You cannot cook one half of the chicken and leave the other lay eggs.
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You can’t cook one half of a chicken and expect the other half to lay eggs.
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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chop The Cat Up
Filipino people the cat is already dead
So all you will have to do is chop the cat up
And cook it for dinner
Trust me it will be a lovely dinner
Because cat taste just like chicken
And if you love chicken you will love cat
The same way that you love chicken
poem by by unknown author
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Eggs For Me
Form into a shell, you are unique,
Break out in time to master reality.
My cooking of eggs makes food worth sharing,
They cook me omelettes next, then hard-boiled eggs.
poem by Naveed Akram
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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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Putting all the eggs in one basket
Every time I leave
Mother always reminds me
This: do not put all your eggs
In one basket,
Because when I fall
All the eggs will break and I will be left with
Nothing.
Even a nincompoop understands that.
Oh mama! I do not have those many eggs
And she does not have any basket,
We sure both, have nothing to lose.
Thanks for the reminder, anyway.
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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A Oven Liet
Where the flesh goes,
The mind follows.
The body is weak.
Why she left me alone.
How she got sick.
And no one calls the phone.
Never had to cook with her around
Now I found a light in the most unexpected place
The oven.
I sit in the dark tonight
In the kitchen
With only the oven light
While I try to mend.
And I brood like a chicken with her eggs
My seat feels like it's hatching
My bottom is burning
My soul squirming like a worm
Or a snake.
Yellow.
The color of companionship.
Cowardly, fearful, impertinent.
I stare into the oven
Light.
poem by Eon Ezkiel
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Servent Cook
mother
Cook
with love...
father
Cook
With taste...
Brother
Cook...
With enjoy...
sister
Cook
Simply fine...
Servent
Cook
A boor...
A woor...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Angel
Its not I who sought the novice its the novice who sought me cook went blind and drank too much and fed his guest on angeldust where did the pain start when did the symptoms begin where did the
Start what have the symptoms been? if my heads been through a windscreen why are all the eyeballs green? take me round the roundabout slow down, dont stop bail out-pull out it was not I who bi
Sheriff it was the sheriff who bit me by my lambchops, buttercup what a crucifixion what a crucifixion mean I was bitten by a horse now Im moving for divorce it took more than one man to change
Ame to shanghai lily whats a cluckin chicken whats a cluckin chicken need wheres the cluckin chicken wheres the cluckin chicken been
song performed by by Happy Mondays
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Old Maid's Birthday
my friend from the mountains
of Tabon celebrates her birthday tomorrow
and i sent her my advance greetings
she says she has no money
and she has no man
and she is sick
and she is tired
and she is depressed.
and i tell her
please come to our house
catch the chicken
and cook it
and put some blood on your forehead
so that the bad luck
may transfer to the chicken
as a matter of belief
she refuses the celebration
i guess
what is she as an old maid for?
i guess the word is
hopelessness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
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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An overcrowded chicken farm produce fewer eggs.
The chicken that crows the loudest does not always give the biggest eggs.