Best Hens Poems
The Span Of Life
by Robert Frost
Span of a Hen's Life
An aged hen clucks backwards without getting choked
I still recall when she was a yolk
<3
Frosty the Hen
:)
Blind date
like-minded
I asked:
... gentleman ?
Great taste ?
Did you kiss ?
- Maybe ...
Coffee or
a glass ...
of fine wine
Friendly
and open
Even
a blind hen ...
find "true" love
06.05.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Charlieku New Form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: charles messina
www.howmanysyllables.com : 23232,3232,323,23,3
2nd place in the contest
Dicken's
Chickens
For Brian Strand's Contest:
Two LInes of Two Syllables
white hens
perched on low limbs __
boy with stick
It’s dark outside,
I see a light:
Our neighbour’s lamp
Is shining bright.
She straps it to her head
And ventures to the shed.
In her robe and her boots,
She is creeping along,
And I wonder at first:
Am I seeing it wrong?
She raises the shutter
And the hens flutter out,
And perch on her person;
She protests with a shout.
She is covered in birds -
Not an inch to be seen -
And the fattest one sits
Like a crown on a queen.
Food saves the day;
Hens fly away.
The chickens peck
The food she leaves;
And Maureen cleans
Her mucky sleeves. *
* decided to keep it clean and say ‘mucky’, LOL
For Sheri’s rhythms contest, Rock me Round the Clock
A true friend they say, is rarer than hens’ teeth.
Have you ever seen a hen’s beak from underneath?
When the new chick pecks out of its womb like egg,
It uses its egg tooth and not its little leg.
The egg tooth drops after a day or two
Of fair-weather friends you will find this is true
The first sign of a problem they disappear with great speed
But usually when they need you, they want you to take heed
A true friend is there, they need no explanation,
A phone call or letter they are there at their station.
Their station of friendship and help without question or fear,
A true friend can be close without even being near.
A long time can pass with out proper contact,
But that doesn’t mean the friendship is not intact.
A true friend is rarer than hens’ teeth they say,
We thank those that are there for our friendship today.
No reward no motives, just to be there.
What greater blessings can we as humans share?
To be strong for each other in times that are bad
To help and to support, when times are sad.
True friends are not as rare as people may say
I have true friends I am happy to say.
My only hope is if thing get reversed
I can be a true friend without the need to rehearse.
The role of a friend, not fair-weather but true.
What more would be nicer if it was thought of you?
The hens from our small, urban farm,
Had wild idea, caused great fright:
Escape their pen, come to no harm,
See a show, without a blight.
With feathers ruffling at benight,
They made plans and added some smarm,
Darkened room, their intended site,
The hens from our small, urban farm.
They marched single file full of charm,
Crazy chicks, on a daring plight,
Ignoring grumbles from their tharm,
Had wild idea, caused great fright.
Forged ahead and ready to fight,
Broke their fence in one clucking swarm,
Accomplished task, without desight:
Escape their pen, come to no harm.
Sodas in beaks, seated disarm,
Screen flashing, their eyes all alight,
Snacks in wings, no need for alarm,
See a show, without a blight.
A hot buttered popcorn, their right,
They'd wielded fowl mettle from dorm,
Hid their combs to avoid incite,
They also did get their wings warm,
Small, urban farm.
March 16, 2023
Double The Fun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
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
There are some sad things that happen,
and here is a story of love broken . . .
Maureen lived in a small quaint house,
with her dog, hens and maybe a mouse;
but she was getting old and forgetful,
and Molly her dog was also old and feeble.
Maureen's health declined and she became needful,
now, neighbors take old Molly for a walk,
the hens were sold- hope not for the cookpot;
in a care home Maureen just looks at the clock.
This tale of sadness doesn't end right there,
with old Maureen alone, no one to care;
a carer moved in there, to cook and clean:
Maureen is now the happiest I've seen!
The carer Pascale is so very kind;
she doesn't mind Maureen has lost her mind;
they go on walks in parks, the dog behind,
or tea in cafes, rides by bus or train . . .
She loves to stay inside her own domain;
an end for sure to all Maureen's old pain!
___________________________
February 11, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Maureen, Molly and Hens/
Collaboration with Jack Horne
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1015-725-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
red hens on the town
girls night out ladies choice
free range chickens
The hens have flown the coop
Their owner mystified
He hit them with his silver spoon
Didn't know they had pride
And now as folks leave Illinois
Governor Pritzker, take a think
From the tap of the hen-owner
You should no longer drink
Our hens gone smart
Neither sleep in cages
Nor find warmth in the sand
ANYMORE
They 've grown consciousness
Of their matyrs past
Knife to pot torture
And the body burials
They know now fest periods
Bid to escape, sleep on rooftops.
A cock and hens in a cage
The cock is in it’s old age
All hens cock to manage
To live in love cock encourages
Hens are always in bandage
The cock is making them damage
The cock keeping hens engaged
The hens are taken into his salvage
hens and robins warm their eggs
nesting, they cover their legs
these mothers, innate modesty display
values from yesterday ~ for today
Such a commotion; a cackling cacophony of hens.
My neighbors chickens, trained to obey on command; colorful bevy of beauties.
Yard bird narrow-faces; never the least bit boring.