PRIDE: Poultry in Motion

 

The dawn is nigh at hand. The clouds
begin to lift above the grange.
Arise, O Phoebus, bless the crowds—
let poultry roam the range.

I’ll bind a broom of gathered hay
to sweep the hen-house free of hate.
Let roosters hail the crack of day
and chicks with cocks tempt fate.

A fractured self and a challenge hurled:
they left the shell—but found it rough
because our bigoted barnyard world
cannot get queer enough fast enough.

They flutter through the breeder’s farm
subverting gender’s useless role.
We feel their pain, and mean no harm,
yet question this progressive goal.

They cluck a brand-new barnyard song:
Gender Identity Obsolete!
(As long as they claim God hatched them wrong,
biology signals their defeat.)

While poultry scratches rhymes for “hen”
and chicks are combing crests for cocks
let’s ring the dinner bell and then
we’ll synchronize the global clocks.

Let Mankind’s unmanned race delight
at Jesus’ gender-free return.
Soon Africa shall see the light
and Araby’s sun more brightly burn.

Then dawn shall break o’er Russian plains
to liberate the Tartar races;
loose their limbs from Gender’s chains
to stride with polymorphous paces.

China too, and Southeast Asia
swift shall follow in their train
celebrating sex-aphasia
joining in the West’s refrain.

Hindu multitudes will rise
to vanquish gender, caste aside
and shake the slumber from their eyes
with metro-ambisexual pride.

Carib isles, with Latin kingdoms
From the tropics to the mountains
Shall announce they too are Wisdom’s,
drinking from de-gendered fountains.

Juveniles, raised to simply be
shall pioneer new modes of life;
explore horizons happily
set free from biologic strife.

Then shall our earth, in glad array
spade dirt upon Tradition’s tomb;
unshackled from that dark dismay
to grieve – but nevermore exhume.

Alas, the global dreams descend.
We’re back in the barnyard, gender-queer…
where hens have cocks and eggshells bend
transcending Nature’s reign of fear.

The henhouse still votes hetero –
their eggless chickens cluck for rights
biologists, ex utero
are born to further futile flights.

Because I was almost one of them
I’ve earned the right to make fun of them.
Time alone will tell if this trend
remains coherent to the end.

 

June: You GO, Girl !

 

 

The Fowl is Fair

We live in times of innovation. PHX 2
Winds of change affront the nation;
wind most welcome—by a few
(the masses know not what to do
with engineered progressive change,
their morals slow to rearrange).
And thus, in ornithology
we find an apt analogy…

Phoenix-like the vulture rose
in rainbow raiment, from repose
Its plumage all askew, a freak:
a mutant with a painted beak
borne of winds but lately blown.
This strange new hybrid (yet unflown)
did twitter forth an avian boon.
It preened its plumes and croaked a tune:

I represent that rarest fowl,
far wiser than outmoded owl…Phx rising
A dazzling swan of change am I
brought forth to liberate the sky!

(Yet more appeared a fractured emu;
fair is fowl post-op… they tried to
cross said emu with an ostrich!
(What the hell—the surgeon got rich
changing apples into mangos;
altering the twos to tangos…)

Fresh from gender suicide
he moulted into she. Beside
herself (itself?) with grief, regarded
previous selves as false: discarded
Sir for Madam overnight;PHX 3
fixed it, mixed it, made it right.
Since God was wrong the first time ‘round,
Man (or something) thus is bound
hormonally to tweak and mutate,
hastening rebirth’s freakish due-date.

A manly bass—and yet the face
was poorly paired in his/her case
Soprano ought to have resounded;
yet the voice left one confounded.

Rainbow bracelets notwithstanding
this was clearly modern branding
(on the forehead—like a beast?)
well, Jesus told the truth at least:
that angels are of neither gender
(hence no need to check the member.)

Lest we offend endangered species
I commend transgendered theses—
paired with warning and a fable
as they turn the feathered table:

We may nurture fair to foul
while nature shrieks a hideous howl
but foul to fair cannot return;
thus trapped, both Eve and Adam burn.

BEYOND PHOENIX
Phx rising

OMG Forgot About Pride Month LOL

genderFreeRainbow1          genderFreeRainbow4          genderFreeRainbow3

To Birds Who Swim in Fishy Notions

a POEM  in thirteen quatrains

 

Apples will be cantaloupes
depending on their nurture;
and so I cherish rainbow hopes
for  Man’s  our collective future.

Oranges elect their hue
improving Nature’s seal,
while pronouns stifle what is true
suppressing the appeal.

Fruits may choose to change to nuts
and fowls select their plumage.
Why settle in Tradition’s ruts?
Such rigid roles do damage.

Nuts in turn, may feel like flowers,
picking how and when to bloom.

So ambisexual thought empowers
androgynes to court their doom.

A leopard, too, may change his spots
(or turn into a vegan bunny)
No law’s  tittles, neither jots
make Speciesism funny.

If you decide to see it so
the sky above is yellow.
Perceive as pink the grass beneath
and better times must  follow.

Gender? Merely social constructs—
preach it to the masses
until tradition self-destructs
and sex takes off her glasses.

Babies need no Dad (nor Mother):
sexist labels, obsolete.
Love is blind. There is no other.
Bats must bark and chickens bleat.

Integrated water closets 
show how far we have evolved:
urinary bank deposits
with no member account involved.

Foolish thinking from the past
(like water being wet, and such)
calls for re-education, fast.
The State will lend its human touch

compelling all to sing the hymn
with genderfluid motions…
so birds can preen their scales and swim
in dry and waveless oceans.

(Yet “hymn” sounds sexist said out loud. 
We ought to sing a her instead…
no—make that us,  since we are proud,
lest misconceptions be misread.)

Shake a healthy dose of salt
upon this strange post-modern food.
May God re-set us to default
with human common sense renewed.

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PRIDE POETRY  !