Okay, so the whole chicken thing started with the post about chickens and roller skates. You can read the “comments,” that flew back and forth on the post with the large roller skate. Blogger Wordifull Melanie and laurie27Wsmith had some great ideas and the “CHICKEN THING,” was born. So, I will be posting chicken things, now and then, and Melanie will be writing a poem or two to go along with the artwork. So, that’s what all the chickens are about. Just having fun.
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while no longer a spring chicken
she pays no mind to henhouse picked
she takes pride in being organically bred
free range and corn fed
to modification she always said no
cause one she isn’t a GMO
GUEST POEM BY: http://wordifull.com/
Comments on: "SPRING CHICKEN" (12)
Oh, great! I loves me some chickens. I’m currently sporting pajama bottoms with chickens all over them. 🙂
LOL Cool:)
Love the idea. Looking forward to see how things progress! 🙂
Me too. Thank you:)
Yeah! I reblogged this to my wordifull so we have double exposure lol
Great idea. Thank you. Again, will do the poems as soon as possible.
The chicken walked into the bar
she bore a heavy load,
I sidled up beside her
and said, ‘Why’d ya cross the road?’
She cast a glance at the barman
and let out a mighty cluck,
‘What do they call you handsome.’
I ruffled my feathers, ‘it’s Chuck.’
The barman slid a heavy glass
of lemonade and gin,
it stopped before the tired hen,
she gave a rueful grin.
She dipped her beak deep in the glass,
I certainly was impressed, she guzzled
down that wicked drink,
I thought, I’ll make a pass.
‘Now you’re a pretty Chickadee,’
I chortled, with a leer. ‘I thought a tough
old boiler would settle for a beer.’
A tiny tear fell from her eye and hung
off a silver feather,
she opened up her loaded sack,
now I certainly was a quiver.
I didn’t know what it enclosed
until she pulled a gun
and pointed it at my scarlet comb
and said, ‘Now listen son.
I’ve lived a life of hardship, of musty
corn and grit,
and this old spring chicken ain’t
taking anymore of it.
I worked my tail off on the Rio Grande,
smuggling large eggs over the border.
Now I work for the Colonel, bagging
big cockerels to order.
So finish your drink you handsome
chump and get ready to meet your maker.
By the look of those big tender thighs
you’ll be a Christmas baker.
A shot rang out, the feathers flew,
Big Red he was no more.
Spring Chicken dumped him in
her sack and waddled out the door.
The barman stood and watched her go,
his customers clucked in fright,
as Spring Chicken crossed the road again
disappearing in the night.
By Laurie.
I love it! I will try to figure out how to get it on the blog, if that’s okay with you. Thank you. Melanie will like it too, I’m sure.
No worries, put it up there for all those chicken lovers to read. 🙂
LOL seems to be more chicken lovers than we originally thought:)
They roam the night, they call them foxes, oops, wrong chicken lovers.
You are so bad! LOL