When I look into your eyes
I see past the grand disguise,
Past the diamonds and the dress
And paint to cover up the stress,
Past your ever-graceful way
Maintained despite a grueling day.
In your eyes, so dark and still,
I see you as no camera will.
In your eyes I see, unhidden,
Slippers, sweatpants, and a kitten.
Twinkle brightly little star
For those who see you as you are.
Filed under Poems
From Helen:
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?
Thanks Helen!
Do you think chickens are great and deserve to be recognized positively via the medium of mediocre poetry? Enter the Semi-Bicentennial “Chickens Are Good” Bad Poetry Contest That Won’t Make You Bald (Probably)!
Get the details here:
https://www.google.com/amp/s/thedailytravesty.com/2017/02/25/announcing-the-semi-bicentennial-chickens-are-good-bad-poetry-contest-that-will-not-make-you-bald-probably/amp/
Filed under Poems
I am chicken:
Hear me roar.
Feeding me
Is a daily chore.
Every fancy
Meat you see
Tastes exactly
Just like me.
I am chicken
With great legs.
I’m a prolific donor
Of my eggs.
Which came first
I cannot say,
But people ask me
Every day.
I am chicken,
But do not scoff:
I can outrun you
With my head cut off.
Call me cowardly
And you’ll have strife indeed.
You’ll awake to my call
And be paid with my feed.
Filed under Poems
If I were granted just one wish
I’d have an evil-slaying sword.
It may not be too practical,
But at least I wouldn’t be bored.
I’d go around the moonlit city
Slaying, smiting, chopping,
And otherwise killing baddies.
That, or I’d go shopping.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 