gave me Hawthorne, Poe and Hemingway
You gave me strength and glory along the way
You gave me all my poems found in these books.
Dear America,
Today I want to tell you about stealthing
No I’m not talking about your crusade and sword
I want to tell you about a new trend and word
Consisting of taking your ****** off in the act
Dear America.
Irving told me he saw a desperate mother– it made me cringe
At the hospital, watch her son slowly pass and leave her
In his arm they gave him an against whatever AIDS shot syringe
This mother planted the needle in her arm.
Dear America,
The gay community was stigmatized because of barebacking
Horses of desire that they decided to tame
And you tell me your youths are, as we are speaking
Making love risking their lives, and no one is to blame?
Trumpets of shame I hear, crumbling the walls of reason
This brand new world to our bodies is nothing but treason
What is that? Is stealthing **** America? I don’t know, say,
What was your reaction when they took your freedom away?
Dear America,
To the insolence of the 1970s youth, the recklessness
This generation responds with an air of stupidity
Go waste yourselves on the altars of dumbness
We won’t move a finger, to again witness this madness?
April 28, 2017
Lyon, France
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 5:17 AM UTC
Russia and Sunny
Are so very funny
The way that they play with each other
They peck and they claw
All over the floor and being so different's no bother.
Russia meows and
Sunny goes 'POW!'
And flies all over the room
He hits some walls
And then he falls
With a big loud crash and a 'boom'.
Russia gets scared
And hides under the chair
And she doesn't come out for an hour
She doesn't come out
Until you shout
**** **** come eat your chowder!".
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 7:52 AM UTC
We all want it
Something so magnificent
So many of the songs on the radio
Waiting to be married to you
Giving people the blues
Making peoples smiles reappear
whenever your near
The rush of dopamine when they catch eyes
Cupid you sly little one
Filling those arrows with a magnificent powder
Shinier than gold
Making people melt into chowder
Finding someone
from which to grow old
Magnificent ain’t it
Cupid agrees
You can’t count
How many times he’s shot those arrows
From young to old
Male or Female
I'm going point out the obvious
Love is inescapable
So stop running you fool
Or else you’ll end up like all the others
In love with love
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC