October 27



My hen became a rooster over night

She’s missing the cock to her doodle do

About her transition I had no clue


She crows now, no eggs now, but she’s alright

The other hens unmoved by this breakthrough

My hen became a rooster overnight

She’s missing the cock for her doodle do


Her morning crows are welcomed with delight

I simply love this chicken through and through

To her own self she has remained true

My hen became a rooster over night

She’s missing the cock for her doodle do

About her transition I had no clue


(A Madrigal Poem)

August 20

Feathered Backyard Pets


It’s hard when pets are companion to you

With chard they would be dinner for others

My yard is playpen for my feathered few

Regarded as farmyard to another

When one of my chicks has met her demise

The run no longer safe for happy hens

When fun has turned to tears escaping eyes

I’m done tamping the grave, sad once again

When wings and legs are menu selections

Crying over chickens is frowned upon

A thing to save for fuzzy affection

A sting allowed only when pets are gone

Adored as much as bowwow and meow

Therefore deserving of waterworks now.


(A Beymorlin Sonnet)

January 28

First Egg of the Season


Today I found the first egg

Tucked in the pine flakes of the nest.

I am not sure which of the flock

Of colorful happy hens

Decided to lay the harbinger of spring



This perfect pale pink egg was first

Hopefully of many an egg

Laid throughout the spring

Deposited into the nest

By the chatty hens

That make up my flock.


I’m enamored by my flock

Though they aren’t my first

They are smart and chatty hens

That lay colorful eggs

Blues, pinks, browns fill the nest

Late winter summer fall and spring.


Their productions ramps up in spring

And busy stays my flock

Rotating from coop to yard to nest

The same speckled lady comes to the door first

As I let them out and then check for an egg

laid by one of my personable hens.


I just love my feathered fluffy hens

Molting in fall, laying in spring

Regularly producing eggs

Chirps and squawks from the flock.

Without a rooster they don’t awaken first

Then after a morning wander they return to their nest.


Each day I check for a surprise in the nest

Left not by choice but by instinct by the hens.

I feed them and water them first

And let them roam free on the warm days of spring

They make a friendly boisterous flock

Talking back, starting trouble, announcing an egg.


There is nothing like finding eggs tucked safely into the nest

Produced by my flock of happy colorful hens

Though they produce a lot summer fall and spring the best is finding the first.

(A Sestina Poem)