"henhouse" poems
As the tiny zebra grew, others saw and were amazed.
More to Come…
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
The farmer collapsed graveyard dead upon seeing the tiny zebra.
More to Come….
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
Pale scrapings of people
with lipstick ringed glasses
and cigarettes burning,
and laughter trickling up and down
their knotty throats.
What is this,
a gathering of henhouse critics?
My father's voice in the back of my head,
saying, forget that I'm dead and if you
can not do that than pretend.
I am standing
just outside the gallery
beneath the shadowy bough of a birch.
The moon is floating in the sky's dark lap.
Faraway I can hear the ocean sigh.
Now father, I am asking,
what smile are you wearing?
What color are your eyes again?
How many teeth have you lost?
Don't you think I want a kiss.
Perhaps I don't. Perhaps I don't
want to stand and pretend you
not dead while the wet, champagne
mouths of the living tell me how wonderful
your paintings are.
As they crook their fingers and strain their necks,
lose their vocabulary inside the artwork's depths
and colors.
Father, I want your reputation to outlive the pursuits
of others with their iron-on reviews after an hour's
worth of browsing at a lifetime of your work.
Father, are you crying?
Stop that sound.
2.2k
In the henhouse, an egg hatched and a zebra emerged.
More to Come….
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
Only the chickens knew the zebra’s secret, they kept silent.
More to Come…
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
Birdhouses and farm bell gone , garden spot now a tangled field of grass and small trees . Farmhouse , empty and dying from top to bottom , flower gardens missing , iron kettle hanging by rusted chain . Clothes line , henhouse and both red barns are at the ready, but sadly , empty as well . Logging chains , bale hooks , pitchfork and weathervane , put away forever most likely along with lifetime memories , good and bad.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
They must be
A couple
Of right *******
To ill threat
The young man so;
One blonde,
One brunette,
Thinking themselves,
No doubt,
God’s gift,
Gift of the gab
More like,
Strutting their
Henhouse tracks
With feathers
Prim and proper
They like to think.
Smell the perfume stink,
The eyelids painted,
Nails clipped
And primed,
Tongues wagging,
Like tails of *******
On full heat.
Karma has its way
Of making things
Right in the end.
Sufficient lies
To hang themselves
Given time, enough
Tall tales to drown in
Like plump frogs
Caught out
In the last fast
Downpour.
Like snakes
They spit their
Joined venom;
Like snakes
They prefer
The long grass;
How each of them
Moves like a hippo
To the waterhole,
Each with their
Swaying fat ***
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 9:50 AM UTC
Roddy's Rooster, man! you couldn't
oust her
Standing up there on his dunghill fair
Announcing to the whole world, to All
everywhere
My **** He's the greatest doodle doer
O! that Roddy's Rooster.
He don't need no booster, does
Roddy's Rooster
He'd even go after the goose sir
Don't you fouster with this Rooster
You'd only lose sir
Now vamoose sir.
Very dapper and quite the scrapper
Patrolling his perimeter
Strutting around the farmyard pound
Invariably, henhouse bound
If you were to meet him
It'd be "Put up your dukes sir
Me! I'm Roddy's Rooster".
With his tail feathers all fluffed up
Like a feather duster
And his chest all puffed out
Quite the Dandy and always randy
What a Suitor that Roddy's Rooster
And O! what a Wooer, that wooey
doodler.
I I
He came a cropper though one day
When he fell in the Hopper
Now he's a good deal shorter
And not half as cocky as before,
Now he sits on his wall lamenting his
fall
Thinking of the days when he used to
have a ball
Has Lady Luck that Grand Old Duck
deserted him I wonder.
Sad to see, now he's a bit gammy
More Bandy than Dandy
He still South's in the Summer
But has doubts in the Winter,
Now he likes to crow his woes and
lows away
Climbing up onto his dunghill, he
greets the day
But now in a high shrill falsetto
voice
He sings in a whole different way
" I've been round the Ringer but I'm
still quite a Dinger
**** a Doodley Doo"
Now... now he's a ****** Blues singer!
O! that Roddy's Rooster.
Roddy's Rooster Yeeaahh!
Mar 17, 2020
Mar 17, 2020 at 10:29 AM UTC
I’d thought that they were extinct until
I found one in the coop,
A genuine Jersey Giant, strutting
Up on the henhouse roof,
Twice the size of the other hens
As I said to my sister, Faye,
‘Where did it come from?’ She replied,
‘Not there yesterday!’
‘I go to collect the eggs each day,
Do you think that could be missed?
That bird is a giant,’ she declared,
‘So don’t blame me, desist!’
I calmed her down, for she used to flare
At the slightest hint of crit.,
‘Whatever it is, it’s here to stay,
Perhaps we can breed from it?’
There wasn’t a cockerel near the size
Of this random Jersey Black,
‘It must have come visiting overnight,
I joked, ‘from a neighbour’s shack.’
She wandered into the henhouse and
From behind an empty keg,
She said, ‘You’d better come look at this,’
And showed me a giant egg.
An egg so big that you wouldn’t think
That a chicken could let it pass,
Tall and brown with a pointed crown
And a shell as thick as glass,
‘Are we going to let it hatch it out,’
Said Faye, ‘or crack it yet?
I wonder how many that would feed
As a giant omelette?’
‘We’ll leave her be, and we’ll wait and see
If a monster’s there inside,
We might as well, if a cockerel
It can be the henhouse pride.’
So we let her sit on the giant egg
For a week, or maybe more,
Then Faye came running inside one day,
‘You’ve not seen this before!’
The egg emitted a humming noise
And rocked a bit on its base,
While through the shell there were coloured lights
That would fade then grow apace,
And as we stood it began to crack
Then pieces would fall away,
It almost gave me a heart attack
For what I saw that day.
For spinning inside the egg we saw
A tiny universe,
With a sun-like star at the centre and
Our planets, in reverse,
And as we watched it began to grow
To float out the henhouse door,
Swelling constantly as it rose
To the skies, with a mighty roar.
I don’t know what it has done to us,
The sky doesn’t look the same,
There are three moons now in the evening sky
Since the Jersey rooster came,
I lopped the chicken that laid the egg
And I wait for the slightest sight,
With an axe for the Jersey cockerel
That Faye prays to at night.
David Lewis Paget
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
She knows exactly how the world works
Shares her well-read cynical voice
She wishes for miracles coming
Not believing our leader’s choice
She’s longing for Swords into Ploughshares
All words of war she cannot bear
Doesn’t trust The United Nations
Declares we haven’t got a prayer
The world’s Toolbox of Diplomacy
Lets foxes design the henhouse
She knows the top 3 richest people
Have more than HALF of everyone else
She shows how to make her life richer
Not relying on someone else
Has no sentimental view of life
Fully acquainted with herself
Challenging ANYONE’S opinion
Firing people up with the facts
She predicts trump’ll be on Mount Rushmore
His Nobel Peace Prize on his back
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
Weathervane, weathervane,
whither does the wind blow?
Will you learn to point the way
or will you just go with the flow?
When the fox would rule the henhouse
as the wind twists all around
will the weathercock crow midnight
without making a sound?
Oct 28, 2024
Oct 28, 2024 at 3:54 PM UTC
Way Way back in the day
With a top-hat in the shade
tents were pitched - seasons past
Way Way back when it was all a gas
I swear that at one time that it was
a crime, just to laugh
Well then you get a gun then
But it gets tougher than that
Down on Banta near Central
Here in Hackensack
and there's a choo-choo on every track
Hey don't waste your time spent talkin' to Jack
and there's a weasel in the henhouse
but we don't worry about that
Back when love was a crime
Way back when love was a crime
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
There once was a
Grand Old Party
Formed against slavery
The Free Soil party
Defenders of the constitution
And the omnibus declaration
First to be President:
Abraham Lincoln
The 20s were the
Republican decade
Harding, Coolidge and Hoover
A decade sadly a century past
A temporal chasm loomed
Until conservative hero
Former democrat Reagan
Trickled up the elephant’s trunk
Take eye of Newt
And two from Bush
Alchemy trickery: viola kazam!
The great bamboozle began
It’s no longer conservatism
No longer less federalism
A horrible takeover
This GOP makeover
Fend for self
Wall off power
Distort report
All else enemy
Walk lock-step
Repeat refrain
Us not them
Say it again
My senator father
Is spinning in his grave
Fox in the henhouse
This Mitch debprave
Feb 12, 2020
Feb 12, 2020 at 10:14 PM UTC
Sitting in the henhouse to relieve pepper burnt eyes with the sound of Miss Trellie whipping the okra, willow switch in hand , harvesting eggs , adding fresh hay to each nest box , ankle deep in pig dung , snapping crowder peas , Fordhook butter beans , pulling black eyed peas , resting on a five gallon bucket , mother nervously on the lookout for " Giant Serpents " more commonly known as King snakes and taking breaks with a mouthful of figs, plus all the cherry tomatoes that my overalls would hold ! A daily event in the Summer ..... Children thrive on routine , dirt , a mothers love and a long list of chores each and every day !
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
IN THE MYTHOLOGY OF FOXES
The foxes blood
on the stone
still there two days
after
staring at me.
Only the day before
a daring raider
of my uncle's henhouse
the talk of our household.
But my uncle was patient
& stalked the lonely hours
until the fox
came to meet her death
thinking only of her cubs
& how big & bright
the moon loomed
tonight
and how the fearful thunder
of the gun
had ended
everything
and how now
shot through the head
her carcass thrown
behind a hedge
she finds herself
still staring bak
into the mind
of the little boy
even more aware
of her presence
now that nothing
exists
and how for
ever after
the boy
carries her death
cradling it
in his mind
trying to comfort
her
with his human
tears.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 7:37 AM UTC
Joyously we would meander through the peach groves in the month
of April ... A hundred blossoms on every tree , simple everyday beauty as far as my young eyes could see ..
Grape arbors under diligent care , wisteria filled the cool morning air ..
The morning dew , wind blew life into rolling hillsides , Springs new calves played tag in the afternoon sunshine ..
Guineas always longing for new places to forage , piglets in the henhouse , Brown rooster wing to the ground , dancing a warning !
Noon heat and four o'clock showers , the church bell in town struck
every hour ..
Bethel Church would come alive on Sundays , joyous hymns that echoed through the country ..
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC
*At the Roseberry Farm arbor where
Rhode Island Reds continually determine
the pecking order
Where spearpoint spurred roosters -
do honest battle in the name of the governed
A place where the continuity of the flock , respect ,
dignity and grace are treasured
The well being of all measured
Where the reign of Kings are subject to the congregations
pleasure* ...
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
A weasel will commit a massacre within the henhouse as sure as a politicians tongue will wag without respite , be it attached or severed !
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
*Have you ever walked the habanero row
Worked in spicy air that wouldn't let go
Run to the henhouse like stormy wind
Sit with the chickens till the burning ends* ..
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
The **** crows
the morning into being
whilst behind the henhouse
Auntie wrings a chicken's neck.
What runs around
yesterday
is today
eaten.
"Humans..." thinks the cat
"...are not what they seem!"
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
Talk about the future
and spoil the present
Fox in the henhouse
rats in the barn
Moment’s unspoiled
never in reference
Today, not tomorrow
prescience the charm
(Dreamsleep: June, 2022)
Jun 16, 2022
Jun 16, 2022 at 12:10 PM UTC