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.
Dont hatchet your chickens before they can count
Play bye
The rules definitively
crowded by the losses
slapped by the hand of me burd
please get me wrogn
i know your leg hurts but your uglliey ( insult to- you get it)
Bit the alien bull(PHONE HOME)
how could the devil turn up if you were speaking to him/her/it/?
Between dwayne johnson and stone plaice
Helped a fiddle that was having a fit
That stallion told me straight
your mime is good i guess
set fire to loyd and jeff
wind brought on the runs
made a killing
when i stoned two birds
straw straw straw straw straw straw straw straw
straw straw straw straw straw straw straw straw
trust me the next straw will be th
Hank was a hard workin' cowpoke who really earned his meager pay.
He rode his ass Old Red from early dawn 'til at night he hit the hay,
Fixin' fences, ropin' steers and brandin' dogies in the old corral,
But he had an odd addiction that gnawed on his pard's morale!
He was a happy yodler which is alright fer a wrangler I suppose,
But his irritatin' warblin' caused him to nearly come to blows!
At night in the bunkhouse he would even yodel in his sleep,
Addin' to the din of his pals who were known fer snorin' deep!
His yodelin' caused cattle to stampede and hosses to buck and neigh.
Caused chickens to cease layin' aigs and cantankerous mules to bray!
Porkers squealed in their sty and the hounds barked and howled,
His comrades raged and cussed and the cats all hissed and yowled!
Even rattlesnakes were flustered and slithered to hide in dens,
And bands of coyotes skulked to seek cover in the nearby fens.
Frenzied birds vacated their cozy nests and fled to distant climes,
And Cookie got upset since the guys couldn't hear his supper chimes!
The grizzled old ranch boss called Hank aside fer a serious session,
Sayin', "Son, you're creatin' havoc 'round hyar with yer damn obsession!
Take yer ass and yodler to swoon the gals at the Dry Gulch Saloon,
'Cause if'n you keep it up 'round hyar, you'll hit the road and soon!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Deprived of life, treeless Earth weep There is no longer Earth.
Rivers, forests, and dying nature; how are we going to save Earth.
And Sudsy waters are too heavily salty to drink by any birth.
Is hapless Earth no longer a planet when all its trees are dearth.
Newly threatened global warming as fossil fuel caused a dirty tarnish.
Erosion of a healthy life is allowed for the sake of fancy house worth.
Domesticated Chickens are the most killed species on Earth.
Off-season rain adds up and snow, but the grass doesn't temper.
For kids, it's the snow that they need and hot cocoa extempore.
And then the sun starts to heat up and burns the flowers again.
Let's all be an asset of the solution in helping to relieve her pain.
Lets the process dive in progressively; it is time to awaken.
World of peace; this is a picture that represents optimism, not dope.
All we could do to improve this world, especially for our kid's hope.
Though if we have screwed up, have mercy on those we have mope.
Every day, Earth suffers; water is dwindling; how can we cope?
Running away from our current calamity is plundering the Earth without scope.
Written: May 8, 2021
Planet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
As a child I lived in an old farmhouse
I was just three years old
The earliest memory that lately
In my mind begins to unfold
A creaky old place that made noises at night
Bumps and creaks, phantom footsteps would keep me awake
Shadows caused by lit candles caused such a fright
In winter there would be frost on the bedroom windows
And frozen condensation on the glass pane inside
Formed a picture of sorts which shone in the moonlight
Which freightened me greatly and sometimes I cried
I would pull up the blankets and cuddle up tight
Cocooned in my bedclothes I felt safe from harm
So as to keep warm and hide from the cold frosty night
As the old house creak which was part of its charm
As time went by and the older I became
Things started to change for the better all became clear
It was all in my mind’s eye Just dreams and nightmares
Just brought on by fear
Downstairs was the Kitchen the main room in the house
With a big old wooden table a bit worse for wear
And an old Arga stove where all meals were prepared
And in the corner an old rocking chair
The front room was used for a Bar like a pub
Which on a Saturday night could be lively and noisy to boot
Where Dominoes and Darts were played freely
And occasionally someone played a tune on a flute
Outside in the Cowsheds three cows stood and surveyed
About thirty Chickens out in an enclosed pen
Which Calliban our black and white Border Collie
Would wake up and check on now and again
At six years old I learned how to milk a cow
An experience I never fail to remember
And to drive a tractor whilst pulling a plough
And picking freezing Brussle Sprouts in mid December
Mostly I remember Harvest time collecting the hay
From the three fields that we had just over the road
My Childhood memories are never forgotten
Memories remain with me like a heavey load
Their Etched in my mind forever like a picture
I was nine when I left our old house in the lane
And I remember it as if it was yesterday
And oh how I long to be that child again.
The highlight of the year for the family is the County Fair!
Folks come from miles around and there's excitement in the air!
They come to ooh! and aah! at things displayed with pride,
And scream at the stomach-churning thrill of a carnival ride!
Ma entered an assortment of cookies, cakes and pies,
Hoping to pick up coveted blue ribbons for First Prize.
The 4-H kids displayed hordes of rabbits, chickens and goats.
They nibble their finger nails awaiting the judges' votes!
Pa fusses over the Poland China hog he entered in its division.
Ah! The ribbon for Best of Show he can already envision!
He readied old Toro for show - his prized Black Angus bull,
And registered his John Deere tractor for the tractor pull!
The kids ambled off to the carnival to watch the clowns on stilts.
Ma sauntered through the arts and crafts show admiring quilts.
This bores Pa to tears and he seeks a bale of hay in the cattle barn,
To sit and gab with neighbors to enjoy many a raucous yarn!
The day ends - they've eaten hot dogs and cotton candy galore!
'Twas a wonderful summer interlude to add to the family lore.
Ma and the kids are excited since in prizes they did excel,
But Pa is rather grumpy since in prizes he didn't fare as well!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I once had a cat, who was born in a barn
on a farm down the road, not far away
Hunting for mice, she was a tigress, unleashed
She would put on a frantic display!
The longer we had her, we knew she was trouble
She would go after chickens, she could pounce like the dickens!
She chased our old hound-dog, who only wanted a friend
Became like a know-it all, who wouldn't amend!
She was simply a threat who could be such a brat
and she thought of herself as........... "Super-cat!"
My intentions were genuine, quite deep with affection…
I had just seen a movie, about a man with the gift
He would whisper to horses…and turn them to bliss
Well, of course I can do this! Control feral hisses ?!!
I would whisper so softly,…. and teach soon her to love me
Domesticate nature, if only to catch her!
She was not for the weak, or the meek faint of heart
She would pick and choose,… who would win, who would lose!
A limb, an eye, or a piece of her mind, was a stab from the start!
No treasure was she, nor the privileged displeasure of her company!
______________________________________________________________
Revised for Contest: Animal Antics
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
9/14/16
Motivated by Lilibet Wallpaper
"Chickens will do." And a pause
"For another yard of georgette linens too."
And every capped reasons opened at last,
as a stair, for a stare, to ask about the rear,
"What about the full cotton fabrics or Chinese poplin?"
And impeccable time smiled on me, " Rather, this should be bobbling, that is inevitable."
"Ed good, this is still an issue room for mending.
Are you in?"
"Precisely! Exactly for what?" I heard.
"Is it the hall room? Or the ballroom?" I asked.
"It seemed a courtroom though." I heard my question answered, seemingly, in a bit startled voice.
"Nope. It is not a room, It is a table salt, tied to a prayer, that gifts the container, the neon, and the utility, and God willing, the next day we are expected to find the room." After a while, the assurance delivered.
"Though shawl thee!" I intervened.
"let's go home! Shall we?"
I hadn’t seen a house for an hour ; talking to a social worker, is pretty short
I’m off to a new Foster home; the Courtermarshe’s, a new Big Sister; Brenda
How much longer, Mr. Hodges I have to pee, so do I ; Behind a Mighty Oak
Harry we have to talk, I have bologna sandwiches, the family your going to today:
The Courtermarshe’s, can not have Children of there own Brenda is a foster child also
She’s going to have a hard time being a big Sister, after Alice Loved me so much
Alice and me still write back and forth, She is the Very Best “BIG SISTER”
Little did I know, how close Brenda and me would become as Black Clouds Weep
Blocking the smile of the Sun, closing the door to reality for two and a half Years
Harry, wake up there it is your New Home; Wow It’s a farm, cows, pigs, and chickens
The happiest nine year old, bolted out of the car zipping towards the Big, Red barn
Harry! Harry!! Yes Sir, Come over here and meet your Mom and Dad, Phoebe and Dan
Time for the (speech): Thank-you Mr. and Mrs. Courtermarshe, I'll try to be a good son
To be Cont.
I am entertaining
and unnecessary,
but I enjoy
both of those
under-defining
adjectives.
My mistakes
I cover up,
in the wrong colors
of acrylic.
They still show through
when they dry.
Thank God.
The chin isn’t right
on my self-portrait.
It mocks me
with uncertainty.
I never did fit into
the proportions
of myself.
My paintings
are more puzzling
than the abstract version
of an abstract.
I wasn't classically trained.
Especially the desperate,
stretching trees
I tried to paint
behind me.
They look like skinny soldiers
bowed down by true intentions
and heavy snow.
Standing between me
and the vertical
attempts at Aspens,
is a red wheelbarrow
and chickens.
I hate those chickens.
They even squawk
on canvas.
Thank you,
William Carlos Williams.
When will the raindrops dry?
Our granddaughters breed chickens,
On their property
They are not for finger-licking
Nor bred for KFC.
They are all unusual,
Superior, elite,
They strut around the property,
On their spotlessly clean feet
Our granddaughters love them dearly,
And they all have posh names,
You can see very clearly,
That they are individual, not the same.
Some stay cute and fluffy,
Even when they are old
Some are vain and huffy,
Who think their feathers are tinged with gold
They are fussy about who they mix with
Those chooks that don't come up to scratch,
Imagine being called a chook.
Who could possibly live with that?
But...
These maiden hens don't rule the roost,
Although most think they should
They don't have the right equipment,
And so there is no way that they could.
Enter the Cockerel
The ruler of the roost
King of the hen house
Whose ego needs a boost
A Magnificent bird
Handsome and huge in every way.
He wears a coat of many colours,
And has come out to play.
The hen maidens get eggcited,
When this gorgeous fowl they see
Silently, they gather round.
Thinking, will he choose me?
While enjoying this adoration
His Highness surveyed the scene,
Was this his imagination
Or were they the purest birds he'd seen?
He set to work eventually,
Impregnating everyone.
Our Granddaughters were overjoyed.
And all agreed it was a job well done!