Best Chicken Feed Poems
What if I told you things aren't
what they used to be.
What if I told you clichés
are not always "for the birds"
That the Clichés cling for
a reason and have clung long.
Show me your truth sandwich;
What ingredients did you use?
Smoked lunch meat and cheese
Did you eat that, digest that?
What if I told you cheese is plastic
And ain't what it used to be?
And chicken feed ain't, flies and grain
But Plastic and GMO corn instead.
Don't feed the pigeons, says the sign.
But we don't eat the pigeons here.
So we feed them, and they eat
bits of truth that we now turn down,
Pigeons fly around downtown,
Without true food, without the truth.
Show me your truth sandwich;
What ingredients did you use?
Peanut butter and Bananas?
Pigeons spread disease in excrement
With bits of nontruth, splattered all over;
Making a point about the truth the whole truth
and nothing but the moot truth “So help you, Hanna"?
Cliché' may be our only reality, because little truths
matter, relevance should never be Obsolete.
Big or small, the truth must massively
Combust into big explosions of honesty.
If you should turn your back on truth
You will be face to face with a lie.
The truth needs to matter again
Or nothing else will.
I potted up a plant, with love, for you;
Although I fear it could turn out a weed:
I’ll have to stick a flower on with glue...
It wasn’t something that I really do,
But when I found a bird’s discarded seed,
I potted up a plant, with love, for you.
I could present you with a species new!
Perhaps I’ve got a tree or bush or reed...
I’ll have to stick a flower on with glue.
I cried the day you said our love was through;
It’s sad you say I am not what you need.
I potted up a plant, with love, for you.
I left and didn’t know what else to do...
They say that flowers help with love; indeed,
I’ll have to stick a flower on with glue.
It’s growing huge with spiky leaves of blue;
I gave it whisky, lots of chicken feed;
I potted up a plant, with love, for you;
I’ll have to stick a flower on with glue.
written 12th June for 'Villanelle me a flower' contest
The Christmas when Santa got Fat
Kris Kringle rubbed his belly; he was feeling really hungry indeed
Mrs Claus had put him on a diet of what he felt was chicken feed
Brussel Sprouts and Lima Beans and lots of Spinach Green
Life’s unfair when you’re Santa Claus and still your wife is mean.
So what if he‘d piled on the pounds and his belly was very round
He could surely fit down any chimney without the slightest sound
Oh well he thought its Christmas eve , children would put out some snacks
Milk, Cookies and Candy Cane would put his tummy back on track.
He got into his silver sleigh and heaved a mighty sigh
Rudolph, , Prancer and Vixen waved to Mrs. Claus goodbye
He was really very hungry the clouds had begun to look like food
Then again if he asked his reindeers, they would be so very rude
They all agreed with Mrs. Claus, Santa was rounder in his seat
They hadn’t even let him carry his goodie bag of sweets
The last place on his list was the house of Jill and Joe
Aha he fit down the chimney and he heaved a mighty ho
He placed the doll and toy train right underneath the tree
He saw the milk and cookies and rubbed his hands in glee
He ate and ate the yummy snacks till his pants felt very tight
Cheerful now he began to feel Christmas Eve was a jolly good night
They he tried to climb up the chimney but heavens he couldn’t get back
He wriggled and squirmed but had to agree his middle was very fat
Rudolph, Prancer , Vixen he very softly called
You’ll have to pull get me out of here I can’t seem to move at all
The reindeers whinnied suspiciously what Santa felt was a nasty laugh
He now agreed sheepishly why his food had been cut down to half
They heaved and with a mighty yell, Santa came flying out
It was a good thing it was still midnight for no one had heard him shout
When they reached back home the reindeers gleefully recounted the tale
When he saw Mrs. Claus’ angry face, he began to get very pale
But when she gave her sweet belly laugh, Santa heaved a sigh of relief
It’s a good thing they got you out my dear before they thought you were a thief!
It’s a stricter diet for you this year before you revisit Jane and Joe
Or else instead of the chimney, you will have to ask to use the door!.
Can't follow 1040 instructions?
Need help claiming all those deductions?
Trump knows what you need
Is not chicken feed
But his lawyers skilled in seductions
The rooster crows at the break of dawn
Another hour and he will be done
Except occasionally he will breed
For the job he has done, he is paid quite well
Even though he only works for chicken feed
While the little hen must slave all day
To make an egg so she may start her family
When the clutch is set, she works 24 hours shifts
Around the clock; twenty one days, there she sets
Sets until the hatch complete, her brood now sprung
The rooster struts as if he were a king
When in reality he hasn’t done a thing
The little hen sings her clucking song
Urging her growing brood along
Somehow chicken feed doesn’t seem enough
For the sacrifices that she has made
But for the little hen, well, that’s just her tough
Luck
"It is the year of the coq"
Said Alice from Dallas
"Rooster rhymes with booster
and gallus with phallus"
Ladies, prepare for a goose
Grope Meister Trump's on the loose
Not one clucking request
Will ever feather your nest
The Russians gave him a boost
So Grope Meister Trump rules the roost
But if you follow his lead,
"You're fired", with no chicken feed!
The Coq struts and crows
But forgets what he owes
To everyone in the coop
Who did not know "dupe" from poop!
The turkey's on
Old man Johnson's farm
All wised up this year
Logging on
To Amazon
About mid November
With Halloween out of the way
They were bound to save
On the items they would need
Which worked out great
Cause all they could afford to pay
Was in scratched up chicken feed
The pigs helped in
The ordering
As it's a well known fact
That being turkey's
They're always in a hurry
And ain't nobody got time for that
They saved up extra seed
For quick delivery
When you're on the cliffs edge dancing
Coming down to it
This being life or death
There's no need to take chances
In the nick of time
The package arrived
On the day required
The fateful day
Known to our hero's as shake and bake
November 23rd
On that morning when
Old man Johnson then
With ax in hand stepped outside
Where he tried to think
Had he ever seen
So many cows in his life
In between the moo's
He heard a gobble or two
Which in itself is very strange
Plus the Amazon bill
For umpteenth costume cows
He just can't quite explain
There's a quaint little cross roads town that nestles in the shadow,
Of majestic Pikes Peak called Punkin Center in eastern Colorado.
The prime business in town is the Punkin Center Tack and Feed Store,
Where farmers and ranchers congregate to shoot the bull and more!
There you'll find fellers in bib overalls and John Deere tractor caps,
Cowboy hats, scruffy boots, faded jeans and greasy leather chaps.
Some spit streams of terbaccy juice - others enjoy roll-yer-own smokes,
And the air is rant with guffaws as they ply each other with bawdy jokes!
There are Ford 150, Dodge Ram and Chevy Silverado pickups galore,
Waitin' for their owners to load up on this and that from the store.
But they ain't in no hurry - besides it looks like a norther is on the way.
The Punkin Center Tack and Feed Store is a great place to idle time away!
Clyde Purpleears, the owner, stocks plentiful supplies for those in need:
Fertilizer, saddles, bales of hay, manure forks, hog and chicken feed,
Baler twine, hip boots for muckin' out the barn as well as various seeds,
Milk buckets, lariat rope, gloves, shotgun shells and stuff for killin' weeds!
Clyde displays the latest in coyote traps, steel posts and barbed wires,
Nose rings for randy bulls, post hole diggers and John Deere tractor tires!
As the shadow of Pikes Peak creeps over Punkin Center 'bout half past four,
Clyde shoos the loafers out of the Tack and Feed store and closes the door!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Wyatt's alexandrine combined a rhyming fourteen
To introduce a novel verse,to the poetry scene;
For we poets he bequeathed this literary treasure
In couplet of iambs,some christen a 'poulter's measure'.
Note:Thomas Wyatt(1503-42) used over 70 different stanza forms,but now is best known for
this poulter's measure form(couplets of 12 syllables,alternating with 14,often used for serious
statements or for burlesque.
I label this quatrain version a 'wyatt'
The turkey's on
Old man Johnson's farm
All wised up this year
Logging on
To Amazon
About mid November
With Halloween out of the way
They were bound to save
On the items they would need
Which worked out great
Cause all they could afford to pay
Was in scratched up chicken feed
The pigs helped in
The ordering
As it's a well known fact
That being turkey's
They're always in a hurry
And ain't nobody got time for that
They saved up extra seed
For quick delivery
When you're on the cliffs edge dancing
Coming down to it
This being life or death
There's no need to take chances
In the nick of time
The package arrived
On the day before
The fateful day
Known to our hero's as shake and bake
November 24th
On that morning when
Old man Johnson then
With ax in hand stepped outside
Where he tried to think
Had he ever seen
So many cows in his life
In between the moo's
He heard a gobble or two
Which in itself is very strange
Plus the Amazon bill
For umpteenth costume cows
He just can't quite explain
I went to the market yesterday,
To buy some needed things;
Coffee and watermelon sorbet,
Pizza and buffalo wings;
Sugar, detergent, and shampoo,
And of course some chicken feed;
Couple of cans of Dinty Moore stew,
I hope that’s all I need!
Every friggin day
mother hen runs amuck,
while all chicken's
beady eyes appear awestruck
drawing particular
agitation, irritation, perturbation...
of Punxsutawney (Doctor) Phil
(well grounded) woodchuck,
the latter glaring at henpecked
yours truly rifled
tail feathered rooster,
whether communicating
nonverbal sympathy
towards me, a garden variety
Gallus gallus domesticus dumbstruck,
who doth make feeble attempt
albeit without explaining
rhyme or reason
poetic, plaintive, pathetic... cluck,
regarding doomed pyrrhic victory
against incessant cackling
more fowl and upset
than goosed duck,
she that casus belli hideous source
feels cooped up bred to lay eggs
absent any pleasure to fµç*
out her tail feathers fin
hushed yoked for sole purpose
mutter under beak, what the "huck"
subsequently, she takes frustration
buzzfeeding me 'bout chained to
chicken feed to earn
breeder (yours truly) favorable luck
yielding "FAKE" farmer
Matthew Scott Harris megabuck
regarding top quality accolades
raves subsequently generate
he invariably feels moonstruck
matter of fact expanded business
necessitating workers to drive
state of the art rigorous motortruck
the missus decries mistreatment
scratching thru mire and muck
to fill little beasts in belly,
eventually retired, repurposed
relieved invariably chef
buoy or gull hardy sole destiny,
whereby one or another
hired hand will gingerly pluck
every spruced, primped,
groomed... feather
in short shrift priming
precious helpless creature,
(who bemoans lack
of state bird status)
into slaughterhouse five
butchered, filleted (maybe), quartered...
routed to household kitchen
gamely served at potluck
toothpicks applied to teeth
loosening gristle unstuck
after appetites satiated
belt unbuckled years ago
purchased before Sears Roebuck
shuttered stores, plus
bought linens and things
comfortable pillow perfect to tuck
under drowsy sudden sleepy head
unaware coop d'etat mutiny hatched,
whereby sly fox weasels him/
herself to guard henhouse
finding petrified slack beaked
AC/DC powered chicken coop,
where prating poultry thunderstruck.
Shouldn't we give thanks to the millions of hens
Who provide us with eggs without compensence
Just chicken feed
I call that greed
Give 'em a wee chick, a home with a white picket fence
2,222 and Rising
By Elton Camp
That is the number of spammers I’ve blocked
But the flood it has just stemmed, not stopped
For every time that I open my in-box e-mail
Still more scams do my senses irritate & assail
Just today, yet another Internet lottery I’ve won
To get a million bucks, they say, will be such fun
Oh, and just look at this extremely nice surprise
My e-mail’s been randomly chosen for a prize
And somebody has a problem with gender ID
I’ve been selected Woman of the Year, I see
Then, oh my, there has been another plane crash
The bank wants me to claim all the family cash
A foreigner of a business partner is in great need
I can get rich by investing only some chicken feed
Another young lady wants me to sponsor her
“And, I will bring millions with me, kind Sir.”
Again some rich woman is just about to die
To get me to accept her money she does try
Here is an official in the greatest African bank
He offers a corrupt proposal that’s so rank
It makes me wonder who falls for stuff like this
But if they send enough, I guess they can’t miss
She goosed him to sign the deed,
And kept him on chicken feed;
Soon he became plump
With a loathsome rump
But she could not save a quid.