[Jackie]

The Face on the Henhouse Floor or Brewster's Last Stand ...
By Maurice Fairfield 

A chook is an Australian chicken. A sook is a cry baby (a wimp). 

In the world of chooks
There's no place for sooks
And a rooster must stand tall
It's the toughest bird that rules the roost
And the weak go to the wall

Now Brewster the Sussex rooster
Was solid and stringy and lean
His beak was as sharp as a razor
And his eye was beady and mean

And he ruled his tiny kingdom
With a reign both stern and just
With physical strength and cunning
And a near inexhaustible lust

If ever a rising rooster
Should dare to show his face
A flash of the beak and a slash of the spur
Soon put him in his place

Then he'd stretch his neck
And flap his wings
And a utter a fearful crow
To underline his triumph
And let the whole world know

But nothing lasts forever
And time goes slipping by
And some grow stronger and smarter
And bolder and fiercer of eye.   

And an enterprising cockerel
He exercised and thrived
And he woke and stretched one morning
And he knew that his day had arrived

And shoving his way past Brewster
With an arrogant casual thrust
He jumped on a hen that he fancied
And trampled her flat in the dust

There's a rule that a wiser rooster
Will always keep firm in his sight
You can go for your life when you're mating
But keep a cool head when you fight

Now describing Brewster as angry
Would really be putting it mild
His blood was up and his eyes were red
He was crazy and reckless and wild

And he entered the fray unready
Like an inexperienced fool
And his fighting stance was unsteady
He'd forgotten the golden rule

His footwork was not as polished
As it used to be before
And before he knew what happened
He was flat on his face on the floor   

In a moment his reign was over
His honour was in the dirt
And his rival was now in clover
And the new situation hurt

The hen's who had bowed to his bidding
All idly studied their nails
And murmured 'you've got to be kidding'
With casual flicks of their tails

His days were spent in moping
And a furtive search for scraps
And looking for ways of coping
With the pain of his collapse

And while he deteriorated
And grew all pale and thin
His rival strutted and prated
And went around rubbing it in

He ravished the hens with gusto
With a nasty, superior smile
And he'd call across to Brewster
'Hey Pops, how's this for style?'

And the pain of his situation
Was really hard to bear
And his diet of humiliation
Might have driven him to despair   

But a spark of his ancient spirit
Had slumbered deep inside
And he racked his brain till he thought of a way
To restore his position and pride

So squaring his drooping shoulders
With a challenging sneer on his face
He strutted up to his rival
And challenged him to a race

He flicked a glance at Brewster
And confident of success
He thought for a couple of moments
And finally answered 'yes'.

'I'll race you as far as the windmill
And to show that I have a big heart
I'll give myself a handicap
I'll give you ten yards start.'

Well the rivals were off in a racing start
With Brewster maintaining his lead
With thumping hearts and straining thighs
At a swift and punishing speed

But soon the other began to gain
And he would have thundered past
When the sweat and the strain
And the blood were stilled by a shotgun's blast   

And the farmer blew smoke from the barrel
With a smile unforgiving and hard
Saying, no homosexual rooster
Shall sully the grit of my yard.

And Brewster he straightened his shoulders
All covered in feathers and gore
And he went and resumed his dominion
In a soberer mood than before

He knows it's an indian summer
That the best of his glory is past
You can't go on winning for ever
But it's good at the top - while you last

[whitby_sam]

Brilliant!

[Daveravey]

Excellent Jackie   

[langdon]

wow that brill my wife loves writing poems, she will love this but not as
much as me, as i love me girls but eddie(my wellsummer cockerel is described to a tee ere!)
you got talent.
have you got any other livestock? such as pigs and goats, we have, if so i challenge you to write a poem about
these, that would be splended.
langdon

[Rosemary]