Long Chickens Poems
Long Chickens Poems. Below are the most popular long Chickens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chickens poems by poem length and keyword.
I walk in the door,
my dog is there to greet me,
wagging his tail furiously
whilst sniffing around my shopping bags
He has that suspicious, perplexed
look on his face ,
one I’ve seen so many times before
I know what he’s thinking:
how the hell do I regularly come home
with a fully cooked chicken in a bag,
Yet he cannot find so much as a stale roadkill
when I bring him for a walk?
I look back at him, incredulous too…
do you really think chickens
just immolate themselves,
then jump cooked
nice and juicy into a bag
for me to pick up along the street?
He’s still anxious and perplexed
as I dole out his share
Imperceptibly, our curiosity
and suspicion of each other evaporate,
as we polish off this beautiful creature
Soon I’m licking my fingers,
and the real miracle happens
when I say,
“Hey Siri! Put the TV on channel 8,”
and on comes the sports news
The dog too is thoroughly engrossed,
licking his — erm — himself.
# precious little words always say more ~ just never in the way we think #
The barnyard was a twitter.
“She is walking pigeon-toed!”
“You should see it.”
“She thinks she is all that!”
I am dragged out to see.
After listening to them cackle like only hens can do.
There are sixty-six hundred chickens out here
Clucking around.
They are all walking around pigeon-toed.
Haughty with their snobby beaks in the air.
I catch the rooster’s eye.
“They all have fat butts too!” I say.
Expecting him to beak-laugh with me.
He gives them my message in beak-talk.
They surround me quickly
Pecking me to death
As per
instructions
and as per
chickens’ way
I decide never to
do that again.
As I fall into their
smelly chicken scratches.
Based on the Monster Mash by Bobby Boris Pickett
They Did the Chicken Splash
I was working in the hen house late one night
when I beheld an awfully weird sight
the chickens were playing in the rain
and it dawned in my foggy brain
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
(The chicken splash) it was a hen house smash
(They did the splash) it caught on in a flash
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
From my vantage point in the door
the chickens were doin’ it by the score
even the roosters joined in
and they were hoppin and boppin all over the pen
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
(The chicken splash) it was a hen house smash
(They did the splash) it caught on in a flash
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
Wearin their rainhats and dancing about
they were havin fun there is no doubt
there was no egg layin that night
as they all engaged in the rite
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
(The chicken splash) it was a hen house smash
(They did the splash) it caught on in a flash
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
The banties came from perches high
the leghorns joined in with a sigh
Rhode Island Reds left their feed
and the pullets danced the Irish jig
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
(The chicken splash) it was a hen house smash
(They did the splash) it caught on in a flash
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
There was much clucking in the yard
as the rain was pouring very hard
the dancing continued on despite
with no chicken seeking respite
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
(The chicken splash) it was a hen house smash
(They did the splash) it caught on in a flash
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
I came back the very next morn
to see what the chickens had done
they were all lying about the yard
after partying very hard
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
(The chicken splash) it was a hen house smash
(They did the splash) it caught on in a flash
(They did the splash) the chicken splash
He touches me in the early dawn
Hours before the chickens start to
Peck the rich, toasted earth around
Their pen, clucking with enthusiasm
For the tassels of rich emerald lawn
Coming away with them as they peck
Relentlessly with a fervor that dances
Merrily to the tune of cackling, fussing
Peppered with crows from the rooster’s
Fertility gloating, he swaggers, preening
Sensing the way his heart will mourn
On the days the hen sits on her almond
Shaped eggs, awaiting the time when
There will be new life tapping its way
Through the tough shells to be trained
By the hen to feed, bath and seek
Refuge, as I chase out the lines
Of his hands against my breast in the
Morning, while we embrace, caressing
Sighing, whispering, just before the light
Shines down from the sky to warm my
Thighs and trace a glimmer of hope
Along the edge of the silent night
August 20, 2020
I like chickens,
They’re cuddly and they’re cute
When I goes out on Friday night
I wears a chicken suit
People stares at me an says
“Just look at him he’s barmy”
They won’t find it so funny
When I’ve raised my chicken army
We’ll take the world by storm
Then I won’t be the laughing stock
Surrounded by my chickens
I will be the biggest cock
I like chickens
They are my only friends
I love them all, the cockerel
The baby chicks the hens
We’ll dominate the world
And then this bird will rule roost
I’ll cock a doodle doo to give
My birds a morale boost
I’ll march upon the capital
Encircled by my flock
You’ll hear the people turn and say
“Just look at him, the Cock!”
I have a fond memory
of days spent on grandpa's farm
and helping grandma
early in the morning we collected eggs
and fed the chickens and other littles
grandpa fed the cows, horses, pigs,
and a donkey and all the bigs
there was a rooster that liked to chase me
and the donkey made the loudest noises
that I had to cover my ears
later, in the morning I helped grandma
in her vegetable garden
we picked vegetables for lunch and supper
how grand that seemed to me
no grocery store just pick it from your garden
and in the afternoon I followed grandpa
as he did his chores asking a thousand questions
often, he would burst out laughing
the most wonderful thing happened
he gave me a pony just new born
and then, it was over as grandpa was
called to Heaven suddenly one day
I stayed with grandma as she mourned
I would stroke her hair
and kiss her cheek and I cried with her
she had to sell the farm
and find homes for all the animals
even my precious pony went to a new home
and I was allowed to visit him
but he was happy and so I let him go
and that part of my life was over
though the memory I will keep
_________________
September 19, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/Lovely Memory Of The Farm
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1389-835-19
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, A Lovely Memory
sponsor, Regina McIntosh, Judged 09/26/2021
Second Place
Cyberspace was full of visitors
the TV droned through the room.
The sun streamed in the windows
the day was full of doom.
From the corner of my eye
and the surface of my mind
Sci-fi showed action scenes
of the catastrophic kind.
Reporters shrieked a breaking story
the picture screen showed flames
my mind saw Cong or Mighty Joe
swatting down two planes.
Fearful voices filled my home
cyberspace stood still
the dogs of war had set their sites
twin towers marked their kills.
Over 20 million have died
all mothers, daughters, fathers, sons;
American interventions
causing everyone.
All were collateral damage
so the story goes
and the military minds
still orchestrate the show.
The chickens came home to roost
on that fateful fall day
our mothers, daughters, fathers, sons
with precious life did pay.
If only, if only, ALL would realize;
DEATH HAS NO BORDERS
ALL MOTHERS CRY………….
Drawdy Pointe
Flyaway frond hairs wear the breeze
where the green palm nods her head,
and the pelican post's lone occupant
is surveying the fisherman’s empty line.
Across the water in the yellow yard,
a gypsy on loan from Key West,
the alpaca grows wool, the donkey brays,
and the happy chickens nest.
Quiet and peaceful, grasses silently slip,
adrift on canals from the sea;
the star fruit falling across the fence
is golden and perfectly sweet.
I have heard said that island time
never checks the hands of a clock,
just simply wafts by from daylight to dark
as we sit in our chairs on the dock.
Copyright, January 22, 2022
Don't Just Eat That: Do Something
June 23, 2012 at 6:29pm
By Oladeji Vicki Acquah:
How long have we warned you
How long have you ignored
How long will we be side tract.
We know who the culprits are,
There's no shame in their game.
We can call out their names,
They are not hiding, the disregard is blatant.
They can stop the one, they can stop the two.
The masses must rise, and organize
Before we are to weak to rebel.
This is not a quick sale.
We have been investing in this for a long time..
Keep thinking there's someone watching the barn.
How long have we warned you
how long have you ignored
how long will we be side tract.
We know who the culprits are,
there's no shame in their game.
We can call out their names,
They are not hiding, the disregard is blatant.
They can stop the one, they can stop the two.
The masses must rise, and organize
before we are to weak to rebel.
This is not a quick sale.
We have been investing in this for a long time..
Keep thinking there's someone watching the barn.
FDA, CIA. FBI, haarp NOPE
They are not on your side
They are (frienemies).
"Enemies with a SMILE"
You think they care about "round-up'.
Or genetically engineered foods, do you ?
Do you think they care about" bovine cows"
Or chickens grown in six weeks with no beaks,
Do you ?,...
Do you think they care about
Confiscating your seeds?
Do you think the food you eat has nutrition..
And the confiscated seeds- were confiscated
With good intentions, do you ?
My fellow countrymen, the President, Politicians, and pulpiteers Though not in a cave like Rip Van Winkle, I must have fallen asleep in "indifference and over-business". It was more than Van Winkle's 20 years, because prior to my sleep, I knew an America that dreamed of chickens in every pot; of carports, garages, and picket fences; of a good education and catching the Joneses.
It appears I am awaking, not from, but to, a nightmare; and to what am I opening my eyes to see? Me thinks it's not 'my country tis of thee'; not a chicken in the pot or fryer in the skillet. But I see leaders in the kettle like a frog, where the fire is turned down low and heating slowly. Like the frog, they are relaxed and comfortable. Oh Lord, if they only knew the manner of the frog's demise.
I see changes, and multiple evils have been removed. Recovery and relief have been appropriated and dispatched for the poor. Reforms and revivals have periodically visited us from above. I see blessings and prosperity beyond comparison; melting pots of dreamers and immigrants still dine at our tables. That's part of the American beauty.
Oh America, we are busy face-booking and twitting; But we must realize that we are also bleeding. I weep for what might lie ahead for us. I grieve for what we are becoming. I fear for us, though not of guns and nukes from afar; But for rivalries in the white house and the halls of congress. And I fear for our pulpiteers who also relax in the kettle like the frog.
07312017cjFBPH; August Standard Contest, Brian Strand Part fiction