Category Archives: Poetry

Cats and Chicks

A cat approached a chick and said,
“My aren’t you a treat!”
The chick chirped and then replied,
“Oh no, I taste like feet!”

The clever cat just smiled and winked,
“I think not, my dear.”
“You see, I’ve sampled chick before,”
the cat said with a leer.

“Ah yes,” the chick said, thinking fast,
“I’m sure your meal was grand.
But if you try to chomp up me
I think you’ll understand.”

“You see, I just had chicken feed
and it was very good.
But to a cat, it may be bland,
and taste like rotten wood.”

But the sly old cat could not be tricked
and with eyes bright and green,
took one big bite, one noisy gulp*,
then licked her white paws clean.

*This is a work of fiction, no chicks were harmed in the writing of this poem.

Planting, Playing and Pears

My helpers are itching to get planting.

We planted our raised beds a few weeks ago. Theirs are full of beans, peas, radishes and onions. Mine is all lettuce, spinach and cilantro.

Into the beds we plant
Radishes, carrots and more
Dirty hands and nails
Seeds and gnomes galore

We started our tomato and cabbage seeds a bit late. Joe also started rutabagas and red onion.

C’mon let’s start some seeds Mom!
C’mon let’s start them please!
Broccoli, sprouts, tomatoes,
and flowers for the bees!

Last week, we planted 4 male kiwis in the vineyard. The ground was soupy and wet and perfect for digging. We had to back-fill with a little dry dirt to soak up some of the water.

Planting in the vineyard
digging in the mud
In Sunny, warmish weather
with my two best buds

We also planted 7 pear trees in the swales, replacing a few apple and cherry trees that didn’t make it. I dug the holes, Jake soaked the roots and Joe dug a trench because…why not?

Pear trees in the pasture
Playing by the pond
Planning trails and trenches
create a lasting bond.

It was a great way to spend the weekend. Outside…planting and playing.

Better Late

The air was warm
when I stepped out.
A humid breeze.

The garden called
when I walked past.
Look at these!

The weeds were tall
and overgrown.
A gnarly mess.

But in the jumble
when I looked close…
Can you guess?

A spot of red,
a strip of orange
and brightest green.

Two giant bowls
of shiny peppers.
A brilliant sheen.

Grrrr…

The kiwi vines are thick and green,
hanging heavily on the wires,
Small fruits hide, camouflaged
in their dense, jade spires.

Smiles of surprise and delight
with every precious find.
Each new bunch of grape-sized
fruit brings thrills to heart and mind.

Steps falter, a gasp escapes,
the cold grip of dread replaces
the bright hand of happiness
that just filled our faces.

Tiny iridescent blights of death
crunching on thick leaves.
My heart fills with angry woe
at these loathsome insect thieves.

That these horrid bugs dare
to threaten and cruelly waste
our long-awaited first harvest…
leaves behind a bitter taste.

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First Taste

The first taste of his radish,
brought big smiles to Joe’s face.
He savored it a moment,
then spit and gagged…with grace.

Jacob’s find was better.
A snap pea, sharp and sweet.
The crunch was loud and crisp,
a taste that can’t be beat.

They each pulled out a carrot,
the root was thin like hay.
“Oh boys, you won’t have carrots
until another day.”

They pulled some weeds and chattered
about their garden dreams.
It took just one small veggie,
now they work as a team!

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Revenge

This poem is a collaboration with my nieces and my two boys. Enjoy!

Mean old Bully Bertha,
our clueless, speckled hen,
was mean to Cyclops Jenny,
our one-eyed little friend.

While Jenny planned and plotted,
Bertha pecked and picked.
Our Jenny’s plan was simple.
“I’ll get that mean ol’ chick!”

When all the hens were sleeping,
she shuffled through the hay.
Her evil laugh was quiet
as she approached her prey.

The only sound big Bertha made
was a squawk of great surprise.
Then Jenny made the final blow
and pecked out both her eyes!

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Hardy Kiwi

Tiny, rosebud flowers
grow on every vine.
Hiding brightly in the green
waiting for their time.

So far, every bud we find
is female through and through.
Just like squash, we need
a male to pollinate them too.

Is this the year we eat one?
Will fruits grow big and sweet?
Or will we lose each tiny bud
to beetles we can’t beat?

Tiny, whitish flowers
grow thick on the vine.
Hiding softly in the green
waiting for their time.

Cyclops

We have a one-eyed chicken.
She’s tiny, gray and white.
Smaller than the others,
full of fear and fright.

The bigger hens don’t like her.
They treat her with disdain.
They block her from the shelter,
and leave her in the rain.

But I know her little secret.
Her brilliant plan, perhaps.
While the others mock and scorn her,
She gets all the kitchen scraps!

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Skunked

We got lazy with the hens
and didn’t lock them in their pens.
For a time, there was no harm.
Then, the girls raised the alarm.

One buff chick was in the cage,
pacing back and forth in rage.
She gave an angry shout
when we finally came out.

We heard rustles, angry cries.
Puffy feathers, beady eyes.
Then, we saw the little punk…
a big, striped, stinky skunk!

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Winterizing

The day it snowed
the chickens crowed,
“What is the fluffy stuff?”

Their feet were cold,
they were not bold,
they fled back in a huff.

I changed their bed
and got them fed,
then had a little talk.

“Look here dear hens,
I’ve cleaned your pens,
start laying eggs or walk.

Their feathers puffed,
they squawked and huffed,
“Just give us one more try!”

I shrugged and clucked,
“You’re out of luck.
Start laying eggs or–…!”