Sunrise
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Gauzy broth veils the golden yolk
Morning cobwebs dull goals and dreams
head clears as sky clears, future gleams
Ready to eat this day. Won’t choke.
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A Redondilla Poem
Juniper
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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
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(A Madrigal Poem)
Cringe
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Egg
Enormous
Hard to imagine
This emerged from petite hen
Whoa!
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(An Oddquain Poem)
First Egg of the Season
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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
First.
*
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)
A Picture and a Poem 