Today I socialized again.
It’s becoming a bad habit…
Anyway, my friend and reader said
My opinion towards chickens is “stab it.”
I’ve written about chickens for dinner
And, yesterday, going to Hell.
All in all my poems about chickens
Do not treat them very well.
I wanted to amend my cruelty
Towards our egg-laying kin
And so I announce a contest
That upon this fine day shall begin!
Now a good contest must have a theme
And should recur on an oft-scheduled basis
And feature many a viewpoint
And not force the victor into cryogenic stasis.
My contest achieves all of these goals
And here’s what the contest is called:
The Semi-Bicentennial “Chickens Are Good”
Bad Poetry Contest That Will Not Make You Bald (Probably).
I’m seeking submissions from readers,
From other poets, artists, and guests
On the topic of the glories of chickens
And of a quality that won’t get an A on tests.
So comment your dubious poetry
About the glory of hens and of cocks.
Just comment them on this announcement
And just make sure that none of them rocks.
I look forward to reading your poems
And the chickens most likely do not
Because they’re illiterate morons.
(Now’s your chance to prove that they’re not)!
The Daily Travesty 
Chickens are oviparous,
I’m sure you realize.
They generously produce for us,
Eggs of every size.
These eggs do nourish some of us,
and for that we are thankful.
(Others they make malodorous,
but we do forgive your stank, Phil.)
Chickens have earned their place in heaven,
don’t you realize?
With a little flour and leaven,
you get “Chicken Surprise!”
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Pingback: Guest Poem from the Semi-Bicentennial “Chickens Are Good” Bad Poetry Contest That Will Not Make You Bald (Probably) | The Daily Travesty
Ode to Awesome Chickens
My chickens make me breakfast.
They’re the best that pets can get.
Eggs fried, poached, or scrambled,
And even omelette.
I object to killing chickens!
That’s simply just not right.
They give us free-range organic eggs
And even put themselves to bed at night.
Wyandots and Orpingtons,
Barred Rock, Black Copper Marans too.
If you sup on glorious chickens,
There’s something wrong with you!
My rooster calls out to his hens
for succulent treats like corn.
He guards against sneak hawk attacks
And even wakes me up in the morn.
Oh Eggs of many colors
My chickens lay for me.
Pink and blue and brown eggs
And even eggs of green.
My chicken each have fancy names
Miranda, Romona, and Stormy Blue.
You want to eat my pet chickens?
How could you! Shame on you!
If poultry poetry ain’t your thing,
I ask, Please don’t blame me.
All I did was complain about poultrycide,
Hence this bad poetry contest, You see?
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It’s everything I could have hoped for Helen!
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