egg recipes! What? Give me that cookbook
The old biddies were horrified
The restaurant owners were cannibals!
They opened up the refrigerator and gathered the eggs.
Walked out the door holding them above their heads.
We quit! They yelled to the owners.
The owner’s wife said to him
“I knew hiring three hens was going to be a problem.”
Old ladies in a line would be wearing pastel hats
Their shoes would be common, plain, ugly flats.
Their hair would be tamed, snipped and curled.
But Winifred had just had her soul unfurled.
Unencumbered, she was a dancing diva now.
She wanted her wild curls to give the men a wow
Their wives would hate her, what would they think?
Winifred did not care, she got out high heels – pink.
Bought the brightest dress she could, she was a tease.
Wore orange and green striped stockings to her knees.
She would give those old biddies a bit of a lurch.
She laughed to herself as she got ready for church.
The stranger’s hat was cattywampus
His grey and white toupee slightly askew
Church ladies thought he was single
I mean more than just a random few
They surrounded him at the pot luck
Before he was introduced to the church
The fact he is the new minister’s husband
Gave quite a few old biddies a lurch.
Missus Claus had to trudge down to jail,
Once more toting with her Santa's bail;
Seems where people all shop
He let red trousers drop:
He enjoys showing biddies he's male.
She dresses so young!
She should dress her age!
She looks ridiculous.
I scoff at these old biddies.
If any of them looked half as good
They would be dressed exactly like her.
She takes care of herself.
She exercises. She eats healthy.
She has a slim body, and her skin is impeccable.
This is where all the gossiping is coming from.
I roll my eyes at their jealousy.
She arrives, and they ooh and ahh over her.
They talked about their great grandbaby as if she was a movie star.
I was sick of smiling at her pictures, and I could not walk very far.
They would chase me down the sidewalk to see her latest video.
They are ninety plus, but you should see these old bats go!
I cannot see without my readers, and I do not wear them outside.
These two sisters were screaming at me today, I had nowhere to hide.
They brought out their cell phone and chased me to my shed.
I said I had not heard them and could hear laughter from old Ned.
He lives three doors away, so you know these biddies are loud.
All they have is this little one; and you can see they are mighty proud.
I got my reading glasses out and took a quick look at the queen.
She might be the prettiest baby anyone in this world has ever seen!
Peonies and cannas are blooming along my walk
While birds are tweeting messages to one another,
I suspect the small animals are taking care of young
A newborn spring fawn stays close to its mother.
I am certain the newly built Robin’s nest has eggs
And I see the chimney swifts chasing insects on wing
The sounds of spring are delightful to my hearing,
Even the chimes on my neighbor’s front porch ring.
A fox is scoping out a flock of chickens scratching
The peace interrupted as a crow begins to squawk,
Signaling to the banties and biddies danger is near
I spy overhead the silhouette of a red-tailed hawk.
A simple life includes the sights and sounds of spring
The joys of a walk through the meadow in the sun,
Pleasures derived from a lifetime of love for nature
Anticipating good weather and a hot summer’s fun.
Written May 15, 2022
So I drove the van down a walking trail,
and slid into a ditch.
The Officers with voices hale
Began the walkers to regale
With "Oh, no, he won't go to jail!"
My van was tilt at such a pitch,
We had to call a wrecker in!
No doubt they thought it quite a stitch
To think that I had scratched an itch
And missed the road, preferred the ditch.
But we backed the van back up the walking trail
-- I have to ask, 'who was the snitch'? --
Who told the cops, all breathless, stale
That I was blocking up the trail
And underlined my epic fail!
So, I've near reached the end of my tragic tale.
I pity the fool who scratches an itch,
And ends up half under an old hay-bale
And causes old biddies and snitches to wail,
...NEVER drive down a walking trail!
Nothing but puppies;
Swam with the guppies;
Hang out cause their buddies,
When they get out of the pool yukky
Smelly are the fur biddies,
And those floppies, kitties,putties, putty, puffy, bunnies,
Eaten all the yuppy gummies,
While those piggies huskies tummy’s are muddy
Biddies, buddy, buggies, bunny, butties, copies,cubbies, cuppy, druggies, Duckies, fluffy, funny, fuzzy,
Guppies, hungry for honey,
hubbies, huggies, huskies, lovelies, lucky, lumpy, money, monies, muddy, mummies, nappies,piggies, pities, puppy
Swam with the guppies;
Hang out cause their buddies,
Nothing but puppies;
5/15/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2019
Enormous eggplants peppered her Easter hat.
They were a bit heavy, but purple and exact.
However did you find them, and what fun!
The old biddies said, when they saw her in the sun.
Why thank you, she said, pleased as all get out.
Her children had gone on, one with a little pout.
They were dying their eggs, with dye all over their hands.
They were playing their tubas, in their Sunday noon bands.
Rhe sat in the gazebo in her lovely dress of green.
She was the loveliest ghost many had never really seen.
Her delight was apparent, biddies gone away for now.
Her dancing was beautiful; her face was a wow.
She was the best dreamiest dream I had ever had.
She was big and beautiful, buxom busy and bad.
She was her own person, danced to drums of long ago.
Prancing into my head and she did not move slow.
Where did you find her? The fuddy duddies soon asked.
Hilarious, and funny, in her humor I basked.
She’s part of my imagination, I claim her as my own.
So naysayers, go away, you are not part of this poem.
This poem was entered in Julia Ward's contest but I've decided not to write for her.
At the footbridge I pause for one last glance
at naysayers who never gave me a chance.
River rushes in a roar, stronger than my rage,
my anger uncontrolled like the aggression of old age.
I am leaving behind a life gone wrong.
No longer happy where I don't belong.
I have to cross the river to be rid of my woes
and escape the cruel biddies, those jealous foes.
A smile touches my lips once over the footbridge,
I stare longingly at the mountains beyond the ridge.
A deep breath taken, and then two more,
calming me while the river continues to roar.
Behind me shrill voices screaming my name.
I grow tired of hearing them taunt me with shame.
My rankling increases as they hurl stones.
I turn to curse them, those bitter old crones.
With two pointed fingers, an evil spell I cast.
At the footbridge, I watch them breathe their last.
7/18/2016
you gotta join in the struggle for the ill-gotten gains
of the movers and the shakers on the streets Wall and Main
we will take what we are due like the Sioux we'll count coup
on the heads of the masters and their double-talkin pastors
on the bankers and their chumps and the phonies on the stumps
on the bosses in their offas and the supers in the sweats
no more settlin for the scraps at the foot of the table
no more truck-wide income gaps ablin biddies to wear sable
at the time that we have won they will know that they are done
and we'll be sittin pretty like Scarface own the city
and the ones who called us chums they'll be fightin for our crumbs
wonderin how the heck that happened while they're suckin on their thumbs
(chorus)
first restitution
then redistribution
sweet retribution
if we don't stick together like those birds of a feather
we will never take our place on the seat of the throne
where who you want you can punish and the rest throw a bone
The rooster led his harem forth
into the garden for a party
There they would dine from mother earth
Aphids on roses, worms they ate harty
Queen Ann's lace was laced with caterpillars
And rolly pollies ate Day Lilies' leaves
Biddies fed 'pon tiny grasshoppers
for summer was there to please
The Bee Balm and Fever Few had not been
touched by summer's butterfles; Rebecca
had yet to open her blooms; Daisies soon to begin.
Spring blossoms now nearly gone, summer the garden wrecker
The rooster, his hens and biddies loved the party
As among the flowers they pranced and ate smartly
Inspired by Cyndi MacMillan's contest not an entry...
The foggy hollow reverberates
with rooster's echoes
Cackling hens sing a laying tune
Biddies for their true beau
Horizonal wispy white clouds
Lie upon the blue sky
Birds of the morn sing love's refrain
So in love you and I
The sun cast a lavender glow
Upon those wispy clouds
Like a cold morning in winter
When the birds don't sing loud
As the sun continues to rise
A fireball cut in half
Sending red sunbeams through the trees
Printing a lithograph
The radiant orange beach ball
Floats in the eastern sky
Bringing warmth like chicken soup
or the gleam in a man's eye
A determined chicken collector and her obliging spouse
Reside in a small town, inside a quaint sort-of HEN house
High upon a mountain top covered with melting snow
Displays of ceramic chickens, last count was ninety or so
A colorful brood of biddies, bantam silks and pompous hens
Perched on sills and everywhere between the Rhode Island Reds
The black cast-iron weather vane sits on the roof outside
The rooster that is welded on, quite a windy ride
A hoard arranged on counters, gently placed in rows
Silent as they cluck and strut in every kind of chicken pose
All styles and breeds imaginable from ceiling to the floor
Each room parades a show of cock-a-doodles galore
I’m not taking any chances when I wander through this coop
When chickens start cluckin’, ceramic feathers I’ll be pluckin’
While I’m cooking chicken soup
*Dedicated to my sister who collects ceramic chickens
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