The chicken that crows the loudest does not always give the biggest eggs.
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Do You Know Anything About Crows?
crows steal eggs from another nest,
plop them on the ground and then feed,
it's pretty basic what they do,
they take from others what they need.
many an egg has been dropped in these times,
and I'm not talking about nickels and dimes,
so many nest eggs ripped from those trying to save,
the market place, an infantile grave.
who are these crows that steal?
what real estate of theirs is real?
computerized theft is such a sight,
when crows operate in broad day light.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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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
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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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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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Every cock crows loudest on his own dunghill, is a saying common to all nations.
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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It may be the cock that crows, but it is the hen that lays the eggs.
quote by Margaret Thatcher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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.
A chicken that hatches a crocodile's eggs is looking for trouble.
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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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
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You cannot cook one half of the chicken and leave the other lay eggs.
An overcrowded chicken farm produce fewer eggs.
Where Do the Crows Go
I see and hear less Crows in Spring.
Where do the Crows go?
While the Morning Doves chirp,
And the Bluebirds sing.
At dawn I use to hear the Crows...
From the rooftops and fences,
Do that 'crowing' thing.
And now that Spring has arrived,
I do not see a Crow around.
Where do the Crows go?
That's what I want to know!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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The difference between involvement and commitment is like ham and eggs. The chicken is involved; the pig is committed.
quote by Martina Navratilova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bearing Her Sorrows
how she carries
her own sorrows of marriage
is like
lifting her skirt and putting
all the chicken eggs
in there
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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