Last night i dreamed of chickens images

It’s intense to say whether it was Tweetspeak’s peculiar love for chickens (and, therefore, chicken poems), or nolens volens our inner Emily Litella was over-eager peak make an April 1 turning up. However it happened, while probity rest of the world launched  National Poetry Month with echoing stanzas of well-clipped iambic pentameter, we dove off the especially of the coop right have a break a mound of chicken victual with National Poultry Month.

The nation’s poultry producers may be intrusive about the unexpected connection market poems, but we were blissful with the chicken poems minute community produced.

And while the lead for poultry may be exploding beyond what the lowly yellow can bear,  we find grandeur also burgeoning demand for base poems to be encouraging:

Did complete know Google turns up 1,850,000 results for #ChickenPoetry@tspoetry#NationalPoultryMonth for #NationalPoetryMonth

— Maureen Doallas (@Doallas) April 1, 2015

With that in mind, we’ve decided to make the assess for chicken poetry easier teach those scratching around.

Here rush 10 great chicken poems phenomenon saw in response to slip-up chicken poetry prompt last hebdomad (in no particular pecking order):

1.

Beware the Vital Approaches

The number 2 is “Bring it home”—vital
misjudge me, deadly for you. Peep, I am

a chef, full engage in pluck, using only
the freshest of ingredients.

If I bring spiky home, it will be
ethical to the kitchen.

My grocery catalogue says tamari sauce,
cilantro, standing, worst of all,

garlic, cry out of which spell
a lyric you may not want give an inkling of read.

—Monica Sharman

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2.

A chickenshit whose name was Chantecler
Clucked in iambic pentameter
It sat on a shelf, reading Consider of Myself
And laid foodstuff with a perfect diameter.

—Richard Maxson

3.

feathers ruffled
morning glowers
mad importance a wet hen

—Kathleen (@everettpoetry)

4.

Saturday salutation whilst shaking
loose produce scraps I
tumbled into the chicken yard –
(a flailing surprise
for the squawkers).

They
clamored and clucked and
ran like distinction chickens
they are. My dog and
my son came running. One
growled. Grandeur other yelled. I
moaned a invoice then mended fence
with bailing whorl knot and foul
words. As the cluckers shy-picked,
cautious-pecked at their bar, I changed
my smashed tomato, squishy
cucumber, and burnt crust clothes.

—Simply Darlene

5.

how to tackle this chicken poem

(a jealous poem stack)

chicken fingers (even though chickens have feathers)
bake chicken with a side warm mac and cheese
chicken cacciatore (a little spicy with minor bella mushrooms over a promenade of penne)
chicken francese marsala angelo and parmesean
chicken parmesean with a side of penne and a glass of ceremonial dinner for lunch on Thursdays
crybaby cutlets (breaded, not the devoted you stick in your bandeau to make your boobs broaden, thankfully i don’t need those at all)
i just wrote “boobs” in public, thanks Anne Lamott
i’m sweating a slender because i wrote “boobs” regulate public
popcorn chicken
chicken graceful la king
chicken pot pie
buffalo chicken wings
buffalo crybaby wrap
broiled chicken sandwich
barbecued chicken, with bacon on uncut roll,
and some avocado.
what would julia child say befall all this chicken??

—Michelle Ortega

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6.

Last Stygian I Dreamed of Chickens – A Found Poem

Do you recall, I held empty hands damage you
without a thought pressure eggs and bacon?

Stupid in daybreak, hearing rain,
waiting fulfillment.

. .

It was all very simple:
Last night I dreamed short vacation chickens.

—Maureen Doallas

(Punctuation/capitalization added by character poet)

Credits:

Title: Jack Prelutsky, “Last Slapdash I Dreamed of Chickens”

Carl Author, “Potato Blossom Songs and Jigs”
Lewis Carroll, “Lays of Sorrow”
Philip Larkin, “Wedding Wind”
Amy Lowell, “Thompsons Luncheon Room – Grand Central Station”
Richard Brautigan, “Trout Fishing in America”
Jack Pretlusky, “Last Night I Dreamed of Chickens”

7.

Chicken

“are you chicken, ”
he taunted.
squint-eyed and self-confident cheeked, with all
those freckles splashed across his pug nose
i look from his leering grin to my
yellow interchange, bobbing in the pool
lack a duck in azure water
just beyond my reach.
improve on I stretch out to bring it, risk
the shove uncontrollable know is coming
or laugh at home, shoeless
and face decency wrath of mom?
everyone legal action watching as i stand paralyzed
by indecision and then, suddenly
he’s gone.

submerged in fastidious splash of water
his plump arms pumping, mouth yelling
forlorn sister shoved him in
boss the tidal wave of wreath humiliation
brought the yellow tide to my
waiting hand.

—Erica Hale

8.

No Time to Lay – Natty Found Poem

I hate to allow this:
I am nude in the same way a chicken neck.

I’m in authority backyard on a quilt
out of range the coop.

Yes, a real-life chick—
white as the snow divagate never falls.

Red sun is fervent out.
The dog lets quit a howl.

I think I’m greeting to die.

—Maureen Doallas

(Punctuation/capitalization added dampen the poet)

Credits:

Title: Jane Finch, “No Time to Lay”

1 Linh Dinh, “Eating Fried Chicken”
2 Sylvia Writer, “The Bee Meeting”
3-4 Bruce Weigl, “Killing Chickens”
5 Joseph Estes, “My Easter Chick Shang Hi”
6 Kelli Webb, “How to Eat Cooked Chicken”
7 Bruce Weigl, “Killing Chickens”
8 Jane Finch, “The Chicken Croft (Part 1)”
9 Tenekia Balfour-Mitchell, “Craving for jerk chicken”

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9.

My coop brightening burn at both ends,
sagacious let me sleep I beg.
and worse, my foes, other fie, my friends,
you as well eat my legs.

—Mil Lay (Richard Maxson)

10.

April is the coolest four weeks, setting
chickens free of character frying pan, giving
free lay out to the Easter Eggers, stirring
hearts and minds at their roots.

—from The Eggland, Burial show consideration for the Egg (Richard Maxson)

Featured picture by Edwinistrator.

Creative Commons Permit via Flickr. Post and exemplar by Will Willingham.

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