A conscript in the army of married men
I thank God my wife is not a hen
She only picked me, never pecked me
Romance renewed daily, as you can see
the hens were stirred up, mad as hops
I figured it had something to do with pops
if anyone can rile up anyone, it is he
I ran off to the woods, and they ran after me
They were clucking and fussing as only hens do
I dove into the pond, still wearing one shoe
they jibber and jabbered, walking up and down the bank.
If you don’t have hens, you have the Lord God to thank.
Layla is a barnyard floosy said Farmer Ted
She riles up the roosters until their beaks turn red
her feathers have been dyed orange, blue, purple and pink
my wife changes her up in the kitchen sink
the rest of the hens are angry all of the time
they want their feathers dyed green, lemonade and lime
it’s too expensive, he said, I wish she would stop
But she is practicing before she opens her new beauty shop
The dull day dashed quietly,
On track of bursting seconds,
When I met a sad broody hen,
In bizarre twist, she seemed anxious.
Alarmed; I stretched near swiftly,
Her growls stirred my soft pulse,
When two hawks briskly took off; then,
A brood; blacks, browns, rose from grass.
In despair, they chirped sharply,
She surged, sighed, resumed her chores,
At once, she saw several; missed one,
And fled the hostile field in disgrace.
At all she cursed the twins, fiercely,
For they, it's just but dusk snacks,
Rare in such a savannah, so stubborn,
A prey ceased even before a torn slice.
A fair fortune in absurd fragility,
How foul to dare steal her success,
The chicks too naive; but not inane,
To think it's better in the safety of shells.
My shaky waves saved the family,
Joyfully I leave; but still her loss,
Now an equivocal tie; who's to gain,
The grassland weaves its lowly issues.
In Manipur's lush forests so bright,
Khamba and Nongban ventured with delight,
Seeking blooms to adorn with care,
An altar to Lord Thangjing, their hearts were sworn to share.
Through dense woods, Khamba's path did wind,
Wildflowers' scent and earth's damp design,
Birds sang sweet, leaves rustled free,
A waterfall's roar, a sight to see.
A towering tree, with orchids so fine,
Hanging elegantly, a divine sign,
Khamba's eyes widened, wonder did shine,
As Nongban's gaze, with envy did entwine.
With care, Khamba plucked the bloom so rare,
Petals shimmering, like Lai Haraoba's glare,
Nongban's eyes gleamed, admiration did show,
Khamba felt wonder, in nature's gentle flow.
there was a young banty rooster named Ben
who liked to hit on all of the old hens
one sad summer day it was said
an axe was taken to his head
now all the old hens are safe in their pen
Near the yard, I heard the mother bird's loud cluck,
A signal to pull a sly trick on the hick.
Yuck! Her chicks all ran wild and scampered amok,
Scattered by the bumpkin swinging a big stick.
The dispersed chicks drew a cast of circling hawks,
That were happy to see meals within their grasp.
The hick and the hen, they must quickly outfox.
One hawk swooped low, its talons poised to clasp.
A chick grasped, the hawk then tried to fly away,
Mother hen ran after the hawk, eyes fire raged.
Fight ensued; chick-hunting again went astray.
The chick broke free when hawk and hen both engaged.
Like incense in a flower's heart, the chicks hid,
Their clucks hung like heavyweights on their weak necks.
Unseen tears of fear welled in their thin eyelids,
At least, from hawks their mother earned some respect.
Helter skelter Henrietta hen had a lot to say
Wiggling her tail feathers at me today
I knew now that the bozo loved to play
She did a happy dance and a slide sashay
Be comfortable in your feathers she said to me
Now she was jiving on the limb of a tree
I will do my best, I replied as I watched her spree
She did the happy dance and a spin just for me
I saved this hen for myself the little girl said
Skipping out of the field with a fowl so red.
The fowl loved her, and she loved her too.
She skipped and galloped with a yoo hoo hoo.
Her parents were startled she wanted this pet.
At least it’s not a dragon said her Cousin Shet.
Or a male peacock said her Uncle Slim.
There are no more arrogant birds than the likes of them.
The Little Red, ...Hen;
By A Quarter Of Ten,
Excites!
Field's Of Victory, .... Our Spirit's ... Climb!
You have heard of the cock of the walk?
I crow in a lovely way, I never do squawk.
I am better than that, I am the cock of the run.
I am the best of the best, and all kinds of fun.
My feathers are gorgeous, I am handsome you see.
There might not be any other fowl close to as pretty as me.
I strut with my proudness all the way down my feathers and feet.
I am the cock of the run; my proud arrogance can never be beat!
I had a tasty cock-a-doodle stew
Now I crow at dawn as cockerels do
I pulled a sweet hen
And now and again
We dine on an omelette made for two.
If you can ignore the hen, the date will be fine.
She was not sure what this cryptic message meant.
He arrived with a hen on his head, ready to dine.
Like others, her heart immediately turned to cement.
She made an excuse and left quickly enough.
Like all the others, he told his disbelieving brother.
He never tired of talking about eggs, chicks and stuff.
Do you think it’s the hen? He asked his wise mother.
Loretta was wearing a bikini with polka dots that dazzled.
We were loving her attitude, it was wild, sweet and razzled.
Many were fearful for she had more confident than most.
I liked her a lot when I realized she was my henhouse host.
She played Beach boy’s music, and you know it’s always right.
She was dancing with joyful steps, all the day into the night.
She is really something said the rooster who lived next door.
I knew it was because of the teensy bikini that she wore.
Soft-shelled things by their sources laid
On spots assuring them no raid:
In my poultry picked up by maid,
With care handled or her upbraid
“Boiled or Omelets but with bread,
For my breakfast do as I’ve said!”
I’d quip: Mirror Image of Earth!
As birds live, we’ll record no dearth,
In shape completely the oval -
All Eggs and The Earth are global….
Egg-laying time the hen cackles,
With man’s presence: rising hackles!
Snakes wouldn’t want you to come near;
Once you do, for your heels I fear,
That of Powerful Eagle rare:
Sure, The Eagle won’t seekers spare!
The glad choice of some shrines and gods;
Extend them and they’ll drop their rods;
You won’t again be hit like pods;
From then a life of happy nods…
When dropped or found on the ground: eggs
Time to carefully drag one’s legs;
Why each week in my abdomen?
Not its yolk liked: it’s Albumen.
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