Long Chicks Poems
Long Chicks Poems. Below are the most popular long Chicks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chicks poems by poem length and keyword.
The wintry season is quasi-over,
And the sweet spring is around the corner.
Already, the tiny chicks are moving and chirping,
And the bigger birds are flying and singing.
Spring is near; the summer season is coming.
The school children are not wearing their heavy jackets;
Yet, we can hear the sound of thunders, and the passing of the jets.
That's how Mother Nature announces the coming of the spring showers,
Which are necessary for the growth of the trees, plants, and healthy flowers.
The spring season is here; summer is coming.
The joggers, who are addicted to the outdoors, are running,
Jumping, sweating, and fighting to shed off the excess pounds.
In the park, the lovers and the elders are walking and strolling,
And the toddlers are playing and making loud happy sounds.
Spring is wonderful, and winter is gone.
The ever-vigilant Canadian geese are gleefully returning home.
In Florida, the snowbirds are heading back in the same direction.
Winter has truly a nasty and a non-flattering reputation;
Howbeit, countless species of birds hang out on the dome.
Spring is beautiful, and summer means a lot of fun.
Copyright@ March 2009, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry books.
We are plain yellow chicks in my barnyard, my family and I
Well, we were, until the birth of my younger brother, Guy
He is the most excitable chick we had ever hoped to see
Getting enthusiastic to the utmost degree
When his feathers begin to turn from yellow to pink
And then blue and red, we know what to think
When purple comes out, and then a bit of green
We run away from him, for he tends to get mean
The more emotions that come out of little Guy
The less he can control them, he does not even try
When he is in full blown mood explosion we stay away
Luckily, he usually sleeps away the entire next day.
Written by Gail R DeBole
on July 19, 2021
Updated September 4, 2021
A baby who lived on a farm
Would coo and gurgle with charm.
She completely amazed
Her family each day
With all of her sweet, lovely sounds.
She would hear chickens, cows, and sheep
As she fell into a very sound sleep.
Then she would awake
To the noise roosters make
And would listen to chicks as they peeped.
She heard many oinks, moos, and neighs.
The animals talked lots each day.
Chickens cluck-cluck-clucked.
She heard quacks from each duck.
The animal sounds never waned.
When she made her talking debut.
Her parents didn’t know what to do.
You might think it absurd
As to what her parents heard -
She sang out a melodious moo!
Next was a loud cluck-cluck-cluck!
Then she skillfully quaked like a duck!
She then gave a neigh
As she giggled and played.
Her parents were completely awe-struck.
She saved her best vocals for last.
Giving her parents a proud vocal blast.
She called her father “Papa”
And her mother “Mama”
And that was her first baby rap.
Funny but the true cure, sickness admires.
That embodies joy which environmental service inspires,
To continuing its selfless humanity upkeep...
Which birthed our artistry: pens weep.
Blushing worries silent babies' trials to speak.
Inner mutterings key, fear demands seek-
How hens never wish to travel high.
Aren't they truly born to fly?
Not until been tempted; hunting chicks
For foods to make eaglets eagles
That only resulted to sensational flying conflicts,
Sometimes out of many fearful chickens like seagulls.
Dare to be, may be for real.
Dare to see, not in sin or for deal.
Be thy own cover, for chilling breeze.
Be thy sunny night, heat heals at ease.
Keith Richards Hits the Studio
This could be the last time.
I feel really torn and frayed.
Shattered. Where are we? Studio B?
Is anybody there yet? I'm going in.
Who are all these people?
Morning Keith, yourself.
Fragments, jarring shards.
Electric keyboard, rumba kind of deal,
the black chicks, harmony.
Taylor's chords, like salt on porridge.
Where's Jagger? Over there.
Climb down off your ego, pal,
and catch my eye, you tosser.
Here I am, the beast of burden.
We've got all these people.
Horns. Percussion, too.
"I am waiting," hanging in the air.
We've got zero, man.
The rocker locker? Nothing there.
So what'll we do
when the whip comes down?
I'm on a ride back to nowhere.
Back where I started from.
Where the ring of truth goes round in circles.
And you just end up a bum.
I've spun my wheels till there's no tread.
Sung for my meals just to get fed.
I'm looking for a place to start without a glimpse of hope.
Somewhere where I can trace my heart to the last knot on the rope.
My bag of tricks to pick up chicks, I gave up years ago.
My reputation, I tried to fix, but you know how it goes.
The absolute of yesterday's all anybody knows.
And now my lifes a patch work quilt of someone elses clothes.
I'm on the road to better days if I can find my way.
From where the past left me aghast with nothing left to say.
My hopes and dreams hung on moonbeams are fading in the sun.
Life's not alway's just what it seems when your living on the run.
Maybe someday the air will clear so I can finally see.
That over there away from here, I'll come to know it's me.
That pulls the strings when the truth rings of what was meant to be.
And this bird fly's up to the sky's to finally be free.
A dove in white attire gave a letter in its claws
To a sleeping bird prince soon to get applause
The dove sang a tune to cast off the sleep’s darkness from him
Drowsy, the sparrow read “Your crowning has come with no slight whim
Leave your hidden nest and come to the golden halo without pause”
He was disturbed with this news and the world looming above
His eyes then filled with astonishment and love
From the angels cheering from high above with their white wings
His wings flew him to his crowning which had the greatest of rings
Swimming through the cheers from aeons, his subjects and the white dove
He became king of the all, crowned with the golden eclipse
He shone forth like a flaming apocalypse
And became a flaming phoenix with feathers of sunlight
His wings’ feathers shine with the orange of dawn and all its might
He now knows himself, the shining truth that cannot be said by lips
The monarch with his crown of gold and silver without flaw
Oversees his world of wood, hay and straw
Seeing the darkness and the archons’ fire in starkness
Praying and knowing Christ’s light will outshine the flames and darkness
To rescue the chicks trapped in this world cage that withstands every claw
Chocolate bunnies and Easter eggs,
Fluffy chicks and lambs at play.
The spring of the year is a beautiful time,
And we celebrate as the time draws nigh,
To remember the reason for all our good cheer;
For now is the time The Resurrection draws near.
We celebrate Jesus who conquered the foe,
Of Sin and Death and delivered our souls,
Up from the abyss where we languished in wait,
Beneath the burden of unspeakable hate.
He marched into Hell and in triumph brought out,
All who are His and they came with a shout;
Victory is ours because Jesus Lives.
He's salvaged our souls and He's cleansed and forgives,
All who will come to Him, on us He bestows,
A robe of His Righteousness as it was foretold.
We honor The Sacrifice made by Father and Son,
And we honor the love that redeems us as one.
We celebrate the victory won over our foe.
We celebrate Jesus, our Conquering Hero.
The city is littered with broken souls,
To reside among nature, the purest of goals,
Some dream of vast fields of green,
Deep in their minds, a vivid scene.
Chained to the nightmare of city life,
Fractured daily by overwhelming strife,
Yearning to escape and breathe country air,
Just a single breath can ease your despair.
Held captive in the city for most of my years,
Drowning internally in a tsunami of tears,
I worked myself right to the bone,
To have a little cottage to call my own.
I retired there at the age of sixty six,
To dwell in my garden and feed my chicks,
City life was a battle that cut me deep to my core,
Today I stand the smiling victor, ‘tis I who won the war.
For a Part-Time Hustler, every day is sunny
Money comes in and outta my hands
In need of some walking around money
I wrap my cash in rubberbands
Chicks swarm like bees to honey
Got me feeling like a Part-Time member of a boy band
Product flying off the news stand
Kinda got me feeling like a Part-Time Paperboy
Hold my drink, let show u how to make real paper, boy!
Selling my product from my desk and on tha corner
Snitches meet the coroner
I make a phat stack
Then I go home and lay back
I wear rubbabands on my wrist
Owe a debt and get wrapped like a boxer's fists
Bein' a full timer is takin' a risk
But bein' a Part-Time Hustler is the sht