Civet
At night a civet
sneaks around in the chicken pen,
biting Bantam-fowls, big white Leghorns
and every chicken
that it finds dead.
At sunrise it is gone,
with dead chickens lying in a row
while those that it could not find
are cackling frightened
as if a snake is in their nests.
In the mornings mom is way past angry,
buys a spring trap
to catch the chicken thief red handed
and to me the teeth
that springs shut
looks strange and deadly.
The spring trap is set
but the wild cat is far too clever
for that thing and sneaks past
night after night,
until mom gets wolves poison
that she mixes with the guts
of one of the dead chickens.
The next morning
the grey civet
(just a little bigger than the housecat)
with its black stripes covering its body,
lies rigid and stretched out
and around it
the chickens are pecking in peace.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elegy To A Chicken
Here today and gone tomorrow
In this world of strife and sorrow.
Went out to check on the chickens today
To bring in the eggs that they did lay.
Gathered them up, then saw by their nest
A large black hen taking a rest.
She didn’t move so I poked with a stick
Dead as a doornail, stiff as a brick.
Got me a shovel and a big plastic bag
Scooped her up and tried not to gag.
Took it out back, put in one of the bins
Life’s a cruel game that nobody wins.
If people go to heaven then chickens can too
And with that kind thought I drank me a brew.
Here’s to you chicken, you’re off to a better place
Where you don’t have to put up
With the human race.
For it’s a sad thing to have anything die
So let’s all shed a tear
It’s O K to cry.
poem by George Hunter
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I Think We Are About to Have Some Company
'The sky is falling!
The sky...
It's falling! '
Would you go out there,
And shut her up!
~But that's not Chicken Little,
Your Majesty.~
Well...
Who is it?
~That's that backtalking head hen,
You got rid of long ago.
You know...
The one who told you where to go,
And shove your 'weapons of mass destruction BS'?
She's leading a bunch of other chickens.
And it seems as if they are heading this way!
Remember that guy you tried to have silenced?
Reverand 'What's-his-name'
When he shouted from the pulpit,
About chickens coming home to roost?
I think we are about to have some company.
And none are too pleased...
About the state of the economy either.
Maybe that guy was 'Wright'? ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Vegetarian Mumbo Jumbo
I dont want tofu Id rather have a mouthful of beef stew I dont want
To be a vegetarian why eat beans when you can have steak insted?
I dont feel bad about eating something thats dead why should I be
Sad for cows getting hit in the head? so I like eating fish tell me whats
Wrong with this how can you blame me for eating chicken of the sea?
Dont waste your breath yelling at me about animal rights and how they
Should be free its survival of the fittest and were winning I dont feel
Bad about eating something thats dead why should I be sad for chickens
Being force fed so I like eating fish tell me whats wrong with this how can
You blame me for eating chicken of the sea?
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chicken (Fun Poem 23)
We have all heard it asked
why did the chicken cross the road?
The answer is so simple;
the poor old chicken had BO.
The other chickens pointed a wing and said, “Go.”
So off he trotted in despair,
and crossed the road without a care,
because on the other side,
the grass was greener there.
19 May 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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September Chill.
Uncle brings in the dead chicken by
The neck and begins plucking out the
Feathers with a skill that fascinates
Your 10 year old eyes and as you stand
And watch the chicken gradually becomes
Nude and some how not so grand not so
Chicken-like and then Uncle cuts off the
Head and throws it a side and then guts
It and washes it through with water and
Then puts it down on a large plate where
It lays in a solemn silence without fanfare
Or hymns or prayers just Uncle lighting up
A cigarette and you staring at the chicken
Clean and pure and still and from the open
Window a cool evening late September chill.
poem by Terry Collett
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A full red moon hangs in the night sky
A full red moon
hangs in the night sky
and birds fly past in silhouette
and the leopard
in my soul jumps out
to take the tract
and roars resounding in the dark night
and sneaks, sneaks past
till where you wait for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road
The chicken was undecided on whether to cross the road,
she was a short sighted chicken
who, not being able to see across the road
couldn't quite understand the advantages
of being on the other side.
People passing by the chicken
stopped to ask if she wanted to get across the road
but the chicken just clucked, indecisively,
looking very concerned as to her own
demise if she should attempt to.
After all, should she transverse the road
and avoid oncoming vehicles
she would then be stuck on the other side
but should she not, then she may well
feel unfulfilled, unaccomplished.
Not wanting to disappoint,
let down, or cause a disturbance
the chicken did a little shake,
a little flutter and hop, skipped
and jumped across the road.
A local lorry came hurtling towards her,
she saw the headlights, heard the horn
but too late! There were chicken bits
all over the place while a local
reporter took notes, writing:
We'll never know why the chicken
tried to cross that road in heavy traffic
but she was pronounced dead
on arrival at the local hospital.
They'll be no live chicken tonight.
poem by Ruth Walters
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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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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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The Dead Coach
At night when sick folk wakeful lie,
I heard the dead coach passing by,
And heard it passing wild and fleet,
And knew my time was come not yet.
Click-clack, click-clack, the hoofs went past,
Who takes the dead coach travels fast,
On and away through the wild night,
The dead must rest ere morning light.
If one might follow on its track
The coach and horses, midnight black,
Within should sit a shape of doom
That beckons one and all to come.
God pity them to-night who wait
To hear the dead coach at their gate,
And him who hears, though sense be dim,
The mournful dead coach stop for him.
He shall go down with a still face,
And mount the steps and take his place,
The door be shut, the order said!
How fast the pace is with the dead!
Click-clack, click-clack, the hour is chill,
The dead coach climbs the distant hill.
Now, God, the Father of us all,
Wipe Thou the widow’s tears that fall!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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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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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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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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Place des L[ces St. Tropez
I pray for the chickens on the spit
whip cicadas into a frenzy over it
then watch them sweat as they turn
for chicken sins
they couldn't have commit
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Chicken Pot Pie
When we were young, bernies deli was down the block
(ooh ooh ooh ooh)
He made a great liver pate
(you know he did, you know he did, you know he did)
But if theres one thing in this world that I like better
Than a corned beef on rye
Its chicken pot pie
Chicken pot pie
(chorus of chicken-cluck imitations)
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Interior
THE little moths are creeping
Across the cottage pane;
On the floor the chickens gather,
And they make talk and complain.
And she sits by the fire
Who has reared so many men;
Her voice is low like the chickens'
With the things she says again:
'The sons that come back do be restless,
They search for the thing to say;
Then they take thought like the swallows,
And the morrow brings them away.
In the old, old days upon Innish,
The fields were lucky and bright,
And if you lay down you'd be covered
By the grass of one soft night.
And doves flew with every burial
That went to Innishore
Two white doves with the coffened,
But the doves fly no more.'
She speaks and the chickens gather,
And they make talk and complain,
While the little moths are creeping
Across the cottage pane.
poem by Padraic Colum
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