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Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories ****** but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
Poetic T  Jan 2015
Zombie Chicken
Poetic T Jan 2015
Farmer Tom,* fell on times hard,
Needing to feed the animals because
Scrawny
Emaciated
Anorexic
Animals wouldn't get much.
So on the black market, cheap feed
"Not For Human Consumption"
That was good enough
For farmer Tom.
He thought he would try it on the
Chickens first,
"Buck, Buck, Buck"
Scratching of fifty little feet,
Breakfast,
Lunch,
Dinner
They looked as before
"Plucky little egg laying machines"
Still hungry
Wait till morning my feathered friends.
Night set upon the surroundings
Farmer Tom
Woke,
Startled,
Confused
What the?? Slippers, dressing gown,
Shotgun loaded,
"Tip toe, tip toe tip toe"
"Bang"
"Mary mother of joseph"
"That dam dog and his toys"
"Ok safety on"
The yard was silent, except for
a noise faint but heard
"Buck, buck Aahhhhh"
Farmer tom curious of this noise
Listening with ears Focused
Came to a sight of horror
Chickens pecking
The eyes out of blue bell
Mooooooooooo,
Then cluck
Mooooooooooooooo,
Then cluck, Aahhhhhhhh,
Then misfortune,
"SNAP, CRUNCH"
As 42 feet turned,
Eyes red as crimson
Feathers matted, and that smell
Decaying cow as bell got up
"Moooooooooooo, Aahhhhhhhh, cluck,"
"Father Jims tunic"
As Bell swayed towards *farmer tom,

Little feet carried in the hole in bells gut,
"MOooooooooo"
"Cluck"
Mooooooooooo
"Cluck"
Fa­rmer Tom ran for his dear life,
Past the chicken coop
Where blood soaked remains
Of those unlucky chickens, parts rancid
As the head of a chicken looks up as I run past,
Doors locked, windows too,
What the hell is that noise??
As a rancid chicken comes though the dogs door
"Kentucky this mother cluck, cluck err"  
The last thing it did before I sent it too hell
Laid an egg,  green and sour,
"What the hell was in that feed"
Out the back he ran, bag in hand
Zombie
Meat
Danger
Incineration is required,
"Zombie meat?? what the blue blazes"
As he runs to the house
Whoosh, above his head
As the house once home, erupts a fiery death ,
Tom see's Bell surrounded
By gents in suits
Moooo, Aahhhh, Cluck,
"Excuse me sirs"
"What the frigging heck is going on"
They fry bell on the spot, Mmm burger
"Snap out of it man"
As the chickens peck upon a suit
As he screams fallen to the ground
Pecked to death, but death just woke up.
Tom runs in slippers as they set upon the pecked man
"Tom keeps on running"
"Tom  keeps on jogging"
"Tom keeps thinking I'm too old for this"
He hides in the old barn five miles away
Waits there for days too scared to come out
Then on the fifth day he treads carefully not to be seen
He sees a house, see's a coop and chickens
Cluck,
Cluck,
Mooooooo
All around is heard, as he runs a round
Bell is that you, you got more spots
"Interesting"
The house as it was beter some how.
Too this day Farmer
Tom tells tales,
To those who listen,
"The Night of the dead Cow and The Zombie Chickens"
And how the government blew his house up
And then built him a better one, hell I wouldn't moan now.
zebra  Aug 2018
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or
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when the one you love tells you they aren't in the mood

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and the shocker  
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HelpingHand45 Feb 2018
Since Fortnite is incredibly bad,
I turn it off and get real sad.
As I sit there, a thought comes to me,
There's a better game, but it isn't free.
With a forceful tone and a loud holler,
I demand my mom to pay 30 dollars.
She buys the game, it's called PUBG,
The price of this game was worth the fee.
I fight my way to a Chicken Dinner,
I killed 6 men but I'm still a winner.
My mom barged in and yelled at me,
"How dare you game this late," said she.
I said "Sorry Mom," and gave her a shove,
She said "Game, game, game, my love."
thx fo the support #follow4follow
Sharina Saad May 2013
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
ON FRIDAY WHEN MAMA COOKS HER SPECIAL CHICKEN RICE

CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
ESPECIALLY ON A FRIDAY ON MOM'S LAUNDRY DAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING I AM CRAVING FOR RICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE
TO HAVE MY MAMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE.
THANK YOU KIDS FOR THE COMPLIMENTS ON MY CHICKEN RICE
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever
but it just doesn't rain like it used to.
I particularly remember the rains of the
depression era.
there wasn't any money but there was
plenty of rain.
it wouldn't rain for just a night or
a day,
it would RAIN for 7 days and 7
nights
and in Los Angeles the storm drains
weren't built to carry off taht much
water
and the rain came down THICK and
MEAN and
STEADY
and you HEARD it banging against
the roofs and into the ground
waterfalls of it came down
from roofs
and there was HAIL
big ROCKS OF ICE
bombing
exploding smashing into things
and the rain
just wouldn't
STOP
and all the roofs leaked-
dishpans,
cooking pots
were placed all about;
they dripped loudly
and had to be emptied
again and
again.
the rain came up over the street curbings,
across the lawns, climbed up the steps and
entered the houses.
there were mops and bathroom towels,
and the rain often came up through the
toilets:bubbling, brown, crazy,whirling,
and all the old cars stood in the streets,
cars that had problems starting on a
sunny day,
and the jobless men stood
looking out the windows
at the old machines dying
like living things out there.
the jobless men,
failures in a failing time
were imprisoned in their houses with their
wives and children
and their
pets.
the pets refused to go out
and left their waste in
strange places.
the jobless men went mad
confined with
their once beautiful wives.
there were terrible arguments
as notices of foreclosure
fell into the mailbox.
rain and hail, cans of beans,
bread without butter;fried
eggs, boiled eggs, poached
eggs; peanut butter
sandwiches, and an invisible
chicken in every ***.
my father, never a good man
at best, beat my mother
when it rained
as I threw myself
between them,
the legs, the knees, the
screams
until they
seperated.
"I'll **** you," I screamed
at him. "You hit her again
and I'll **** you!"
"Get that son-of-a-*******
kid out of here!"
"no, Henry, you stay with
your mother!"
all the households were under
seige but I believe that ours
held more terror than the
average.
and at night
as we attempted to sleep
the rains still came down
and it was in bed
in the dark
watching the moon against
the scarred window
so bravely
holding out
most of the rain,
I thought of Noah and the
Ark
and I thought, it has come
again.
we all thought
that.
and then, at once, it would
stop.
and it always seemed to
stop
around 5 or 6 a.m.,
peaceful then,
but not an exact silence
because things continued to
drip
  drip
    drip
  

and there was no smog then
and by 8 a.m.
there was a
blazing yellow sunlight,
Van Gogh yellow-
crazy, blinding!
and then
the roof drains
relieved of the rush of
water
began to expand in the warmth:
PANG!PANG!PANG!
and everybody got up and looked outside
and there were all the lawns
still soaked
greener than green will ever
be
and there were birds
on the lawn
CHIRPING like mad,
they hadn't eaten decently
for 7 days and 7 nights
and they were weary of
berries
and
they waited as the worms
rose to the top,
half drowned worms.
the birds plucked them
up
and gobbled them
down;there were
blackbirds and sparrows.
the blackbirds tried to
drive the sparrows off
but the sparrows,
maddened with hunger,
smaller and quicker,
got their
due.
the men stood on their porches
smoking cigarettes,
now knowing
they'd have to go out
there
to look for that job
that probably wasn't
there, to start that car
that probably wouldn't
start.
and the once beautiful
wives
stood in their bathrooms
combing their hair,
applying makeup,
trying to put their world back
together again,
trying to forget that
awful sadness that
gripped them,
wondering what they could
fix for
breakfast.
and on the radio
we were told that
school was now
open.
and
soon
there I was
on the way to school,
massive puddles in the
street,
the sun like a new
world,
my parents back in that
house,
I arrived at my classroom
on time.
Mrs. Sorenson greeted us
with, "we won't have our
usual recess, the grounds
are too wet."
"AW!" most of the boys
went.
"but we are going to do
something special at
recess," she went on,
"and it will be
fun!"
well, we all wondered
what that would
be
and the two hour wait
seemed a long time
as Mrs.Sorenson
went about
teaching her
lessons.
I looked at the little
girls, they looked so
pretty and clean and
alert,
they sat still and
straight
and their hair was
beautiful
in the California
sunshine.
the the recess bells rang
and we all waited for the
fun.
then Mrs. Sorenson told us:
"now, what we are going to
do is we are going to tell
each other what we did
during the rainstorm!
we'll begin in the front row
and go right around!
now, Michael, you're first!. . ."
well, we all began to tell
our stories, Michael began
and it went on and on,
and soon we realized that
we were all lying, not
exactly lying but mostly
lying and some of the boys
began to snicker and some
of the girls began to give
them ***** looks and
Mrs.Sorenson said,
"all right! I demand a
modicum of silence
here!
I am interested in what
you did
during the rainstorm
even if you
aren't!"
so we had to tell our
stories and they were
stories.
one girl said that
when the rainbow first
came
she saw God's face
at the end of it.
only she didn't say which end.
one boy said he stuck
his fishing pole
out the window
and caught a little
fish
and fed it to his
cat.
almost everybody told
a lie.
the truth was just
too awful and
embarassing to tell.
then the bell rang
and recess was
over.
"thank you," said Mrs.
Sorenson, "that was very
nice.
and tomorrow the grounds
will be dry
and we will put them
to use
again."
most of the boys
cheered
and the little girls
sat very straight and
still,
looking so pretty and
clean and
alert,
their hair beautiful in a sunshine that
the world might never see
again.
and

— The End —