Other SPAM Poetry

I like SPAM
It is neat
I can keep it on my feet
When I want a bite to eat
I just have to lick my feet

O, ye of processed beef and/or pork and/or poultry
That comes in a cool tin can
That you open with a key

That flops out in a fabulously perfect
Preformed lump, all shining with
Synthesized meat juices.

With that great taste of non-meat.
You cause my heart to speed, my knees to shake, and my skin to become clammy.
You make me become short of breath, to convulse, and to have massive failures of the pancreas, arteries,
And liver.

And so in final salute to you, SPAM,
My eternal God and King,
Others can keep their Klik, Kam, and Spork,
But I'll keep my SPAM.
I just won't eat it.

--Laura Knap

Everybody has'm
You can really raz ma taz'm
with that ecto-pork-plasm

Gimmie a gun
for Piggly Wiggly fun
in a hot dog fun
Make it a stun-gun

Gimmie a
dali lamma link long
pajama crama sink song
it's a merry manna kink kong
a ham-a ham-a pink bong


--Reverend Angus Strychn Music

Canned Meat is Neat

--Jerome Pijanowski (Jerry Mason)

The Gel is Swell

--Jerome Pijanowski (Jerry Mason)

So, there it is.
Plentiful in its own way.
A monument to industrial society.
Meat in a can, the sustainer of Man.

Silly of us to think that
Prior to the industrial age
A meal came from the heart.
Many things, indeed, come to pass.

--Reber Clark

Mary had a little SPAM
That ham-flavored jello
And everywhere that Mary went
People thought she was a lamb


SPAM tastes like shit.
It smells like a fat man's pit.
Crap like that,
is full of fat.
My gay friend Jay
eats SPAM all day
and we all think that is why he is gay.
He starts to beat
when he eats that meat.
He gets more juice
than a bitch in heat.
He thinks that meat is squishy.
He likes it more than pussy.
He don't like chicks
but he still sucks dicks
and he eats his SPAM
off old toothpicks.
When it comes to SPAM
he is a fan
and he eats it when he's on the can.
He eats it because he thinks it's soft.
He squeezes it when he jacks off.
He pulls it hard
he squirts it clear
and that is why we think he is queer!

It's all your fault SPAM!!!!!


[Alester Crowley loved spam, see:]

A Hymn To SPAM

"What is this stuff
That doth jiggle in the breeze
And smells like that which
I avoid when I walk in the stables?"
--Hysterics of Estrus

O meaty mass of fleshy flesh
Who with the dark and wild
And wanton world doth mesh
In sizzling ecstasy, tasty and mild!

From the Ellay to the halls of Prism,
To the salty fields of Elysium,
Come to me glorious SPAM,
Thou cooked, boiled, and pressed ham!

Come with eggs and toast,
With bacon and duckling roast,
Come wild! Come sliced!
Come mashed! Come diced!

With this key thy veil I rend!
Thy starry blue tin I twist and bend!
That the thee in thee might
Become the me in me tonight!

And the thee in me I feel
As the me in thee I peel;
With glee and abandon I stab
My trident into thy quivering flab!

With fervor and awe you relent
Before my furious murderous intent;
I whip I mash I slash I cream
Thy body to consumate this dream.

I dice I beat I flake I shake
I cover thee with Shake and Bake;
SPAM! O sweet sweet SPAM!
Never again will I slam my ham!
O yeah, SPAM my baby...
Come to papa, SPAM.
Oooooh...SPAM...I never dreamed...

*(The secret sense of these words is to be sought in the numeration thereof.)


[In the style of M'ssrs Gilbert & Sullivan.]

I now confess proclivity,
For alimentativity,
Involving parts ambiguous,
Of that which once a piggy was.

A cumulus gelatinous,
Ingesting which will fatten us,
And raise us to such ecstacy,
That folks will crane their necks to see.

This mottled pink comestible,
Which most find indigestible,
I find quite indispensible,
And gorge 'til I'm insensible.

So grab the can, examine it
And if it says there's SPAM in it,
Decant it to a plastic plate,
Then fill your face and masticate.


[And with apologies to Lewis Carroll.]


'Twas tiffin, and the gelid SPAM
Sat glist'ning moistly on the Spode:
All greasy was the noisesome reek
On midday air bestowed.

"Beware the acid reflux son!
The fiery belch, the throat that stings!
Beware the withering stares of those,
Who find that pigs have wings"

He took the proper fork in hand:
Long time each gristly bite he chewed--
A thought! To spit it back on plate--
He could not, it would be too rude.

And as he pondered this faux pas,
Regarding porcine jelly,
A mighty belch, that seared like flame,
Came rumbling from his belly.

One chew, one chew and then you're through
And top it with a Snickers snack.
You think it down, but as you frown,
It comes eructing back.

"And hast thou dined on SPAM, my son?
Come--have some Digel foolish boy,
Enjoy the charms of Hammer's Arms,
The Pepto-Bismol ploy.

'Twas tiffin, and the gelid SPAM
Sat glist'ning moistly on the Spode:
All greasy was the noisesome reek
On midday air bestowed.


It's like ham
Cut it up, put it in a pan and then
You've got a hamburger a cheeseburger an omlette too
There are so many fun things that you can do
With SPAM!!


spam is a nutritious
delicious treat
serve it up fried
on toasted whole wheat
or chop it up
and boil it too
we are having
yummy spam stew
it's pink processed meat
in the blue can
wonderful stuff
to have on hand
it never goes bad
it never was good
the incredible
processed non food

--ashley pfistner, apfist@unf.edu

I was perplexed about SPAM on INTERNET
Asked son, What SPAM hear?
Son say, "Scientifically Processed Animal Meat!"

--Redmond Rose

The SPAM of the Ancient Mariner
With apologies to Samuel Coleridge.

[A wedding guest is accosted by a fearsome visitor.]

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
"By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Oh wherefore stopp'st thou me?

I am a guest at yonder feast,
See how the plates are set
With gourmet food and wine and cheese;
No finer can'st thou get."

He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
"Hold off! Unhand me, grey-beard loon!
Oh who annoyeth me?"

I've many names, the old man moaned;
Crown Emperor of SPAM,
Lucifer, Hell-bringer, Gill-Ee-Gan,
But you can call me Sam.

[The old man tells a strange story.]

Now step right up and you will hear,
A tale of a fateful trip;
A tale of woe, I chanced to stow
Aboard a Hormel ship.

SPAM, SPAM everywhere,
Sick putrid awful meat.
SPAM, SPAM every where,
Nor any bite to eat.

I'll eat the pig, the Captain's pig!
No SPAM for me but fresh roast pig.
I'll feast tonight on suckling pig
The freshest finest pig.

[The upset crew hangs a talisman of evil around his neck.]

You ate the pig, the Captain's pig!
Oh fool, to eat our lucky pig.
No pig to guide us to our port
No hope to ever find our port,
No port without our pig.

Ah! Well a-day! What evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, a small blue can
Around my neck was hung.

[The sailors abandon ship and leave him to his fate.]

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
A ship piled high with a ghastly load
No crew, just SPAM and me.

No loin, no roast, no tender chops,
Not a single piece of meat;
Just whiskers, hooves, the tail and snout
were left for me to eat.

The many pigs, so beautiful!
And they on shore did lie;
And a thousand thousand slimy lumps
Sailed on; and so did I.

[By the light of the moon, he sees SPAM in a new way.]

The moving Moon rose up above,
And lit the cans below.
And in the cans, I thought I spied
Soft light (by day must sunlight hide)
A soft pink healthy glow.

The self-same moment I could eat;
And from my neck so free
The can of SPAM fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.

[He safely reaches home to share the Good News about SPAM.]

He eateth best, who loveth best
All foods both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and eateth all. "I do like SPAM," the guest proclaimed;
"I'll eat it day and night:
Yes I will eat it Sam-I-Am,
Unhappy fearsome sight."

He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn.
Sadder yet not wiser: SPAM
He ate the morrow morn.

--Dave Reed, davereed@cris.com

SPAM is jiggly,
SPAM is wiggly.

It's great with mustard,
but not with custard.

SPAM is meat,
so let's all eat!


[With Apologies to Casey]

It looked unappetizing as approached Thanksgiving night,
Dinner was upon us with not a speck of SPAM in sight;
With Sis gone vegetarian, and Dad's cholesterol so high,
And Mom on a liquid diet to lose her cellulitic thighs.

The menu was not even planned, no SPAM and cranberry stuffin',
No casserole of marshmallowed SPAM; no SPAM and walnut muffin;
No honey-glazed, gelatinous mass; no cobblered SPAM and pumpkin,
Realization hit me square, my grease-clogged heart was thumpin'!.

There were no slices in the freezer (no need to freeze it, that is true);
I searched all through the pantry, but there was not a can in view.
I cursed the health food industry, wished death to Richard Simmons,
And if Linus P. had been there I'd have sliced him into ribbons.

The produce drawer was full of greens--arugula and cilantro;
Low fat yogurt filled the shelves and on the door a mantra
Exhorting all to eat their fish, "Have you had your grains today?;
Your vitamins? Your water? Your roughage by the way?"

I fled down to the basement, to where Dad kept the poison locked,
I never ventured in before, the stuff after all, is toxic.
I clawed through all the boxes hoping there to find
Some very fatal substance, to end my life and ease my mind.

Then as I groped a moldy carton, I felt a feel familiar:
It had the shape, the heft, the rim--I almost shouted Hallelujah!
I dared to hope, I closed my eyes, as from the murky depth
I pulled out an old can of SPAM! By God, I'm not bereft.

But hidden there for all these years, would spoilage not have gotten
Into the can, and made the "meat" more than its initial rotten?
To peek? To dare to dream? What would this rusty tin reveal?
Might it be the taste I long for? Could therein lie a meal?

There was daring in my manner, bravado in my stance,
I read the the label lovingly--the preservatives gave a chance
That though upstairs was healthy stuff, good all ills that ails,
Inside perhaps was porcine pink beside which all else pales.

And now the key is peeled off, and now carefully I insert it,
And gently (psst) unroll the seam, the contents not to hurt it;
And now the top is opened and now the insides spilling out,
And now the air is filled with scent of innard, foot and snout.

Oh somewhere in some spa masseurs may muscle acids, tannic;
In health foods stores across the land they label foods organic;
And in nutrition classes fats are measured by the gram;
But there's no joy like my stomach feels--I've lived and died for SPAM.

--Ira Slotkin, manycats@wic.net

18. The Haikette (3-5-3)
Potted one
Thy succulent charms
Reign supreme

--Rahul Sen

19. The extremely rare micro-Haiku or Haikro (1-3-1)
Of processed

--Rahul Sen

[Apologies to Wm. Shakespeare and lovers of literature everywhere.]

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury SPAM, not to praise it.
The evil that SPAM does lives after it;
The good is oft interred with its can.
So let it be with SPAM. The noble Brutus
Hath told you SPAM was not nutritious;
If it were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath SPAM answer'd it.
Here under leave of Brutus and the rest--
For Brutus is an honorable man;
So are they all, all honorable men--
Come I to speak in SPAM's funeral.
It was my friend, nutritious and just to me;
But Brutus says it is not nutritious;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
SPAM hath brought many tasty fried meals home to Rome;
Whose fatty sustenance did the general stomachs fill;
Did this in SPAM not seem nutritious?
When that the poor have cried, SPAM hath seeped fat;
Nutrition should be made of sterner stuff;
Yet Brutus says it causes arteriosclerosis;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You did all see that on the Lipidfest
I thrice presented SPAM with a kingly crown,
Which it did thrice refuse; was not this nutritious?
Yet Brutus says it contributes to gastric distress;
And, sure, he is an honorable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love it once--not without cause;
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for it?
O judgement, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason!--Bear with me,
My arteries are in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till circulation comes back to me.

--Ross Brunetti

SPAM Uncured
(With sincere apologies to Mr. Hughes and all who admire him)

What happens to a SPAM uncured?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?

Or sit in the store--
covered with scum?

Does it stink like genuine meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just quivers
beneath a layer of mold

Or does it just implode?

--Erik Shirokoff, shiro@uclink4.berkeley.edu

Roses are red
Potatoes are tan
SPAM is pink
And it comes in a can.

--Mike Richey

A dog catcher with too many dogs.
A farmer with a pig too old and fat to be any use.
A dead wharf rat found by a homeless guy.
What to do with all these spare animals?
Poof, grind, splat, SPAM!


Out in the wild where the SPAM beasts roam free
See how they stride


I cry to thee moist, tempting slab of SPAM,
I call to thy meatlessness from yonder,
Come to me oh slimy glob of mucus,
I love to eat your vomit colored flesh,
Come to me! come to me! come to me SPAM!
The slimy temptation tempts me all day,
Sizzle! sizzle! sizzle! sizzle! Oh yes!
Squish! squish! squish! squish! vomit! vomit! vomit!
At last my SPAM has come from the yonder!


Apologies to Woody Guthrie

This SPAM is your SPAM, this SPAM is my SPAM
From California to the New York Island
From the Redwood Forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This SPAM was made for you and me

As I went walking that stockyard catwalk
And saw above me those endless meathooks
And saw below me the gelatinous masses, I said:
This SPAM was made for you and me

I ate it fried and baked and roasted
Even once I had it toasted
And all around me, the hogs were squealing:
This SPAM was made for you by me

This SPAM is your SPAM, this SPAM is my SPAM
From California to the New York Island
From the Redwood Forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This SPAM was made for you and me

--Brad Kautz

A Few Self-Pitying Thoughts Upon Reach The Age Of Sixty

Loveliest of trees
The Spamtree now
Is hung with cans
About the bough
Outside, the tin
Inside, the meat,
Pink and tender
Ripe to eat.

Now of my threescore
Years and ten
Threescore will not
Come again
And since to see
The SPAM in bloom
Ten measly springs
Leave little room
To the SPAM orchard
I shall fly
To see the SPAM
(And have a cry).

--Peter Hochstein

There was a baby Sam
Who cried out from his pram
Mommy put your breasts away
I'll only suck on SPAM!

--Jimmy James, Captdingle@netzero.com

Despair, thy name is Legion
Amongst the many splendored aisles
Row upon row of preserv'd provender
Yet none shall Exult
Yea, none shall even match in temper
O'er that which we seek--our souls burden'd
With unquenchable desire, victims of monopoly
One shining can transcends. . .
One Hope for Virtuous and Wicked alike
One dream, repeating itself, ever calling
And yet Who among Ye shall
Upon his own self take
The Glory,
The Duty,
The Burden
Of rescuing from its zinc-plated captivity
The soma, manna from Heav'n above
Fruit of the Gods. . .
Fruit of Hormel. . .
Who then amongst Ye shall first turn that key?


Amazing SPAM (A Hymn)

Amazing SPAM, how great thou art
To feed a wench like me.
I once was starved but now I'm full,
T'was on account of thee!

On many camping trips I'd gone
And run slap out of food
Until I learned to carry those tins
O SPAM! Thou art so good!

Through many dangers, toils, and cares
SPAM has seen me through:
It's saved me from the bears in the woods,
And it's a great companion, too.

SPAM tastes like nothing else on earth,
Pure manna from the gods!
Though pink and gelid with texture strange,
It's edible, against all odds.

If I go on ten thousand hikes,
I'll need a million cans
'Cause SPAM is great for an extra pair of socks,
Ground cover, and making rubber bands.


--Daphna Gregg, daphnag@mindspring.com

Across the desert, arid and bleak
the wagon's axles started to squeak.
The noise disturbed everyone's peace
'cause they forgot to bring some grease.
But a gob of SPAM was the best technique.


13 Ways of Looking at SPAM
Variations on a Theme by Wallace Stevens

Among twenty snowy mountains
The only moving thing

I was of three minds,
Like a cupboard
In which there are three cans of SPAM.

SPAM whirled in the cuisinart
It was a small part of the pantomine.

A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and SPAM
Are one.

I don't know which to prefer
The beauty of SPAM
Fresh out of the can
Or just after.

Icicles fill the long window
The shadow of the SPAM
Crossed to and fro.

O thin men of Haddam
Why do you imagine golden birds
Do you not see the SPAM
About the feet
Of the women around you?

I know other canned meats
And luscious inescapable flavors.
But I know, too,
That SPAM is involved
In what I know.

When SPAM is not in sight
I mark the the post-it note
On the fridge.

At the sight of SPAM
In a green light
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage

The river is moving.
SPAM must be on sale.

It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The SPAM sat
In the pantry.

--Charles West

This is Just to Say
Variation on a Theme by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the SPAM
that was in
the fridge

and which
you were probably
saving to scarf
down on your own.

Forgive me
it was delicious
and the gel
was so cold.

--Charles West

How much ham
In a can of SPAM
When they can a can of SPAM?

When they cram
A gram of ham
Into a can of SPAM

That hammed can SPAM
Can't be called SPAM
A can of SPAM that can't.

A can of SPAM
With one gram ham
Is sham of can of SPAM!

--Bob Jonkman, bjonkman@sobac.com

SPAM--I love it!
An idealized, congealized
Sort of ham
A hasty and awfully salty, but tasty
Pink and white meal in a red and blue can!!!

--Nancy Yates

The Dance of Love

Like a siren you beckoned.
My thoughts ran wild as I drew near to you.
Your name alone lured a rage of hunger.
I held you softly in my hand
As I listened to the unspoken sound of
Your enticement: "tink."
Slowly I watched your walls of steel
Crumble before my eyes.
"Eureka!" I shouted in silence.
My hands began to tremble
As I fondled your somber blue apparel.
My lips moistened as I salivated with anticipation.
Could this truly be happening?
At this very moment in time?
Savoring the thought
I drew you near to my soul.
My lips embraced your tenderness.
Warm sensations throbbed through my veins.
Your taste was bittersweet,
As I plunged you deep in the
Chasm of my pleasure.
The warmth of your sultry pink flesh
Engulfed my existence
Like a clean wind of a cool mountain top.

Ah . . . #%$^&%$^*$%^*&^#

"Hey Sammy! . . ." A voice cried out from the dark smoke filled room.
"You damn pervert!!! Put the SPAM down and come deal the cards."

As in life, we sometimes must have a rude awakening.

--Sweet Al

I'm in the Mood for SPAM
(With apologies to Dorothy Fields and Jimmy McHugh)

I'm in the mood for SPAM, simply because it's near me.
Funny, but when it's near me, I'm in the mood for SPAM.
Breakfast is overdue, the kitchen's all asunder.
Oh, is it any wonder?
I'm in the mood for SPAM.
Why stop and think of whither this little meat was made?
Please bring the blue can hither: I'm omnivore, I'm not afraid.
If there's but little ham, if there's no bacon handy,
I find the gel just dandy--
I'm in the mood for SPAM.

--Randi Merrifield

Found myself stuck on a bungee stick
In a jungle full of rot.
Only one thing worse in life,
SPAM for me, not!

--Dick, r_varner@earthlink.net

Passing up old SPAM on a Snowy Evening
(with apologies to Robert Frost)

Whose woods these are I do not know
But there's a can here in the snow,
A bit of blue and tan appear
With an expiration date: One Nine Eight Oh.

My hiking companions must think it queer
That I'd stop with our destination so near,
They don't care what's in a can
Unless it is a micro beer.

I ponder for a moment; "Nay,
I'll not open up this can today."
Though I know there is no need to fear
It's only in its twentieth year.

The can is lovely--tan and blue
But I promised my doctor that what I'd do
Is get no closer to it than SPAM-ku
Is get no closer to it then SPAM-ku.

--Ira Slotkin

Ode to SPAM

Eat it for lunch
Or maybe for tea
SPAM is real good
For you and for me

Just open that can
And plop! on the plate
That pink slimy sausage
It looks oh so great

Covered in jelly
A rectangle quite hard
And it smells so fine
That odor of lard!

What is it you ask
I really canít say
You want to know what
It was yesterday

Perhaps it was dog
Or maybe 'twas cat
Or scurrying around
The meat of a rat!

But no my dear reader
Thereís only one source
That meat that you crave
It comes from a horse!

Well really you cry
I really donít dig!
Cause I have been told
Itís flesh from a pig

Yes you are right
Itís chopped up dead hog
Not chicken or rat
Or possum or dog

A magnificent creature
Put in a can
The pig that was killed
To make up your SPAM!

--Stephen Kwasniak

There it was just a sittin' on the shelf
My palms were sweaty and I couldn't help myself
I looked around and I opened up my belt
I closed my eyes just thinkin' about the slime
And all the nasty stuff I'd do if it were mine
I was hard as a rock standing in the checkout line
I left the store but I didn't get too far
I folded down the back seats in my grandmother's car
Then I rammed the SPAM till I shot my jam
And coated the sides of my Teflon pan
I belted out the lyrics to "I am the Man"
Then ate my salty plate of protein filled SPAM


Two very nice things about SPAM, at the least--
(so contrived a product of so honest a beast):
* so many nice piggies who might else not have met,
* so many piggy parts you might else not have et.


Quivering, pink glop.
Oh, thou fair artery-clogging
Enemy of dieticians.
You intrigue me.
Your golden gel
Surrounding succulent
Fatty acids
Pork bits.
Worse than the hot dogs in content
You care not.
The turkey may say SPAM,
But I say no more.
Vegetarian's worst nightmare.
ALL the naughty bits
Compressed into an innocuous-looking cube.
Hormel's gift to mankind.

--The Plaid Avenger

Return to the SPAM Haiku Archive Home Page.
About my book.
To my Editorial Haiku page.
To my fiction writing.
To my travel writing.
To my World Music articles.
To my scientific publications.
John Nagamichi Cho

Copyright by the authors.

SPAM is a registered trademark of Hormel Foods Corporation for luncheon meat. The Haiku Archive Master and the contributors to this website have no legal, commercial or financial involvement with Hormel Foods. Neither the information presented here, nor the manner in which it has been presented, has been sanctioned by Hormel Foods.

Last modified: Mon Sep 13 09:53:08 EDT 1999