Tag Archives: chickens

The girls

September 7, 2022Chickens, poem, Poetrychickens, poem, poetryThe Cheesesellers Wife

They comment as they watch me weed
and as I go, they start to plead
for freedom from their boring pen
restrictive to a busy hen.

Now free, they root, scratch and dig
As efficient as any pig
Rustling through every flower
I watch to while away the hours

Later, the washing that I carry
Commands attention, so they tarry
Weaving about by my feet
Hoping it’s something they can eat

Finally it is time to end their roam
I need to get these chickens home
A line of treats upon the grass
Leads them back to the pen at last.

Scrabbling

May 4, 2022poem, Poetrybird flu, chickens, Life, lockdown, nature, poemThe Cheesesellers Wife

I am scrabbling for a word
To describe the noise of chickens
Scrabbling in the garden

It isn’t rustling
The leaves above are doing that
Rustle is a high pitched word
I need a lower pitch
Mustle, grustle
Tustle is what one hen is doing with a worm

Now there’s a sudden outbreak of snail football
The snail always loses

It’s life

On this sunny afternoon
Maybe it’s scrabbling after all

Flockdown has ended here in England, my hens can now roam across the garden once more!

In the pen

March 2, 2022Chickens, poem, Poetrychickens, poem, poetryThe Cheesesellers Wife

In the pen
They stroll and gossip
Argue and hustle
Murmur and call
Huddle together for companionship

In the pen
They bathe in the dust
Stretch their wings
Stand longingly by the door
Waiting to leave

In the pen

My little dinosaurs

July 20, 2021Chickens, humour, poem, Poetrychickens, humour, poem, poetryThe Cheesesellers Wife

They crane, rotate, jerk
goof their necks around
taking a series of snapshots
looking for the main chance

make significant snap judgments about the speed and distance of a target
insect, mouse, frog, slug
or the neighbours cat

Do not question their motives
lest they destroy you.

In the pen

March 24, 2021poem, Poetrychickens, poem, poetryThe Cheesesellers Wife

In the pen
They stroll and gossip
Argue and hustle
Murmur and call
Huddle together for companionship

In the pen
They bathe in the dust
Stretch their wings
Stand longingly by the door
Waiting to leave

In the pen

The Rescue Chicken

March 14, 2021Chickens, humour, poem, Poetrychickens, humour, Jim Feeney, poem, poetry, rescue chickenThe Cheesesellers Wife

She’s a rescue chicken
no rest for her
half her feathers missing
she’s one tough bird

Small, brown, determined
she plans to sneak back in
wirecutters in beak
to cut free the other chickens

Who says a rescue chicken
needs tender care?
This one’s for the liberation
of battery hens everywhere

This poem sprung into my head upon reading Jim Feeneys wonderful poem Oprah Among the Chickens, where he asks:

Is a rescue chicken
a chicken that has been rescued by people
or is it a chicken that rescues people?

Well, I had a different idea………

The photo comes from the excellent British Hens Welfare Trust.

Beak Trimming – Mutilation or a Necessity?

The girls

August 4, 2018Chickens, Life, poem, Poetrychickens, garden, girls, happiness, hens, Life, poem, poetryThe Cheesesellers Wife

They comment as they watch me weed
and as I go, they start to plead
for freedom from their boring pen
restrictive to a busy hen.

Now free, they root, scratch and dig
As efficient as any pig
Rustling through every flower
I watch to while away the hours

Later, the washing that I carry
Commands attention, so they tarry
Weaving about by my feet
Hoping it’s something they can eat

Finally it is time to end their roam
I need to get these chickens home
A line of treats upon the grass
Leads them back to the pen at last.

Dave the Chicken

February 5, 2018art, Chickens, nature, Painting, Pets, watercolourart, chickens, hens, Painting, watercolourThe Cheesesellers Wife

A painting of our oldest hen, called Dave. I’ve tried to indicate movement:

Dave belongs to my youngest son, who is 17 today.

Ghosts of little lives

October 28, 2017Chickens, Life, love, poem, Poetrychickens, Ghosts, Life, love, PetsThe Cheesesellers Wife

Ghosts of little lives follow me
Today I held my hand out to a hen
She didn’t peck at my sparkly ring
As her predecessor always did

Scrabbling

October 15, 2017Chickens, garden, Life, poem, Poetry, weatherchickens, garden, Life, poem, poetry, wordsThe Cheesesellers Wife

I am scrabbling for a word
To describe the noise of chickens
Scrabbling in the garden

It isn’t rustling
The leaves above are doing that
Rustle is a high pitched word
I need a lower pitich
Mustle, grustle
Tustle is what one hen is doing with a worm

Now there’s a sudden outbreak of snail football
The snail always loses

It’s life

On this sunny late October afternoon
Maybe its scrabbling after all