Tag Archives: chicken

A herd of poems!

Look at them all gallivanting about this page. It’s enough to make you want to sing! Or dance! But mostly read!

I wrote a few of these in the college library. Can you tell?

But first, Sensational Haiku Wednesday‘s prompt: love.

toothpaste for dinner

Love Haiku

love is knowing the
words to say, right or wrong, and
when to be silent.

Cinquain #1

neighbours annoy
while security guards
watch over everywhere but

Cinquain #2 – RSVP

they say
salvation through
christ only, heaven is
the goal. I feel I must reply:


the loathsome
muffles my thoughts

is that a
or a bad thing?

shut up please–
a library.

Haiku #1

heavy breather next
table over distracts me
can’t write a poem.

Haiku #2

murder is never
the answer, unless you’re the
villain in movies

Haiku #3 – Intolerance

Why do you hurt me,
dairy? Have I offended
you in some way? Why!

Shadorma #1

roses are
red, yes, but can be
white, pink, black,
yellow; since
my favourites are daisies
it doesn’t matter

Shadorma #2

just because
I hear voices, you
say I’m nuts.
the joke’s on
you; if I wasn’t crazy
you’d cease to exist.

Shadorma #3

raw chicken scares me.
not because
of disease,
but the inescapable:
it, too, was alive.

all of these poems are of course © Bridget Noonan, 2012.

Wanna know what I don’t own? The song She’s a Rainbow by the Rolling Stones which has been stuck in my head all week. I think it’s the piano part. And the rainbows. I did buy that technicolour backpack-purse.
But if I get famous, and there’s a movie made of my life, I want this song to be playing over the falling in love at first sight with my future lady. Definitely have to make that shit happen.

…What? Like you don’t have a playlist of songs for the soundtrack to your life story.
If you say no, make one! It’s fun. That’s your homework for this weekend, ladies and gentlemen. Post it in the comments! I’d love to see it 😀



Filed under Poetry

Warning Labels

What always makes people feel better? Poetry!

Well maybe not all people. Some prefer tea, or re-reading Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time, or watching a kickass movie. I love all of these things. You know what I don’t love? Being sick.

Not that anyone really enjoys being legit ill. Like go home from work after three hours of gut-wrenching agony ill, lying curled up in bed hoping for a medium-sized meteor to come screaming through your window to put you out of your misery ill. Or …whatever.

Poetry, then Doctor Who, to counterbalance my ickies! Here ’tis. I thought it was somewhat topical, as I have read a couple of warning labels today.

Warning Labels

For your own safety
Do not cross the tracks;
Or you’ll end like the chicken
A mangled pulp of blood and feathers
As it crossed the road.

Do not operate heavy machinery;
For one thing, this medication
Doesn’t come with a hard hat.

Motor vehicles prohibited!
Except for the ones the city uses
For repairs, and cutting the grass.

No smoking within ten metres of the door
You wretched nicotine addicts
Will just have to smoke in the middle
Of the street; you’re killing yourselves anyway,
Might as well be quick about it.

Life needs more warning signs.
For instance, children:
Side effects include headache,
Chronic money loss, muscle fatigue,
Insomnia, chest pain, and hoarseness.

Love ought to come with a warning label as well:
Dangerous to sanity if recommended dose is exceeded.
Or, side effects include dizziness, shortness of breath,
Elevated pulse, increased sex drive,
And in severe cases, mothers-in-law.

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2011.


Filed under Poetry