Chicken Poem by Cheryl Lynn Moyer Peele
Chicken
A child's ear on the track listening
to low vibrations first. Slight fear
and trepidations hum.
Ensuing rumblings echo within
the stomach lining, sending
warnings to the brain stem.
'Move' echoes throughout
the nerves. Premonitions
create a sense of pending doom.
And still you lie, wanting
the chills racing up and down
the spine, adrenaline rushing.
As the ground eventually shakes
your body begins to scream
with life forces surging.
'Jump' is now a prayer
whispered by the lush green
grass and your unborn
children watching, weeping.
this is exacly how i feel it is like you can really relate thanks shelby
I agree with Lizbeth plus playin chicken is the ''safe'' way of the lazy people's tray.. all the best roger
Captures the thrill of the deadly, chillingly and eloquently.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/17/2024 5:36:55 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Wrong game idea led me to this one...we played a different form of chicken when I was younger...but just as deadly...and I have to wonder now...had I lost what little bit of mind I had, to take chances like that? The answer is yes...because I was a teen-ager! Older and wiser now, I see the danger, and you have expressed it more clearly than anything I ever read...