Long Hen Poems
Long Hen Poems. Below are the most popular long Hen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hen poems by poem length and keyword.
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.
Security at the Hen House
All around the peaceful barn yard
everyone’s sleeping while I’m on graveyard
watching for the shrewd fox dude
Cock-a-doodle-doo! I spew
Time all lazy diehards to punch your card
Old Owl who….oting in the hayloft flew
Rooster, you steer us with no clue
you just want brew some sugars
from the crew of lookers
Yay or Nay ? Then bid them adieu
Oh! Hush! Old Owl with your who.. hoot
Shoo… I’ll mute your hoot with a boot
let that shrewd fox dude
substitute you for stew food
The Old Owl left with a who…ot
3/8/2016
Poetry Contest : Back To The Barnyard -
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
it gone, dissolved into thin air?
No, yet it falls short,
merely needed, quietly required.
Is it far beyond reach?
It is lost.
Uprooted, dislodged, cast aside,
vanished into the void, strayed far from home.
Scarcely present, desperately needed,
discarded to the winds.
Set down upon feet that are not its own,
abandoned entirely, left behind to wither.
Curled small, diminished by scarcity,
verging on non-existence,
softened by fragility and weakness.
Absent without leave,
lost along a twisted path,
pushed to the rear, left to trail behind,
taken outside and abandoned to the dark.
Absence upon absence—it is not here,
nowhere to be found beneath the skies,
unmarked in the records, unwritten in the log.
Yet once considered, once weighed as enough,
truly sufficient,
measured and perfectly complete.
It is found—it is met—
right here in this very space.
Yet he is gone, she is gone.
The waters have washed through; what was, has departed,
yearning for home, longing for where it belongs.
Never to return, never again,
borne away by shift, surrendered to abandonment,
forgotten and ignored.
One who never knew the path of learning,
no traveler on this road.
Dumber than Dumber and Dumber...
Wondering about the plundering of a slumbering hunter king...
Thunder from down under sundering over the paper Sunday brings...
The flavor to be savored for later when the alligators escape the ring...
Sinking stinky shrink y dinks when the ding of the doorbell didn’t ring...
Fiending friends minus the “r” in new types of mining while whining...
Finding time for aligning the dining of jinxed schemes blistering a mister...
Fixating on everything,
Hating nothing,
Hustling and bustling,
Some muscle-
What a tussle-
More trouble-it is a daily type of thing...
Huddled, befuddled, bugged, drugged, once was hugged,
What a lovely thing!
Tugging on a rope for Cope,
NOT coping but hoping and hoping,
Smiling over that sink,
NOT winking, slinkies shrinking and expanding,
Chest pounding, wound, drowning,
NOT clowning, frowning, at downing more towny styled vodka drinks,
Bout to doubt more @ the shouting in store,
Illegal activities, radical tattle, two-paddle style wild child mascot teams,
Hassled twenty million castles for fascist rapping more poetry,
You know it be; still a honeybee that is me...
Cheese! For my Queen strung out like a string bean seeing what life brings all steamy,
... A Midsommer Night’s Dream
Monologue of a chicken kept at automatic poultry farm.
*********************************************************
I am a chicken,
did your mouth water on hearing my name?
To you I am a delicacy, mere delicacy,
beyond that you never think about me.
Look at the conditions in which you have kept me,
this cage is too small for me,
I can't even move properly.
I give eggs everyday,
but you merciless creatures,
take them all away,
don't even leave one for me,
I watch helplessly,
this happens daily.
I shout and cry,
nothing melts your heart.
I used to think,
one day I will be running in meadows,
joyfully I will play,
dig the ground for worms,
enjoy every day.
I will sit on my eggs,
my young ones will come out,
I will take care of them till they are stout.
But now I understand,
it can never happen
I am totally struck up.
I have no thoughts,
no memories,
I am going mad sitting like useless here,
I tried breaking free,
it only hurt me,
I want to die,
but even that is dependent on humans.
I am powerless, helpless,
at the mercy of humans,
and they are heartless selfish creatures,
they have no feelings for others,
they cannot see beyond money.
Please God take me away,
please listen to me at least today,
I can no longer tolerate this life...
please atleast give sensitive hearts to humans,
so that they don't behave so in human!
I guess I have committed many sins here,
That's why even you are merciless!
I am a living creature,
I too want to live happily here,
please set me free,
I beg to you,
please set me free .
If you can't, at least slaughter me,
I want to die.
kill me,
please kill me.
PLEASE KILL ME
I SEE WE HAVE
TWO DIFFERENT VIEWS.
ONE FOR ME
AND ONE FOR YOU.
DO POLITICIANS TELL YOU,
THE THINGS YOU NEED TO DO.
I ELECTED THEM.
MY FRIEND I'M NOT A FOOL.
YOU MAY BE RIGHT,
I MIGHT BE WRONG.
IT DOES'NT MEAN
I DON'T BELONG.
IT MAKES SENSE TO YOU,
BUT NOT TO ME.
I GET THE SENSE
THAT YOUR NOT FREE.
LOOK LEFT AND RIGHT,
UP AND DOWN.
CAN WE BOTH AGREE
THE WORLD IS ROUND.
WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN,
THE STARS COME OUT.
THEY WERE THERE ALL ALONG.
I HAVE NO DOUBT.
WHEN THE SUN COMES UP,
THE OTHER SIDE'S NIGHT.
ARE YOU WRONG,
OR ARE WE RIGHT.
WE HAVE TO EAT,
SO, CAN WE BREAK BREAD.
OR DO YOU PREFER,
TO EAT ALONE INSTEAD.
DO YOU KNOW THE DIFFERENCE,
BETWEEN RIGHT AND LEFT.
NORTH AND SOUTH
EAST AND WEST.
PLEASE, TAKE A MOMENT.
LOOK DEEP OUT INTO SPACE.
TRY TO CONVINCE ME.
THERE IS NO OTHER PLACE.
WHEN YOU GET HUNGRY,
DO YOU EAT.
WHEN YOU GET TIRED,
DO YOU STAND ON YOUR FEET.
IF YOUR FREEDOM IS TAKEN,
WHAT WILL YOU DO.
FIGHT FOR WHAT'S YOURS.,
OR GO ALONG LIKE A FOOL.
I'M NOT CONVINCED
LEFT IS RIGHT.
DARK IS DAY
AND NIGHT IS LIGHT.
I'M NOT OWNED BY GOVERNMENT.
THE GOVERNMENT WORKS FOR WE.
I AM NOT A PROPERTY.
I MY FRIEND THINK FREE.
HOW WE SEE,
HOW OTHERS THINK.
CAN CHANGE OUR LIVES
IN JUST A BLINK.
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.
I shall delete my existence says the dead man
No more do I breathe
No more shall I rant
Although often I recant
I shall delete all my poems says the loud hen
No more am I here
I shall disappear
Like a child with tuque over head
I shall rescind my tantrums says the dead man
No more death for me
For it was plainly to sobering to be
Back to pen, oh so hypocritical of me
I shall come back using other names says the Hen
No more logical than the other dead man
I am the judge of the poetic world
The laws must be according to childish wee me
We the little men who bicker and whine
We are united, our immature prettiness shines
The poetic soldier who mocks old ladies
Does he not know tiss he who is insanely crazy?
The crow will squawk his cranky banter
The songbird will fly to a more harmonic tree
The Hen will cluck and twitter and rant
All the McVillians with feathers it seems
Flocking together, oh the birdbrains do scream!
The majority of mine lxiii years
expended delving deep into imagination,
yours truly escaped, loosed, thwarted...
reality courtesy bookland
roaming cerebral cortex terra firmae
did not amp pulley satiate
seemingly depression found me
(an uncompetitive, oversensitive,
intuitive, contemplative bookworm)
with scrunched pate,
a day short and a dollar late
one dime a dozen lad
hood scrimp and scrape,
a familiar pattern typified fate
viz - hand to mouth bleak
how zing existence aye equate
extant throughout three score
plus three years date
journeys round el sol,
this varsity schlepper, procrastinator,
malingerer did create
current emotional state
mottled with sea henna tint
financial, emotional and
psychosocial characteristics stint
aye serum eyes while
in utero the blueprint
indelibly etched analogous
brand York Peppermint
also analogous to musician
recording tracks upon primed glint
ting digitized compact disc
clear polycarbonate plastic substrate,
a reflective metallic layer,
and a clear protective coating
of acrylic plastic
breakable as flint.
A hen to men
Mama's driving along to Seattle looking for her
runaway daughter, when out of the blue she
hears the radio host reading a poem written
by PP that's fast becoming a hit on social media
... life's delves not twelve ...for stave her grave. Please
Paris hear me, mamas on her way.
Mama then stares off to the other side of midnight,
praying that dawn is much better.
She runs
From guns
and men's
playpens
their lies
and highs
their slugs
and drugs
resist
their twist
she lives
survives
hell bells
bad spells
awaken
forsaken
she stands
her land
of worth
on earth
a hen
to men
she squawks
the walk
she's tall
to fall
life's delves
not twelve
so young
and sprung
feathers
weathered
for stave
her grave
Signed, Paris Pachecho
connie pachecho
12/29/16