"chooks" poems - Hello Poetry

My early memory of farm, Blackfella’s hill, banana sand, exploring, chasing rabbits. And riding round with grandpa, in the white and well loved station wagon checking sheep, windmill and chooks. The lollies in the tin were there, to help him stay awake at night; but grandchildren were once allowed to sample from the tin of treats, in longer trips with grandparents, while out on country roads. The farm, a favourite place of mine, away from school and normal life, but Modb’ry North not quite the same. With grandpa still out shearing though, the farm-like feel not far away, and granny kept a strawb’rry patch. I went a-shearing with him once, About six customers that day and I can’t count the load of sheep. I earned five dollars on that day, while travelling around in ute with shearing stuff all in the back. His love of music satisfied, the grandchildren are all gifted, the music played from instruments of cello, clarinet and bass of flute, piano, violin, and voice as well from Kate and Jo Called grandpa day or dad or Doug he’ll be remembered, days to come. The stories will be told and told of happenings while he was here, from farm or Modb’ry North or else, from other places he has been.

0

Aug 17, 2011

Aug 17, 2011 at 11:01 AM UTC

nathan-douglas-day

Grandpa...

My early memory of farm, Blackfella’s hill, banana sand, exploring, chasing rabbits. And riding round with grandpa, in the white and well loved station wagon checking sheep, windmill and chooks. The lollies in the tin were there, to help him stay awake at night; but grandchildren were once allowed to sample from the tin of treats, in longer trips with grandparents, while out on country roads. The farm, a favourite place of mine, away from school and normal life, but Modb’ry North not quite the same. With grandpa still out shearing though, the farm-like feel not far away, and granny kept a strawb’rry patch. I went a-shearing with him once, About six customers that day and I can’t count the load of sheep. I earned five dollars on that day, while travelling around in ute with shearing stuff all in the back. His love of music satisfied, the grandchildren are all gifted, the music played from instruments of cello, clarinet and bass of flute, piano, violin, and voice as well from Kate and Jo Called grandpa day or dad or Doug he’ll be remembered, days to come. The stories will be told and told of happenings while he was here, from farm or Modb’ry North or else, from other places he has been.

36

So proud to live in Queensland, for all it has to share For anywhere else, in this great land I really just don't care. I love the smell of burning cane The ash flying through the air. This sunburnt state was my home before I went away. My wife and kids I left behind, hoping to see another day I answered this great nations call when I was just nineteen. That didn't stop the enthusiasm, boy I was so keen. Timor, Iraq, Afghanistan, before I turned twenty five. On return home to this state my life then took a dive. The friend left first, the social life. No more did that exist. The nightmares and the drinking took their place, to this day they do persist. My family suffered most of all, my moods went bad to worse. I went through stages where i almost gave up on everything in my life that had any worth. I got some help in Hospital to help mend my tormented ways. That way I can spend the rest of my life spending all my days, In this sunburnt state of ours, at the family home Now I only feel normal, when I am alone I now spend all my time on the family farm raising sheep pigs chooks and cows.They can at least be trusted, I can spend hours and hours This state is more than just a loc, a place you say you live, Queensland is the only place that has given so much, but still continues to give. I love this state, ill never move. Till the day I die Even if they said to me, it's easy if you try But when I go remember that, I have been tormented, torn and broken, but at least i lived in paradise the truest words ever spoken Gavin H 20 May 2014

0

May 21, 2014

May 21, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC

gavin-h

Sugarcane and shrapnel

So proud to live in Queensland, for all it has to share For anywhere else, in this great land I really just don't care. I love the smell of burning cane The ash flying through the air. This sunburnt state was my home before I went away. My wife and kids I left behind, hoping to see another day I answered this great nations call when I was just nineteen. That didn't stop the enthusiasm, boy I was so keen. Timor, Iraq, Afghanistan, before I turned twenty five. On return home to this state my life then took a dive. The friend left first, the social life. No more did that exist. The nightmares and the drinking took their place, to this day they do persist. My family suffered most of all, my moods went bad to worse. I went through stages where i almost gave up on everything in my life that had any worth. I got some help in Hospital to help mend my tormented ways. That way I can spend the rest of my life spending all my days, In this sunburnt state of ours, at the family home Now I only feel normal, when I am alone I now spend all my time on the family farm raising sheep pigs chooks and cows.They can at least be trusted, I can spend hours and hours This state is more than just a loc, a place you say you live, Queensland is the only place that has given so much, but still continues to give. I love this state, ill never move. Till the day I die Even if they said to me, it's easy if you try But when I go remember that, I have been tormented, torn and broken, but at least i lived in paradise the truest words ever spoken Gavin H 20 May 2014

26

The bushland calls Of my childhood dreams Amongst the wild My soul it, sings The gentle breeze light upon the skin Sun upon my face it welcomes me in To the lands of summers Though now long gone Memories of the heats haze With a white juvenile horse Within a closed off field it lay But young and free it was born Birds flying high above Shielding the rays of the sky Perfectly clear a crystal bright blue Not a single cloud in sight Fields filled with nothing But the dirt beneath our feet Dull patches of green and yellow Amongst cattle it feeds A rooster it crows loud The chooks begin to run As bruce, a little staffy Chases them about Work shed full of tools Covered by a rusted tin roof Parked beside it old barrols And a broken down ute Stone walls of the house To keep it cool inside Spread across the cold floors A reddish brown cowhide Worn down leather couch Out upon the front porch An eski filled with stubbies Where the boys had their "talks" I feel the memories flooding back This peacefulness, this sense of home Hours pass by within seconds Losing myself in the zone My footsteps have long faded with time As has my name once carved upon the gumtrees The white stallion no longer grazes near by Nor do the same cattle dwell in that field Worn down by time and way of the land Though I do intend to return again To share the beauty of this place Drawn back by the old fate The day melts away like the snow And I hear my parent calling my name This place will forever be my second home Because I know here, I'll never be alone

0

Sep 30, 2018

Sep 30, 2018 at 7:58 AM UTC

SafetyWithinWords

The Summer Haze of the Outback

The bushland calls Of my childhood dreams Amongst the wild My soul it, sings The gentle breeze light upon the skin Sun upon my face it welcomes me in To the lands of summers Though now long gone Memories of the heats haze With a white juvenile horse Within a closed off field it lay But young and free it was born Birds flying high above Shielding the rays of the sky Perfectly clear a crystal bright blue Not a single cloud in sight Fields filled with nothing But the dirt beneath our feet Dull patches of green and yellow Amongst cattle it feeds A rooster it crows loud The chooks begin to run As bruce, a little staffy Chases them about Work shed full of tools Covered by a rusted tin roof Parked beside it old barrols And a broken down ute Stone walls of the house To keep it cool inside Spread across the cold floors A reddish brown cowhide Worn down leather couch Out upon the front porch An eski filled with stubbies Where the boys had their "talks" I feel the memories flooding back This peacefulness, this sense of home Hours pass by within seconds Losing myself in the zone My footsteps have long faded with time As has my name once carved upon the gumtrees The white stallion no longer grazes near by Nor do the same cattle dwell in that field Worn down by time and way of the land Though I do intend to return again To share the beauty of this place Drawn back by the old fate The day melts away like the snow And I hear my parent calling my name This place will forever be my second home Because I know here, I'll never be alone

54

Bad luck--eggs are now an allergen, I shall never eat them again, No soft boiled eggs, Munched to the dregs, No fluffy omelettes for me, My lips turn blue, you see, So, I placed all eggs on a centrifuge, This is my cunning subterfuge, I rotated them in this way, Eggs flew off to space one day, Launched as astronauts, Chooks can't fly, I thought, Bad luck-eggs are now an allergen, I shall never eat them again!

0

Oct 18, 2016

Oct 18, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC

julie-grenness

THE VICTORIAN EGG BOARD....

Bad luck--eggs are now an allergen, I shall never eat them again, No soft boiled eggs, Munched to the dregs, No fluffy omelettes for me, My lips turn blue, you see, So, I placed all eggs on a centrifuge, This is my cunning subterfuge, I rotated them in this way, Eggs flew off to space one day, Launched as astronauts, Chooks can't fly, I thought, Bad luck-eggs are now an allergen, I shall never eat them again!

14

Malicious hearts will hurt the empath As summer hurts the winter shore Eroding buffers until burnout Kind retreat, the only cure -- End-of-summer beach Seabirds’ shaky screech Grey gulls too full to cry Bin chooks too fat to fly Sorry shoreline Systems offline Foot pounded Rebounded Flattened… Shrub ripped Wing clipped Sand-sucked Grass plucked Party bruised Cocktail-cruised Cans on conches Fish unconscious Foam and flotsam Wave-blind coxon Soda can crab shacks Neon pink algae tracks Whelk shell graveyard Absent lifeguard **** platoons Naked dunes Cheapened Weakened Exposed… Tidal hangover Coastal leftover Erosion potluck Sitting sea-duck Strong incoming storm surge Winter solstice land purge Quick and shifty beach thieves Cyclone tempest mouth-breathes Recalcitrant brackish aggressor Intransigent briny transgressor Suspensions of sediments modified Walling and breakwaters compromised Over, back, and whitewash makers Bubble, rubble, boil and breakers Weathered, not weathering Tempered, not tempering More block than gavel More grave than gravel All prisoner no guard Grain short of a shard Receding sand-line drift Intensive shoreface-lift Patient unresponsive Highly hypertensive Code cerulean blue… Plant encouragement Shoreline nourishment Sand transplant Grass implant Healing hiatus to homeostasis Swell subsiding King Tide presiding Prince Neap succeeds Warm court accedes Managed realignment Sanctuary assignment Steadfast protections Timid reconnections Gentle, careful, soft, and slow… A new beach visitor dips their toe

0

Oct 21, 2024

Oct 21, 2024 at 4:23 AM UTC

jill_1

I prefer the beach in springtime

Malicious hearts will hurt the empath As summer hurts the winter shore Eroding buffers until burnout Kind retreat, the only cure -- End-of-summer beach Seabirds’ shaky screech Grey gulls too full to cry Bin chooks too fat to fly Sorry shoreline Systems offline Foot pounded Rebounded Flattened… Shrub ripped Wing clipped Sand-sucked Grass plucked Party bruised Cocktail-cruised Cans on conches Fish unconscious Foam and flotsam Wave-blind coxon Soda can crab shacks Neon pink algae tracks Whelk shell graveyard Absent lifeguard **** platoons Naked dunes Cheapened Weakened Exposed… Tidal hangover Coastal leftover Erosion potluck Sitting sea-duck Strong incoming storm surge Winter solstice land purge Quick and shifty beach thieves Cyclone tempest mouth-breathes Recalcitrant brackish aggressor Intransigent briny transgressor Suspensions of sediments modified Walling and breakwaters compromised Over, back, and whitewash makers Bubble, rubble, boil and breakers Weathered, not weathering Tempered, not tempering More block than gavel More grave than gravel All prisoner no guard Grain short of a shard Receding sand-line drift Intensive shoreface-lift Patient unresponsive Highly hypertensive Code cerulean blue… Plant encouragement Shoreline nourishment Sand transplant Grass implant Healing hiatus to homeostasis Swell subsiding King Tide presiding Prince Neap succeeds Warm court accedes Managed realignment Sanctuary assignment Steadfast protections Timid reconnections Gentle, careful, soft, and slow… A new beach visitor dips their toe

76

Somebody in the neighborhood cut the red comb of Rooster Good, and the overgrown wattle too; whoever did, nobody knew. What’s sure is that the spritely stance is now lost in his courtship dance. His dawn tenor arias so proud now low pitched and hoarse but still loud. Perhaps those hands that held the knife Hated that ***** enjoy free life or had eyes burned on seeing red or pinkish plume on bloodied head A rooster’s form must do conform with all rules of cockfighting norm. Humans dictate how chooks should look I should have asked their Holy Book. And so dear Old Rooster’s de-crowned Has lighter head, a king dethroned beard-like wattle, like rouge wisdom swish swings no more like pendulum The pride is gone like in folks’ tales as more mates follow full-combed males Now fewer hens his harem hosts mean fewer eggs for breakfast toasts.

0

Nov 4, 2021

Nov 4, 2021 at 11:24 PM UTC

JunLit

Decrowned Rooster

Somebody in the neighborhood cut the red comb of Rooster Good, and the overgrown wattle too; whoever did, nobody knew. What’s sure is that the spritely stance is now lost in his courtship dance. His dawn tenor arias so proud now low pitched and hoarse but still loud. Perhaps those hands that held the knife Hated that ***** enjoy free life or had eyes burned on seeing red or pinkish plume on bloodied head A rooster’s form must do conform with all rules of cockfighting norm. Humans dictate how chooks should look I should have asked their Holy Book. And so dear Old Rooster’s de-crowned Has lighter head, a king dethroned beard-like wattle, like rouge wisdom swish swings no more like pendulum The pride is gone like in folks’ tales as more mates follow full-combed males Now fewer hens his harem hosts mean fewer eggs for breakfast toasts.

24