The advice of foxes is dangerous for chickens.
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Last Night I Dreamed of Chickens
Last night I dreamed of chickens,
there were chickens everywhere,
they were standing on my stomach,
they were nesting in my hair,
they were pecking at my pillow,
they were hopping on my head,
they were ruffling up their feathers
as they raced about my bed.
They were on the chairs and tables,
they were on the chandeliers,
they were roosting in the corners,
they were clucking in my ears,
there were chickens, chickens, chickens
for as far as I could see...
when I woke today, I noticed
there were eggs on top of me.
poem by Jack Prelutsky
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Learning about chickens
Last year I was given some chickens
Of which I did not know a lot;
I gave them a home in my orchard,
Then read up to see what was what.
The book that I took for instruction
Said that chickens must have some protection
From cold, and the damp English climate,
From foxes and chills and infection.
So an outhouse, I used for the purpose,
And covered the floor with some hay;
Then I sat back to wait for them laying,
Expecting a dozen a day.
But at night they seemed nervous and jumpy
And I knew not for what they did search;
'Til my father-in-law said, 'you nitwit!
Don't you know that a bird needs a perch? '
So I took his advice and I chopped them
A branch, upon which they could roost;
My knowledge of chickens now growing,
Their comforts now given a boost.
Then I found from a friend that a nest-box
Would help to persuade them to lay;
My chickens were then more contented
And gave me my breakfast next day.
Then along came the cold winter weather
With a worrying dropp in supplies;
But the book said that this was quite normal
And in summer, production would rise.
Yes I'm learning a lot about chickens
And their greedy omniverous diet;
And the order enforced by their pecking,
And that cockerels can't stand being quiet.
Now I'd say, in my humble opinion,
That it's better to give chicks a name;
Then identification is easy, and,
If there's trouble you'll know who to blame.
But trouble was rare in my orchard,
My flock of ten enjoyed their days;
Belinda and Sally, the elders,
Five others, marrans, and all greys.
But things changed when Rocky the rooster
Took to scrapping and doing his nut
Over two of the birds, presumed female,
Rocky knew they were anything but.
The book said that more than one cockerel
Would surely result in disaster;
Poor Speckleand Snowy's salvation lay
In the fact that they both could run faster.
So an uneasy truce is at present
Existing between the cocks three;
But if anyone's wanting a rooster
Come and see me, I'll give you one free!
Written Feb 1996
poem by John Carter Brown
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I'm very wary about giving advice. I think it's very dangerous to give advice to people, except if you know them very well.
quote by Omar Sharif
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eggxample
What came first chickens or eggs?
Chickens of course!
Chickens have legs!
Chickens have feathers,
Eggs have a shell,
How would you like your eggs, done well?
This may be a 'yolk',
But consider it folk!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Much More Work to Do
Why are those chickens running around,
And their heads have been cut off?
'They've been conditioned that they are not chickens.
They've been programmed to believe they are constituents.
And that's the name they prefer.
It has stuck with them!
Like feathers attached to birds.'
You are what you believe, you know?
'I know!
And those heads?
They've never used them anyway.
So the running around,
With their heads cut off the way they do?
They've been told only 'chickens' do that!
And as luck would have it...
They can't see themselves that way!
No heads?
No eyes!
What about all those pots you've got?
'Well...
We've been promising to get one in each pot!
And that's the dilemma.
Like I said...
They can't 'see' themselves as chickens.
Nor do they believe,
We can get one in each pot!
So they are running around...
As if a lottery to be played,
Will be stopped.
And...
I don't have to tell you,
There's a lot of convincing.
With much more work to do.
None of this was planned too well.'
Or at all!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sound Of Sheep
The sheep are soundless in the snow,
Sleepless for the night as it stoops;
Aggression has appeared for the lairs,
As I have risen for the keeping of foxes.
Exhaling now and then, we are gray in the mind,
Life is dazzling with a vortex of guidance;
Anger has stunned us for the hope is near
For the foxes to retreat and rout, the auction is so near.
It is agitated, and been clear at hand
That foxes number the dozens in sleep.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Like Horny Men
Don’t let the chickens out
Uncle said
close the gate
we don’t want
the foxes getting in
and tearing them
to pieces
because they will you know
they’ll go in for the kill
but maybe only go off
with one
and you stared
at the chickens
running around
as Uncle went
into the henhouse
to collect eggs
amongst the straw
and hay and feathers
you want to come in
and find the eggs with me?
Uncle called
and you followed him
into the henhouse
and smelt the henny stink
and shit and closeness
of hay and straw
getting up your nose
and Uncle held up an egg
and said
be careful how you hold them
don’t want any broken ones
and you searched
amongst hay and straw
and feathers and picked out
a warm egg between
your little boy finger and thumb
as if it were some gem
pulled from a pile of dung
and you held it up
to the light coming through
the henhouse window
like some offering
to the gods
a fertility symbol
you knew nothing
about then
the ways
of wild women
and horny men.
poem by Terry Collett
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Three Kinds of People
The books of my history
Begins with comedy
And end with tragedy
“Son”, do you know this
Spontaneous?
If you don’t know
Don’t mind
Your father will tell you.
There are three kinds of people
But the history knows only two
The first are foxy foxes
Who do right things and
Great good deeds
They stand at the top of history
The second are mad dogs
Who do wrong things and
Great evil deeds
They stand at the bottom of history
The third are piggy hyenas
Who are neither wise nor foolish?
Who cannot do right or wrong?
The history doesn’t know them
They have no chapter in history book
Can you choose among them for
Your inspiration and if you
Can heed my advice
The foxes are the best stars
To stick to.
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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The World Of Either Or
you cannot have the best of
both worlds
when you have all those chickens
you have to sacrifice your flowers
these chickens eat flowers for breakfast
on the other hand
when you keep those flowers
you must first kill all the chickens
as i once told you, this is the world
of
either or
not both
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dragon of the Black Pool
Deep the waters of the Black Pool, colored like ink;
They say a Holy Dragon lives there, whom men have never seen.
Beside the Pool they have built a shrine; the authorities
have established a ritual;
A dragon by itself remains a dragon, but men can make it a god.
Prosperity and disaster, rain and drought, plagues and pestilences—
By the village people were all regarded as the Sacred Dragon’s doing.
They all made offerings of sucking-pig and poured libations of wine;
The morning prayers and evening gifts depended on a “medium’s” advice.
When the dragon comes, ah!
The wind stirs and sighs
Paper money thrown, ah!
Silk umbrellas waved.
When the dragon goes, ah!
The wind also—still.
Incense-fire dies, ah !
The cups and vessels are cold.
Meats lie stacked on the rocks of the Pool’s shore;
Wine flows on the grass in front of the shrine.
I do not know, of all those offerings, how much the Dragon eats;
But the mice of the woods and the foxes of the hills are continually drunk and sated.
Why are the foxes so lucky?
What have the sucking-pigs done,
That year by year they should be killed, merely to glut the foxes?
That the foxes are robbing the Sacred Dragon and eating His sucking-pig,
Beneath the nine-fold depths of His pool, does He know or not?
What's Going On With The Chickens?
What's going on with the chickens?
'No one really knows exactly how all of this started.
Or wish to connect any of this,
To the making of common sense.
They are baffled.
We are baffled.
And since it was reported,
Those chickens were going home to roost...
Well,
The abundance of eggs they once had laid...
Has been limited to quite a few.
And 'now'...
Someone has decided to use them,
In some foolish sexual preference dispute.'
And...
Who is that guy tied up to the chair?
'He was the one who first declared,
A suspicion he had that chickens everywhere...
Were preparing to come home to roost.'
Oh yes...
I remember.
He was the one daring to tell the truth about the chickens.
And he was labelled a racist too.
'What are they calling the people,
Choosing to protect their rights...
Not to cater to those with same sex appetites? '
Conveniently they have called them conservatives.
'Has everyone lost their minds? '
I have no idea.
But grateful I am to be a vegetarian.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Aint Nobody Here But Us Chickens
(j. cramer/j. whitney)
One night farmer brown was taken the air
Locked up the barnyard with the greatest of care
Down in the henhouse somethin stirred
When he shouted,whos there? , this is what he heard
There aint nobody here but us chickens, there aint nobody here at all
So calm yourself, stop that fuss, aint nobody here but us
Were chickens trying to sleep and you butt in
And hobble, hobble, hobble, hobble with your chin
There aint nobody here but us chickens, there aint nobody here at all
Youre stompin around, shakin the ground, kickin up an aweful dust
Were chickens trying to sleep and you butt in
And hobble, hobble, hobble, hobble, its a sin
(bridge)
Tomorrow is a busy day, weve got things to do, weve got eggs to lay
We got ground to dig and worms to scratch
Takes a lot of sittin gettin chicks to hatch
There aint nobody here but us chickens, there aint nobody here at all
So quiet yourself, stop that fuss, aint nobody here but us
Kindly point that gun the other way
And hobble, hobble, hobble off and hit the hay
(repeat bridge)
Its easy pickin, aint nobody here but us chickens
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dangerous To Know
some secrets need to be kept
some stories should never be told
some reasons shouldnt be understood
they just might turn your blood cold
who need all the answers
who takes all the chances
who said the truth is gonna save you?
when the truth could be dangerous
like the way i feel
its alright to steal
what i need from you
do what i have to do
say what i have to say
go where i have to go
and thats dangerous, dangerous to know
know
know
know
i was a law unto myself
when you find out on my own(out on my own)
together nothing was sacred
together we were alone(we were alone)
who needs all the questions
who lost their direction
who said a lie's gonna break you
when a lie could be dangerous
like the way i feel
its alright to steal
what i need from you
do what i have to do
say what i have to say
go where i have to go
and thats dangerous, dangerous to know
ignorance is bliss
your safe when you resist
theres no safety in a kiss like this
its dangerous...so kiss..........me
kiss...me....
like the way i feel
its alright to steal
what i need from you
do what i have to do
say what i have to say
go where i have to go
and thats dangerous, dangerous
like the way i feel
its alright to steal
what i need from you
do what i have to do
say what i have to say
go where i have to go
and thats dangerous, dangerous to know
know
know
know
some secrets need to be kept
song performed by by Hilary Duff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is not unprofessional to give free legal advice, but advertising that the first visit will be free is a bit like a fox telling chickens he will not bite them until they cross the threshold of the hen house.
quote by Warren E. Burger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Helpless Woman
He and she and they can persecute
Number of times knowingly
Torturing her by many means they invent
Pleasure is theirs.She, wounded unhappily
No way of guarding herself.
God! Foxes should be spiked only by God
Will they be sorry? no, hope not
Some are born to repent not
When they turn to be repaid themselves
Will she redeem her happy youth?
Gone are her days in the den of foxes;
Foxes harassing others into the flaming hearth.
One foot onto the threshold of death
Dire her wish to be rescued
Ere fastened in her burial sheath
Frowning are her words'cursed
Are you! others treated
Vehemently under your feet crushed
You be crushed by the fury of God! '
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Tired Eyes
Well he shot four men in a cocaine deal
And he left them lyin in an open field
Full of old cars with bullet holes in the mirrors.
He tried to do his best but he could not.
Please take my advice, please take my advice
Please take my advice.
Open up the tired eyes,
Open up the tired eyes.
Well, it wasnt supposed to go down that way.
But they burned his brother, you know,
And they left him lying in the driveway.
They let him down with nothin.
He tried to do his best but he could not.
Please take my advice, please take my advice
Please take my advice.
Open up the tired eyes,
Open up the tired eyes.
Well tell me more, tell me more, tell me more
I mean was he a heavy doper or was he just a loser?
He was a friend of yours.
What do you mean, he had bullet holes in his mirrors?
He tried to do his best but he could not.
Please take my advice, please take my advice
Please take my advice.
Open up the tired eyes,
Open up the tired eyes.
Please take my advice, please take my advice
Please take my advice.
Open up the tired eyes,
Open up the tired eyes.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mutuality In Kindness...
the chickens
so many of them
make a music for him
who sleeps
on the haystack
he gathers the grains
to feed them
early morning
to the chickens
they found a master
at last
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter XXIX: Power of Mass
dumb viewers are more dangerous to destroy good movie than mean critic
numb eaters are more dangerous to waste delicious food than culinary expert
uneducated readers are more dangerous to bury qualified book than shallow reviewer
stubborn fans are more dangerous to kill promising star than greedy producer
cheap imitations are more dangerous to reduce creative product than cheat competitor
violent followers are more dangerous to spread terror than villain dictator
antipathy people are more dangerous to doom the world than mad prophet
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Advice
We travel down so many roads,
during the course of our lives.
Occasionally we have to stop awhile,
and ask someone for advice.
Not all advice is good,
and nor is it bad.
However, advice is advice;
to all we should take heed.
A little help is always welcome,
from where ever it may come.
It’s just how we use it,
which makes it good or bad.
poem by David Harris
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What Is Natural Is Best
i built a chicken house
but the chickens still prefer
to roost
on the branches of the
kamuning tree
last night it rained so hard
the chickens are silent
all wet they
peck on grains scattered
on muddy ground
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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