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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Here Comes The Breeze
*here comes the breeze, come on, blow me up
*planting the seed, come on sow me up
*feel in the feeling, making our way through the storm
*weve been deceiving, making our way through the storm
*all we needs a little more to
Send a little message to ya, gonna get out our heads
Send a little message to ya, gonna get out our heads
*here comes the air, come on, blow me up
*harness the fair, come on, grow me up
Staring at nothing cos I cant make out what it is
Searching for something I just dont know what it is
All we needs a litle water
Send a little message to ya, gonna get out our heads
Send a little message to ya, gonna get out our heads
Come on in, come in on and lay me down
And relax cos the world will collapse with you
Turn your red light in to blue
Why do you keep running around like that
Sit back cos this is gonna take a while
Theres no shame in going out of style
Why do you keep running around like that
Send a little message to ya, gonna get out our heads
Send a little message to ya, gonna get out our heads
Send a little message to ya, gonna get out our heads
Send a little message to ya, gonna get out our heads
song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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Decapitated Chickens
The decapitated chickens have died.
Their feathers are plucked, their skin has been fried
In the fatty animal oils too much,
In the boiling batter scalding to touch,
In the savory glazes now applied.
Their souls are preserved in formaldehyde,
Disinfected in a jar alongside
Forgotten flavors, seasonings and such.
The decapitated chickens have died.
They're prepared for gnashing teeth, to collide
With the grinding chew, the tongue's licking glide
And sour saliva's slippery clutch,
The contraction of the muscular crutch
To lacerate swiftly, to chop and divide.
The decapitated chickens have died.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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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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Running Gun Blues
I count the corpses on my left, I find Im not so tidy
So I better get away, better make it today
Ive cut twenty-three down since friday
But I cant control it, my face is drawn
My instinct still emotes it
I slash them cold, I kill them dead
I broke the gooks, I cracked their heads
Ill bomb them out from under the beds
But now Ive got the running gun blues
It seems the peacefuls stopped the war
Left generals squashed and stifled
But Ill slip out again tonight
Cause they havent taken back my rifle
For I promote oblivion
And Ill plug a few civilians
Ill slash them cold, Ill kill them dead
Ill break them gooks, Ill crack their heads
Ill slice them till theyre running red
But now Ive got the running gun blues
Ill slash them cold, Ill kill them dead
Ill break them gooks, Ill crack their heads
Ill slice them till theyre running red
But now Ive got the running gun blues
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
(oh oh oh oh)
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stunned They Run
They've been there running,
Since he was elected.
Like plucked chickens,
Without necks.
They don't respect him.
No they don't.
Or his leadership that's best.
They've been there running,
Since he was elected.
Like plucked chickens,
Without necks.
They hate the fact he's where he's at.
And they're upset because of that.
Stunned they run,
Since he was elected.
He's no fun,
Since he was elected.
To do to get done,
Is his objective.
With more change to come.
Stunned they run,
Since he was elected.
He's no fun,
Since he was elected.
To do to get done,
Is his objective.
With more change to come.
They want reality delivered with more sweetening.
They've been there running,
Since he was elected.
Like plucked chickens,
Without necks.
They hate the fact he's where he's at.
And they're upset because of that.
They want reality delivered with more sweetening.
Stunned they run,
Since he was elected.
He's no fun,
Since he was elected.
To do to get done,
Is his objective.
With more change to come.
Stunned they run,
Since he was elected.
He's no fun,
Since he was elected.
To do to get done,
Is his objective.
With more change to come.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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2000 Twelve (((READ WITH KNOWLEDGE)))
One day soon the sky is going to fall,
And for the human race there will be nothing to do at all.
The shepherd will come down to take back what is his,
But the United States president will take a selfish risk.
To send Nuclear blasts torward the one that fed thousands
with bread and fish.
So the one will send his army of fallen angels that we didn't know exist,
They'll be 12 feet beast with 6 fingers,
And full of anger.
With there hand clinched holding the devils dagger.
Then we'll find ourselves at war with the heavens,
And the people who planned this war, planned september 11th.
It's crazy to think that this is really happening,
But the Final Chapters of earth are now unraveling.
Now far east,
The leader of all demon and hells beast will try and rise.
Coming up from Jerusalem,
Scaring the people by surprise.
Running around like chickens with there heads cut off,
Like if they saw the second coming of the German Holocaust.
And this is prophecy and also soon to be,
Because one of gods angels told me in my sleep.
Her last words were to me,
saying,
'The day all the Lords sheep will dwell, is December 21st 2012'
poem by Undiscovered Legend
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People who count their chickens before they are hatched, act very wisely, because chickens run about so absurdly that it is impossible to count them accurately.
Oscar Wilde in Letter from Paris (May 1900)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passing By
Close your eyes
Can't you see it's burning slow
Fading down the sparks of fire earth bound
Space in two
Warm beyond the love below
Close your eyes
It's time for us to go
Over our heads
Light keeps passing through
Over our heads
Lite from me to you
Falling down
Way beneath the healing skies
Rise and shine
The crying times left behind
Over our heads
All we see is true
Over our heads
Can't you see it too
Over our heads
Light keeps passing through
Over our heads
Lite from me to you
song performed by by Zero 7
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Social Chickens
i wonder why the
white and red chickens
escape from their
house
tonight they roost upon
the branch of an old
tree
so high that they can
see
above our fence
the road
the red and white chickens
too of my other
neighbor's yard
roosting on the other tree
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mining Story
they scraped the hills
with trees
the green grasses of homes
are gone
they dug those big holes
looking for
metals
manganese, gold,
for your jewelries
and other accessories
coal for your
fuels
the natives are dislocated
the children lost their birds
chickens and pigs are butchered
for they have no place
to stay
the hills are like criminals
their heads cut off
the trails here are like
intestines
penetrating the
belly of this
earth
listen! do you hear the drunkards
the government and mining firms!
listen! do you hear the sounds of guns
and the last living screams of the
chieftains
the mayors whom they voted
betrayed them
listen! do you hear the explosions
of bombs
the mountains are cracking
skulls
brains are spilling on the
rocks
listen! do you hear the guards coming
with their M-16s
and barking dogs
Run! Run! Run for your lives
Lest you forget
We are the last chickens and
pigs alive
Do not look back
Those are the children and wives
of the chieftains
Those are the hungry natives
begging in the cities
Their Homes gone
Their Hopes shattered
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After Thoughts About William
did i tell you that in this life what we see is what we get?
like william's
red wheel
barrow
words are things
and things are words
interchangeable
you see what i see
but what i see need not be what you know
and what you know
need not be seen by me
just like a red
wheel
barrow beside the
white
chickens
it is great
behind the lines is this child's death
eyes closing
forever
you stand by the side of the window
helplessly looking somewhere where you become nothing
but
this speck of dust
falling on that red
wheel
barrow glazed by rain
water beside the white chickens
a thought falling
endlessly on a chasm that sinks deep within you
helplessly, you,
just stand there for in truth we are here just to see how things come and go
and then we go too, like the white chickens
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry, Poesy, Ars Poetica, Erotica,
i am hooked to you.
i need rehabilitation
in China, the bamboo rafts there
can help, i will sail
on the Yangtze river
together with you
my rudder on the shallow
jade green waters,
i shall hear robins making
love calls,
i am stuck on this trip
lots of rainbow illusions
colors in my mind
i am jailed in your arms
my heart enthralled to
this injunction
everyday i set aside other
works, the plants are wilting
and the trees are dying,
my dogs are hungry
unfed
my chickens cross the
fence
to feed on other grains
i am stuck in here
because i like it here
China can wait
the chickens may die
even my dogs
let them be impounded.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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