Bad Boy

Bad Boy

The chicken thing

he was hip
and bad
and cool
the chicks
they really
dug him
they stood
in lines
to get a look
or maybe
even hug him
he clucked
and grunted
all the time
since language
was beneath him
that didn’t stop
the hens
of course
from stretching
out to reach him

*************************

GUEST POET: MELANIE http://wordifull.com/

all the brooding hens
seem to like’ what i’m givin’
everyday they flock around me

Stray cats got nothin’ on my strut
cause I’m the cock of the walk
and the ruler of the rink

Everybody knows
I am why
all the chicks cross the road!

GUEST POET: http://laurie27wsmith.wordpress.com/
Bad Boy rolled into the rink,
a real little tough.
The Bantams in the cheer squad
gave their feathers a mighty fluff.
He rolled around, all nonchalant
some reckoned a little cocky.
The he spied the Andalusian hen
the Bantams knew as Rockie.

Coming to a rolling stop, he turned
and preened and crowed.
Rockie turned her head away,
and she remained unbowed.
Come on my sweet, he cackled
sticking out a feathery wing,
we’ll zoom around and show these
fowl, who’s the master of the ring.

She spied his shiny Raybans
and leather jacket cool
and thought I’ll have a little fun,
with this over feathered fool.
They rolled out to the centre
where they preened and pranced
and crowed,
began their feathered, fancy dance,
the Bantams were overawed.
Then Rockie twirled and twisted,
leapt up in a looping prance
her movements, were poetic,
the audience were in a trance.

Bad Boy spied the Rhode Island Reds,
he heard their crowing snickers,
he took another look at Rockie,
she was showing her speckled knickers.
Angry now he crowed at her, with venom
bile and spite,
you only want to lead me on,
to get me in a fight.
I might be a little Bantam
some say I’m awfully tough.
Then his squawking, crowing epitaphs
became caught below his ruff.

They found Bad Boy in a dumpster,
he’d been there overnight.
The chicken paramedic said,
he’s not a pretty sight.
And added as an afterthought,
as he pecked the driver’s head,
the Rhode Island Reds are getting soft,
Bad Boy could be dead.

A year has passed and Bad Boy,
well he’s a little slow.
Rhode Island Reds and skating,
are a definite no, no.
Instead you’ll find him on his perch
a sitting in the coop,
where he dreams of an Andalusian
hen, doing a fancy loop de loop.
Laurie Smith.

This entry was posted in Art, chicken art, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

47 Responses to Bad Boy

  1. language was beneath him, lol.

  2. Hey, we did this together…thank YOU! It’s not over yet… and who knows what we will come up with next…gotta keep it going. LOL

  3. OH! and thank you my most recent mail art ๐Ÿ™‚

  4. Cubby says:

    ROFL I started laughing when I first saw the picture and then I didn’t stop. Adored everything about this post. Fantastic. ๐Ÿ™‚

  5. Soooo glad you enjoyed it and LAUGHED, Thank you for always letting me know how you feel about my posts. I appreciate that so very much. Thank you again:0

  6. Pingback: Bad Boy (C.C. #4) | Wordifull

  7. Just reblogged this one ๐Ÿ™‚

  8. Keavaa says:

    yay for the early morning giggle. My day is looking up.

  9. laurie27wsmith says:

    Does that make me an honorary girlfriend? ๐Ÿ™‚

    Bad Boy rolled into the rink,
    a real little tough.
    The Bantams in the cheer squad
    gave their feathers a mighty fluff.
    He rolled around, all nonchalant
    some reckoned a little cocky.
    The he spied the Andalusian hen
    the Bantams knew as Rockie.

    Coming to a rolling stop, he turned
    and preened and crowed.
    Rockie turned her head away,
    and she remained unbowed.
    Come on my sweet, he cackled
    sticking out a feathery wing,
    we’ll zoom around and show these
    fowl, who’s the master of the ring.

    She spied his shiny Raybans
    and leather jacket cool
    and thought I’ll have a little fun,
    with this over feathered fool.
    They rolled out to the centre
    where they preened and pranced
    and crowed,
    began their feathered, fancy dance,
    the Bantams were overawed.
    Then Rockie twirled and twisted,
    leapt up in a looping prance
    her movements, were poetic,
    the audience were in a trance.

    Bad Boy spied the Rhode Island Reds,
    he heard their crowing snickers,
    he took another look at Rockie,
    she was showing her speckled knickers.
    Angry now he crowed at her, with venom
    bile and spite,
    you only want to lead me on,
    to get me in a fight.
    I might be a little Bantam
    some say I’m awfully tough.
    Then his squawking, crowing epitaphs
    became caught below his ruff.

    They found Bad Boy in a dumpster,
    he’d been there overnight.
    The chicken paramedic said,
    he’s not a pretty sight.
    And added as an afterthought,
    as he pecked the driver’s head,
    the Rhode Island Reds are getting soft,
    Bad Boy could be dead.

    A year has passed and Bad Boy,
    well he’s a little slow.
    Rhode Island Reds and skating,
    are a definite no, no.
    Instead you’ll find him on his perch
    a sitting in the coop,
    where he dreams of an Andalusian
    hen, doing a fancy loop de loop.
    Laurie Smith.

  10. bgbowers says:

    Fabulous y’all!

  11. Thank you:) Join in.

  12. Laurie: I don’t know why this didn’t open under your comment, but… thank you for joining in the fun and contributing your wonderful poems. You and Melanie were fabulous and I enjoyed both of you so very, very much. Maybe cats next…..hmmmmmmm. Thinking about it or rats…I’ll be in touch:)

    • laurie27wsmith says:

      I have an affinity with rats, one tried to eat me in Viet Nam. So rats it is, do the pic and let me at ’em.

      • I will be sure to let you know:) Maybe the rat was hungry and you just looked tasty:) Tame rates are sweet friends. Wild rats…not so much.

      • laurie27wsmith says:

        The rat was hungry, it was the size of a cat. I was yummy, young, good looking and he tried to eat through my groin.

      • OMG…too funny, since you weren’t hurt. He had good taste, is that what you’re trying to say. LOL

      • laurie27wsmith says:

        Yes, he had good taste, no I wasn’t hurt, mortified yes. The blasted things carry rabies and they were body rats. They love eating dead bodies and guess how they get inside? Yep through the groin and lower abdomen. The bloody thing wasn’t scared neither, when I chased it, it ran along my leg and perched on the toe of my boot. Gave me a toothy grin, went chee chee chee and leaped back out of the vehicle. (An M113 apc)

      • Okay, that’s gross. Bad rat. Very creepy and icky. I didn’t know the details and now they will live in my head forever…LOL Arggggg!

      • laurie27wsmith says:

        Sorry about that, I can’t look at one without feeling my trousers being eaten. ARRGGGHHH!

      • I thought I had a bad experience with rats! Wow sir, wow!

        (I had a nest of baby rats knocked down from the rafters of the shed fall on me…baby rats crawling all over me and in my hair) It was traumatic but damn

      • laurie27wsmith says:

        AAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!! Where’s the trauma team?
        ๐Ÿ™‚
        Sorry, bit of an over reaction there.

      • I don’t think is over reacting…aaaaaarrrrrggggg! sounds right to me.

  13. Cats or rats hmmmm ๐Ÿ™‚

  14. Leaning heavily toward rats:)

  15. Pingback: Bad Boy. | laurie27wsmith

  16. OH. my. word.!! I just read the exchange between you and Laurie….wowsers!

  17. Reblogged this on Rethinking Life and commented:

    He’s a biker called Speedy Wheels…he’s fast on his bike and on his skates and he’s a bad, bad boy.

  18. Totally…very cool…like James Dean…okay, maybe not like James Dean but almost.

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