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A Cocky Morning
don't be
malicious
the cocks
are sounding
off their
horns
to greet
the hens out there
good morning
and of course
the hens
crackle and giggle
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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PUZZLED for Leslie Alexis
The peacock parades exquisitely.
Displays the glory of his tail,
the hens ignore him easily.
This bold display was bound to fail
The peacock has misjudged his time.
The hens aren’t ready to be wooed.
Although he thinks he is sublime
it’s not the time for hens to brood.
He’s young and inexperienced.
As yet he does not understand,
his tiny brain still hasn’t sensed.
The hens not he are in command.
The females don’t appreciate
his urgency he’ll have to wait.
20-Jan-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Difference Between A Rooster And A Man
on the grass i see this rooster wearing a thick red comb,
tall for its lowly status, and well muscled as may be gleaned from the
thickness of its black, red and white feathers
how can he notice me stopping by to observe it
when its attention is focused on two slender hens
one is red the other white getting near it
and without any inhibition at all he copulated on each
of those two slender hens, quickly as a quickie
i can imagine in a few days, the two hens cackle with
lots of eggs for the owner now prepared with a big basket
to bring the produce to a crowded market
if i as a man does what a rooster does, you very well know
what happens next
it will be the people of this republic v. ric
and his dismissal from the government service
it makes me think however, on the other hand, the happiness of
the owner selling more eggs in the market because the rooster
had been kind and obliging to the two hens and the other hens in the yard
what about it God?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Familiarity brings liking
A cock loved with his commune hens.
Into yard, he started loving other hens.
Into jungle, other fowls too are appealing.
Once used to, you love any breed of woman.
30.05.2001, Berh
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The World Is Not Worth Trusting
We’re born into this realm of sorrows just like that;
sorrows, sadness and pains exactly after birth.
Nature cheats on us, we not on Nature.
We envision, we seek, we tend to have,
but have not;
we strive, we labour hard just in vain,
but Nature has multipli’d our sorrows.
Some born great gladd’n,
for Nature has made ‘em so;
oth’rs, suff’ring they all reap,
not that they’re lazy but Nature make’ so.
Some rich suppress;
some broth’rs help not broth’rs
and the world becomes and comes in vain.
poem by Eche Ononukwe
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Watching The Chickens
the strong cock
struts its way
towards a
group of hens
and as there
are too many
of them
hens, the cock
in confidence
does what is
of most service
to its master
he fucked them
all
for the eggs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As good eat the devil as the broth he was boiled in.
Proverbs for sellers of honours
Many pounds make knight lurk.
'Payed! ' comes before a fall.
Too many records spoil the broth.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Head Of The Fish
We use the
Head of the fish
To make fish broth
poem by Aldo Kraas
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A precious acquisition
Honesty,
A virtue so precious.
With it,
Lives are saved.
Without it,
Are lives destroyed.
Honesty,
A precious possession.
The humble,
Like a guest embrace.
The greedy,
Like an enemy they shun,
And with mud,
On its face they smear.
But the fools,
Like a stranger they fear.
Honesty,
A precious possession.
Its lovers,
To hens are metaphored,
But their ridiculers,
Are the hens themselves,
For God,
Honesty initiates and loves.
So anyone,
Who honesty champions,
Will for eternity,
God's friend remain.
Honesty,
A priceless commodity.
poem by Michael Wamalwa
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The Famine and The Feast
THE FAMINE
Cackle and lay, cackle and lay!
How many eggs did you get to-day?
None in the manger, and none in the shed,
None in the box where the chickens are fed,
None in the tussocks and none in the tub,
And only a little one out in the scrub.
Oh, I say! Dumplings to-day.
I fear that the hens must be laying away.
THE FEAST
Cackle and lay, cackle and lay!
How many eggs did you get to-day?
Two in the manger, and four in the shed,
Six in the box where the chickens are fed,
Two in the tussocks and ten in the tub,
And nearly two dozen right out in the scrub.
Hip, hooray! Pudding to-day!
I think that the hens are beginning to lay.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The broth is cooking, and now we have to act as one.