In the halcyon art colony days, Bohemian writers and artists congregated on Carmel beaches to beat, feast and sing about that wondrous mollusk.

Oh some think that the Lord is fat,
And some that he is bony
But for me, I think that he
Is like an abalone.

Oh some drink rain and some champagne,
And whiskey by the pony
But I will try a dash of rye
And a hunk of abalone.

Oh some like ham and some like jam,
And some like macaroni,
But our tom-cat he lives on fat
And juicy abalone.

George Sterling

Some stick to biz, some flirt with Liz,
Down on the sands of Coney
But we, by hell, stay in Carmel,
And nail the abalone.

Sinclair Lewis

The more we talk, the more they make,
In deep-sea matrimony.
Race suicide will ne’er betide
The fertile abalone.

Michael Williams

I telegraph my better half
By Morse or by Marconi
But when in need of greater speed
I send an abalone.

Oh Mission Point’s a friendly joint
Where every crab’s a crony
And true and kind, you’ll never find
The faithful abalone.

He wanders free beside the sea,
Wher’er the coast is stony.
He flaps his wings and madly sings,
The plaintive abalone.

George Sterling

Some live on hope and some on dope
And some on alimony
But bring me in a pail of gin
And a tub of abalone.

Anonymous

We sit around and pound and pound,
But not with acrimony,
Because our object is a gob
Of sizzling abalone.

Oh some folks boast of quail on toast
Because they think it’s toney,
But I’m content to pay my rent
And live on abalone.

Opal Heron Search

reported by Sharron Lee Hale 1980 in her book A Tribute to Yesterday