Best Cluck Poems
Emma my egg-laying hen,
Was clucking away in her pen,
She sat on her nest
Rolling out one of her best,
This week her count's up to ten.
Categories:
cluck, children,
Form:
Limerick
When a wood duck’s,
cluck is stuck,
how much cluck,
would a wood duck cluck,
if a wood duck,
could cluck,
as a wood duck,
with a stuck,
wood duck’s cluck?
Categories:
cluck, funny
Form:
Rhyme
they would dice many a chive
by management me from da dive
apartments in hatfield in close proximity
to the bloody sorry fate
oof a von nee gutt
thar slaughter house five.
mine eyes saw gore
and remained fixated
orbital fixture
of poor creatures in a daze
sans reaction averting gaze
away from disgusting entrails
visible picture amidst the maze
of chutes and ladders
stepping on select
foursquare did raise
or lower (similar to an elevator)
but movable blocks
also went cross ways
oh, anyway, this reply
written by me - scott math u
passable poet tree - at most true
this email far ye to rue
these twisted sister strands
of pearl jammed zz topped
chromosomal strands being did hew
who only to five feet and ten inches grew
crafts, finesses,
indulges love of language
to prose from fingers flew
and writes poems
cawing all r e'en juiced
one angry emu
leaving her/his presents
custom made doo doo
per comprising a motley crue
of a family - pearl jammed color ague.
please rsvp asap via text
to me scott matthews my chosen ac/dc label
i.e. pleasure like rubbing against sable
create r hard woo n intimate scorpion fable
unless ja noah under me ma jib rush
like inxs o ruck kiss in tower o babe bull
by texting if willing, ready, eager and able
froom - - scotts matthew
who lives way off the mainline -
juiced about a few dirty dozen dancing deeds
done dirt cheap miles west of philadelphia,
and some ten miles east of king o prussia
pennsylvania who imagines your sultry skin
silkily soft as a lynx, pussy cat
rubbing against ma leg under da table.
Sent from my iPhone 456789
Categories:
cluck, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
I purchased a bantam in Feckham
And named her Victoria Peckham
This scrawny old bird
Just can’t cluck a word
She's hoping the farmer won't neck em!
Our rooster is called ‘Coq au vin’
He tries to fly just like Batman
If Victoria sings
He starts flapping his wings
At least the old bird’s got one fan!!
I've just returned from a moonlight walk with my hubby ... we were just going past a farm and I had to stop to write the first limerick down and wrote the second when i got home ... I do worry about my muse!
4/4/18
Categories:
cluck, bird, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
In the annals of Rome the least glorious
was an emperor named Honorius.
Though Rome's plight was alarming
he spent his time chicken farming,
a pursuit which made him notorious.
Categories:
cluck, farm, history,
Form:
Limerick
??v ?? ?? ?? ? I Love You.............!! ?? v ?? ?? ?? ?
•.?*... ...*?.• •*.
these myopic ocular orbs pine
for an attractive gal to be adored
far eye got the near rest insight
per a magic bullet if jew r bored
undue flattering praises
might induce her 2 c come floored
perhaps without any family, friends, relatives...
or if religious ye kin pray to da lord
unless ya r moored
den let dis senor you ken ease
(doll ling) any troubles
like egg nog gently poured
and unable to move,
or...mebbe trapped by
a white striped tiger who roared
cornered in a spit of jumbled
feeble woodland where
a retinue of wild animals stored
analogously tube he ying
closeted in a mental ward.
not that ye care one whit
boot ta many approximately
72.57 cheesy full moons ago
when me younger days alive
i lived at pennfield manor
where the stern rebuke from robin kratz
faulted disgusting messiness
and angered water bugs
who marched against getting evicted
(where spouse twas
one chaotic rabid follower of entropy
and adherent of utter disorderliness
if such band name of aforementioned
the audience would wave meat cleavers
and as tokens of appreciation,
Categories:
cluck, 12th grade, 9th grade,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Ten miles dating a chicken. Lots of corn curries. A banked grain is discovered by clawing the ground. But if a temperate climate ruffles feathers it is not wise to stand. It is imperative to enter the cossetting coop and slam the door. When over two hundred and fifty eggs are a notion which signifies a pathway it is dangerous to crack. Oh. It is neither in the style of comb on a head or a tail arch that delivers a perfect yolk. To absorb. Contemplate. Recognise. And ascertain. So racing a pigeon and an ostrich and a dodo is fantastic fun in the summer months. But if a cockerel bakes bread then crowing is prevalent in the morning and evening and also the afternoon. The first source. Wow a dusty book with leaves in it. Squalid squatting squaring squared sandy strutting streams. And a bowl of cornflakes floating in a lake in a paper bowl. 1 2 3 4 5 then. Great. Poultry post. Aviation z
Categories:
cluck, age,
Form:
I am a purple headed chicken with glass beads. I like to roam the wooded glades. I often wear a pair of shades. It shields my precious amethyst eyes from the glare of the sun. Such heat corrodes such orifices. But producing a grin as I pass the goblin who gazes ay my feathers in an admiring stare. Then I make my way up the tree and use the vines to swing over to my favourite picnic spot by the lake. Mrs squirrel has made an amazing spread of acorn nectar which I peck up at great speed. Lovely wild mushrooms mixed with bracken. A treat as I sit in my woodland dream. But oh no what is that? That terrible noise? And why is it so very dark? I feel squashed. My throat is dry. Where are my woods? Oh no I am here and not in my sanctuary. I must claw at the sides of this thing. Far to restrictive. Cant even flap. And isnt that Myra, and Hettie I can hear clucking. If I get out then I will get them out too. Wait for those passing stomping boots and that noise must be on as I go. Means the end of a life but if I can rescue some of my friends it will be fantastic and plucky too. Plucking up the courage she began to claw and finally broke through. Squashing through the tiny bars she found her friends and instructed them how to release. Then one by one they flew up and up and up into the night air. Using the rest of their power gained by finding three pieces of corn on the floor of that place. The ceiling had a sky light which was barely wide enough to squeeze a potato but they managed to kick it whilst beating their wings. Finally having released themselves they soared across to the woods in the distance. Where they were greeted by a squirrel in a patterned apron and chefs hat. Wow Mrs squirrel is real. Not just in my dream. Mrs squirrel smiled and greeted her and her friends. Now you will have safety here amongst the trees. Later you can visit the lake. Then the blanket was dutifully laid and the birds sat down to enjoy their feast. Feasting feathers find fun. Then they spent the future swinging from the vines, visiting the lake for regular picnics, singing with the woodland choir, and working the soil with their claws and beaks. To earn a crumb is to earn a crust. And crusts are neither crumbles nor couplets crouching. Cluck cluck cluck. Ornithomania
Categories:
cluck, bird,
Form:
HAPPY THANKSIVING TO ALL AMERICANS OUT THERE.
Cluck put-purr kee kee went the turkeys in the back of Jim's truck. He was delivering them to neighboring vicinities for Thanksgiving. When he reached Tom's house he yellared "Turkeys for sale!" Tom had a peek, "How much do you want for the plump one?" and that is when the trouble began.
Claudie loves pets so when granny said "Tom go fetch the turkey (wink wink ) the turkey got loud and started running in circles. Claudy the grandaughter led him to a room and dressed him up in clothes. "Meet Gumbo, " she said proudly. He strutted round the kitchen with a cluck put-pur kee kee
Now, he thought he was family. "Tom take the turkey out and give him a good talkin'(wink wink)" What else could he do. He plunked the turkey in the back of his pick up truck and drove away. Claudie stood at the window crying. The last thing she heard was "cluck put-purr kee kee." as the truck drove away, the clucking faded out.
Tom sat on a rock with an unfired rifle in his hands. "Gumbo
was reciting Grace in a mumbo jumbo kind of way but it was
obvious even to a Hillbilly man that this turkey was
brainy and smart. "So your a Canadian heh!" he said to the
strutting anxious turkey. "Oka. Let's go home. Never mind.
We will eat an opossum instead"
Categories:
cluck, thanksgiving,
Form:
Narrative
It is a great American dish from the South.
It tastes great once it gets into your mouth.
Very high on the popularity scale it rates.
People now eat it in all fifty states.
You need a small chicken weighing about a kilo.
Cut it up in pieces, and toss it in flour just so.
A few herbs and spices will improve the taste.
Fry it up in hot oil until crispy with haste.
The pieces look a nice dark brown when done.
Serve it up with some fixings, and the battle is won.
Categories:
cluck, food
Form:
Rhyme
In my kitchen, an old-fashioned timer
Keeps track of my coffee pot’s perk.
I wind it and eight minutes later,
The pot has completed its work.
The timer is shaped like a chicken;
It ticks as the minutes elapse,
Then rings to announce its completion,
Technology prior to apps.
Yet this morning, my chicken stopped tickin’;
Its mechanics have chirped its last cluck,
So I kept a close watch on my coffee -
Guess Alexa would never get stuck!
Categories:
cluck, time,
Form:
Rhyme
"What are you all quacking about?" squawked Reginald Cluck,
Peering from his coop, quite out of luck.
A drizzle had started, a timid, soft weep,
While others still snoozed in feathery sleep.
"A little rain never hurt anyone!" chirped Pip,
Whose splash-prone spirit rarely would slip.
He’d eye every puddle, a shimmering pond,
With a gleam in his eye, quite remarkably fond.
Reginald scoffed, adjusted his comb,
"Such soggy affairs! I prefer my dry home."
He’d seen the contest poster, a splashy delight,
But preferred his reflections, all polished and bright.
Then a gust, unexpected, a mischievous sigh,
Tumbled Reginald forward, right under the sky.
He landed with grace, in a puddle so grand,
A most dignified splish across the wet land.
His feathers, now plastered, his dignity skewed,
He blinked at his image, delightfully new.
"Let's do the chicken splash!" he suddenly cried,
As the "Mystic Rose" whispered, "Don't hide your wet side!"
And so Reginald Cluck, once a skeptic so stiff,
Discovered true joy in that watery whiff.
He kicked up a fountain, a most glorious spray,
Proof that a puddle can brighten your day.
Categories:
cluck, fun,
Form:
Free verse
Eating three eggs a day cracks me up
It scrambles my brain, like Benedict's butt
If egg foo young
Then over-easy my son
That's it eggactly, we should omelet it or cluck
Categories:
cluck, fun,
Form:
Limerick
The turkey awoke, heard knives sharply clickin'
then muttered a phrase that made my blood quicken
said I'm sorry to say
that just for today
I'll be identifying as a plump chicken
Categories:
cluck, humor, thanksgiving day,
Form:
Limerick
As chicken little always said "life clucks and then you fry".
Categories:
cluck, humor,
Form:
Monoku