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.
Super-funny!!!
Glad you enjoyed it:)
language was beneath him, lol.
LOL thank you for your poem:) I knew there was a good reason chickens always crossed the road.
🙂 Thank you for starting this whole crazy ride with your art!
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
Absolutely!
Hey laurie got involved as well so triple play girlfriend.
OH! and thank you my most recent mail art 🙂
It’s fun!
🙂
ROFL I started laughing when I first saw the picture and then I didn’t stop. Adored everything about this post. Fantastic. 🙂
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
Pingback: Bad Boy (C.C. #4) | Wordifull
Just reblogged this one 🙂
yay for the early morning giggle. My day is looking up.
LOL I love early morning giggles:)
Does that make me an honorary girlfriend? 🙂
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.
Without a doubt you are one of the three chicken girlfriends. I’m going to put this under Bad Boys picture, if it’s okay with you. I feel kind of bad for him but hey, he should have known better:) That’s what happens to dumb clucks who don’t recognize a prize when they see one.
Well Cockerels of any type should always stick together, it doesn’t really count you know, the colours of a feather. This old guy is proud to be part of the chicken troupe.
The chicken Troupe salutes you:) and your ability to make the right choices in life.
Why thank you.
Laurie.
Laurie this is something to crow about! I’m so glad you decided to join us chicks 🙂
Totally!
Me too Melanie.
Fabulous y’all!
Thank you:) Join in.
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:)
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.
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
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!
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
AAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!! Where’s the trauma team?
🙂
Sorry, bit of an over reaction there.
I don’t think is over reacting…aaaaaarrrrrggggg! sounds right to me.
Cats or rats hmmmm 🙂
Leaning heavily toward rats:)
Pingback: Bad Boy. | laurie27wsmith
OH. my. word.!! I just read the exchange between you and Laurie….wowsers!
I know, right. That was an experience for him to remember, for sure. Wowsers just about covers it perfectly.
🙂
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.
he is so very hip!
Totally…very cool…like James Dean…okay, maybe not like James Dean but almost.