Mr Mascellani's Musings

When I first read your poem, what I noted
was that it was a cluckket, written in iambwuck hentameter.
And it’s clear, my dear that you’re
influenced by Rooster Maria Rilke.

However, you use iambwuck hentameter
exclusively-to the detriment of the poem.
It becomes monotonous.
Why not add some flavour to your verses,
some kapowie to your poetry by using some ducktyls or chickees,
or maybe some henapests
You should work on things
Such as sound, imagery, and linebwucks.

Go to the “Clucks of Wisdom” forum
and check out some of the works byChookala, Hendrea, Little Chicken,
and Duck McReil, to name just a few.

Please take this advice, and stay outof the higher pens for a while.
Stick to the general ones.
You may even enjoy the Pink Palace of Poultry.
Good luck with your pecking and scratching.

[I]I should have hurled you down the stairs, slut.
Or punched you in your pregnant gut,
then neither your daughter nor our burdens would have ever been born.[/I]

Kate-Not-Kate
stands fragmented in her bathroom
like a sentence without a verb.
A girl who's lost her metaphors.

Sh-sh- she looks in her mirrors: the splintered one, the cracked one, the whacked one.
Blood covers her face.
Blood drips from her mouth.
There’s blood on her hands.
Hers, not hers, she, not she.
Is not is.
Be not be.
One hand holds a knife,
the other clutches a severed penis.

Her mirrors reflect the cartoon chicken that adorns her black t-shirt.
Above this chicken,in groovy 70's writing,
it says, in yellow: "Funky Chicken"
[I]Diary,I don’t wanna go to school today,
the kids all call me Katie, Katie the fatty,stinky girl.[/I]

“No more” she says.
“Fuck you, fat cunt." booms the Funky Chicken
"You called me up from Hell with your incompetent fat girl Wicca magic
and accidentally trapped my demon essence in this
idiotic cartoon chicken.
Now do as I say, slave,
go and put that cock in your freezer."

Broken. Inverted. Perverted.
To the kitchen, kitchen, kitchen goes she.
She places the penis in her freezer, with the others.
Then drives the knife through her chest
Drops to the floor – Dead.

[I]Katie, Katie, the fatty,
stinky girlNobody loves her.
Not even her mum and dad.[/I]

High noon,
buzzards circle and swoop.
The sun calls out mad dogs.
A harmonica weeps out a tune.

Tears travel down reddened faces.
Sweat gushes down brows.
Forks pass between swollen lips
into mouths that look
as if they were blistered in the depths of hell.

No man
wants to be the man
who's the first stop eating
at the annual chicken curry-eating competition.

One evening
as Steve is feeding the chickens
there comes a sudden rap
a-tap-tap on his bedroom door.

"What are you doing in there?"
"Err, um, nothing, mum."

His mother goes downstairs.
“He’s doing ‘nothing’, again.”
“Don’t worry, darling” says Steve’s dad.
as he turns on the living room lights
“It’s just a stage,
when I was his age
I was doing ‘nothing’
morning, noon, and night.”

The purpose of my journey, was not
as others have put it,
merely “ to get to the other side”
No. My aim was to smash the stereotype
of chicken as symbol of cowardice.

For what else could subvert such a notion
but for a chicken, such as I,
to cross from one side of the road to the other.
From a place of familiar safety to a place of the “Other”.

I did want to cut asunder the stereotype,
but also I wished to test my own intestinal fortitude
And, Oh! the siren’s call of the other side,
it beckoned me to cross over
like sun-kissed grain calls me to devour the delicate flavors of its epicurious deliciousness.
But would I even survive crossing the road?
And if I did make itwhat form and matter of uncanny ness would I encounter?
Would I have the stuff to prevail- such a travail-
physically, psychologically, and emotionally?

Finally, the time was right,
As right as the moment that a chick starts to peck itself out of the egg.
I felt like such a chick.
So, knowing that my life as I knew it
would hence forth be deconstructed for ever more,
and that I may well be entering the Deleuzian flow,
I crossed the road.

Unfortunately,on my return,
I found myself unable to explain the other side
to those who have never encountered it.
And my tale
translated it as was from Chickenese to Aramaic to Yiddish to Latin to French
And finally English,became the lame joke you know today.
About myself, However, I did learn this:
I may have been a chicken,
But I was no coward.

Fabulous Chicken Wash And Multipurpose Remedy is a mighty fine elixir.
If your chicken’s feathers are dull and lifeless
then this stuff sure will fix her.
Her feathers will sparkle and shine with a gleam you just can’t beat.
And Freddy’s Fabulous Chicken Wash And Multipurpose Remedy
also works a treat when it comes to the relief of:

swollen glands,
sweaty hands,
writer’s block,
acne,
rheumatism,
gooberism
baldness,
menstrual cramps,
rising damp,
blocked drains,
depressed brains,i
ntroversion, perversion
hangovers,toothaches,
and wounds that are infected
(Take only for poultry and medicinal purposes and as directed.)

Ingredients
The blood and hearts of 5 hens.
6 lizard gizzards
1 rectum of rooster,
1 teaspoon spunk of skunk,
1 cup urine of porcupine
1 diced throat of goat
2 testicles of tortoise
1 ball sack of yak,
guts of 1 gopher (greasy and grimy)
3 stools of a mule
1 cup vomit of vulture.
(Add sugar as desired.)

As a drink:
Blend,
pour into large glass.
Can be drunk chilled or warm.

As a chicken wash
Pour mixture onto chicken and rub gently into feathers,
or bathe chicken in solution,
No need for scrubbing,
satisfaction guaranteed.

I
There sure is a lot of them.

II
Some of them are white.

III
Some are black.

IV
Others are brown.

V
Some are colours
other than white, black, or brown.

VIISome are multicoloured.

VIIIThey are really dumb.

IX
So dumb that they wouldn’t get the ambiguity of point

VIII
nor be able tospeak up about it if they did get it.

X
Their dumbness probably plays a part
in the fact that a lot of them live in battery cages,
poor blighters.

XI
Female chickens i.e., “hens” lay eggs-of varying sizes and tastiness.

XII
Chickens have wing, but they can’t fly.

XIII
They sure taste good.
Well, not always,
but most times,it depends.