An overcrowded chicken farm produce fewer eggs.
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Chicken and Other Foods
She is coming home tonight, been away for two days.
Bought her, what she likes… a well roasted chicken.
On the farm where I was brought up, old hens that
didn’t lay eggs as before had heads chopped off and
ended up in the pot. Incredible tough meat had to boil
it for hours. Never liked the smell in a chicken coop,
I think concentration camps must have stunk like that
too many bodies in small rooms and no escape.
The coop’s capo wasn’t safe either, when it didn’t
perform as before, off with its head. When she enjoys
her roasted chicken with lemon sauce I will eat a burger,
since it doesn’t look remotely like a dead animal and as
I have never seen a dead cow, only milked them every
morning at five, it will taste ok with Italian salad.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We are entering a new phase in human history - one in which fewer and fewer workers will be needed to produce the goods and services for the global population.
quote by Jeremy Rifkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Argument Of The Egg And The Chicken
i will always agree
on this last, that at the end
it does not really matter
which came first the egg or the
chicken because what matters
most
is what makes us
friends again.
take the chicken
i'll have the eggs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aaa-please Free Betty Please
No sunshine on my face,
My living death a sad disgrace,
No beating of my wings,
A throat that never sings.
Prostitution of the word ‘Farm’
Is used to call my battery home,
I am dead I prefer battery ‘Shed’
Just to produce your breakfast egg.
Who has the loudest voice in this nation?
Sweet little kiddies get the standing ovation, so,
Little children of this land
Link your hands to form a band,
Circle your mummies to make a change
To free Betty to home on the range—with glee,
And always, always buy chucky eggs
BORN FREE
Chicken battery farms are still legal in Australia,
Betty is a chick, a very sick chick,
sick of a life of hell.
poem by Ken e Hall
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The Farm
There┬┤s a cockroach in my coffee
There┬┤s a needle in my arm
And I feel like New York City
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Somebody get me to the farm
I got terminal uniqueness
I'm an egocentric man
I get caught up in my freakness
But I ain┬┤t no Peter Pan
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Get me...
Buckle up straight Jack
Sanity is such a drag
Jellybeam thorazene
Trancendental jet lag
Sanity I ain┬┤t gotta
Feeling like a pinala
Sucker punch-blowin┬┤lung
Motherload-pigeonholed
I'm feeling like I'm gonna explode
I wanna be a Hare Krishna
Tattoo a dot right on my head
And the prozac is my fixer
I am the living dead
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm...
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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14 Thousand Eggs
now i am that chicken
that lays all those fourteen thousand eggs,
this small chicken
has tiny feathers
it cannot fly away but
it cannot lay its butt upon all these
fourteen thousand eggs
it is sad,
these fourteen thousand eggs
shall not hatch
how i wish i can hear the songs of
fourteen thousand chicks
what can their tiny voices be
to God? to those higher skies?
what cant they be?
shall they be angelic like those seraphims and cherubmims?
or shall they be the sounds of wailing
of grieving widows
of dissatisfied workers
of disappointed humanity
of men and women loveless upon the tracks of life
of children abandoned
of marriages in shackles and shattering
soon i shall retrace
what i have said
open the pages of this journal
and find out again
what life is,
if i have lived in
vain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Finnan
Wan they shew me thee inkbluts, I like to pretend I dunt recognize em. It pisses them uf methinks, but eats thee only way twe get me jollys ere. Not give em too much powr. Yeah. Thataways they'll nevr be able twe take away me sowle. The one that luks like a vagina…I tell em luks like a butterfly. I tell em they all luk like butterflies when we both know they aint no butterflies left on this ere earth. They all flew away thru that big ole in the the North Pole twe be wit God in evn. One of thee inkbluts came alive on thee paper while they were testin me, but nvr wood I say not a thing. I tried twe tell em once the prepaid turns on the tele on in me room and they hurt me. I wunt be makin that same mistake twice. For breakfast ever morn we get powdered eggs. I wish I knew the bloke invented powdered eggs. I'd ask im wut theys really made of. When I lived in Devon I worked on a chicken farm. They'd keep thee lights on night and day to keep thee hens a-layin. So, they's lots and lots of eggs and no need for make believe eggs. I slather em with ketchup remembering delicious steaks I use to make wit fried onions until I came ere. And gravy too. The blood…it nvr needed a lick a salt for flavorin.I guess I'll just stay ere until the butterflies metamorphasize and come back ome.
poem by Sara Fielder
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Free TV: What's Good About A Scheduled Demise?
What's good about an end to free tv after 60 years in
America, should the
cable companies have their way?
The audiences will shrink, as fewer will be able to afford
the pricegouging rates,
thus fewer people to absorb CNN and all other network
war programming,
fewer people to buy hook line and sinker the
advertising lies and materialism shilling,
fewer young to be influenced by the Sodom
and Gomorrha programming of the networks,
fewer customers for fast food murder sandwiches,
fewer fat people, subjected to infinite streams
of food ads, fewer ears for the loanshark megathief
capitalism proponents.
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Old Macdonald
(words & music by randy starr)
Old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some chicks, ee-i-ee-i-o
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
Loud as they could be
And when those chicks got out of line
Chicken fricasse
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
Loud as they could be
And when those chicks got out of line
Chicken fricasse
Well, old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some cows, ee-i-ee-i-o
With a moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
Cattle everywhere
And when those cows got out of line
Hamburger, medium rare
With a moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
Cattle everywhere
And when those cows got out of line
Hamburger, medium rare
Ohh, well, old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some pigs, ee-i-ee-i-o
With an oink, oink here, an oink, oink there
Pigs everywhere in sight
And when those pigs got out of line
Pork and beans at night
With an oink, oink here, an oink, oink there
Pigs everywhere in sight
And when those pigs got out of line
Pork and beans at night
Well Im goona have a farm one day, ee-i-e-i-o
And Ill do things mcdonalds way, ee-i-e-i-o
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
A moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
An oink, oink here, an oink, oink there
And I can promise you
If those animals ever get out of line
Well have a mulligan stew
How about you?
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crow Black Chicken
(laurence wilson)
Well, I went on the mountain
And I gave my horn a blow
Thought I heard some purty gal say
Yonder come my beau
Crow black chicken and crow for a day
Crow black chicken and fly away
Crow black chicken and-a ...
I like chicken pie
Well, the hardest work that ever I done
Is plowin a field of rye
The easiest work that ever I done
Was eatin chicken pie
Chicken crow for midnight
And chicken crow for a day
Along come an owl, lord, have mercy
And stole my chicken away
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meditations Upon An Egg
1.
The egg's no chick by falling from the hen;
Nor man a Christian, till he's born again.
The egg's at first contained in the shell;
Men, afore grace, in sins and darkness dwell.
The egg, when laid, by warmth is made a chicken,
And Christ, by grace, those dead in sin doth quicken.
The egg, when first a chick, the shell's its prison;
So's flesh to the soul, who yet with Christ is risen.
The shell doth crack, the chick doth chirp and peep,
The flesh decays, as men do pray and weep.
The shell doth break, the chick's at liberty,
The flesh falls off, the soul mounts up on high
But both do not enjoy the self-same plight;
The soul is safe, the chick now fears the kite.
2.
But chicks from rotten eggs do not proceed,
Nor is a hypocrite a saint indeed.
The rotten egg, though underneath the hen,
If crack'd, stinks, and is loathsome unto men.
Nor doth her warmth make what is rotten sound;
What's rotten, rotten will at last be found.
The hypocrite, sin has him in possession,
He is a rotten egg under profession.
3.
Some eggs bring cockatrices; and some men
Seem hatch'd and brooded in the viper's den.
Some eggs bring wild-fowls; and some men there be
As wild as are the wildest fowls that flee.
Some eggs bring spiders, and some men appear
More venom'd than the worst of spiders are.[16]
Some eggs bring piss-ants, and some seem to me
As much for trifles as the piss-ants be.
Thus divers eggs do produce divers shapes,
As like some men as monkeys are like apes.
But this is but an egg, were it a chick,
Here had been legs, and wings, and bones to pick.
poem by John Bunyan
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My Favoured Fare
Some poets sing of scenery;
Some to fair maids make sonnets sweet.
A fig for love and greenery,
Be mine a song of things to eat.
Let brother bards divinely dream,
I'm just plain human, as you see;
And choose to carol such a theme
As ham and eggs and tea.
Just two fried eggs or maybe three,
With lacy rims and sunside up,
Pink coral ham and amber tea
Poured in a big, fat china cup.
I have no crave for finer fare;
That's just the chuck for chaps like me.
Aye, if I were a millionaire--
Just ham and eggs and tea.
When of life's fussiness I tire,
And on my skull I wear a cap,
As tartan-shawled beside the fire
I stroke the kitten on my lap:
Give me no broth and chicken breast;
My last repast shall hearty be . . .
Oh how I'll sup with chuckling zest
On ham and eggs and tea!
poem by Robert William Service
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Hurried judgment, curried thought
‘Animal sacrifice in Kali temples
and in Durga shrines is a disgrace! –
this is pagan savagery and
a shame to our pure souls!
*
(Please excuse the yellow smear
of chicken tikka on this screen;
chicken from a factory farm
that led a miserable life..
these lines were written in
righteous anger, and just after
a delicious Hindu meal.)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Ode to Chickens
An Ode to Chickens
Oh chicken, oh chicken,
With orange little feet,
All white and fluffy,
So good to eat,
Oh chicken, oh chicken,
I will get you so fat,
Then I will kill you,
And eat you at last
poem by Trevor Cummins
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You don't have to kill the chicken to get eggs.
It is a bad hen that lays her eggs away from the farm.
A chicken that hatches a crocodile's eggs is looking for trouble.
Old Age
Grey hairs
Lonely
Lovesick
Worried
Many thoughts
Fewer talks
Fewer hopes
Fewer friends
Less will to live
The only thing
That keeps me going
On the zigzag way of life
Is the desire to be loved.
poem by Asif Andalib
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The chicken that crows the loudest does not always give the biggest eggs.