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"Roosters are persistent bastards, and they don’t know when to stop." I could not agree more with you. I lived in the country to raise my only child on a big open land with sky-is-the-limit perspective on life. We had 3 chickens, hence 3 eggs a day. One day, my husband brought a rooster in this paradise land. Hell broke loose in my country life! The dawn rooster stood in the way of the chickens until his majesty decided HIS chicks could get a bit of fresh air! He only let one at the time out of the coop. I hated him right there and now for his most violent arrogance. I could have manage the wake-up howling (sic), but to watch him get a go with each one of them after he let them out was too much. Fortunately, my husband was a kind chicken man. On the seventh evening, he brought the rooster on a liberating outing in the forest... We all had a quiet breakfast and delicious omelette the next morning.

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Title: A Morning Serenade

Yvon Roustan ©

I woke up this mornin’

To a rooster crowing outside my door

Imagining myself as the wolf, Howlin’

Unable to take it anymore

The relentless cries of the morn

Belonging to a feathered foe across the road

Disrupting peace, weaving thorn

In the fabric of a morning's abode

A romantic notion some may hold

Of waking to nature’s wake-up call

Yet, truth be told, I feel cold

Towards the rooster, that prideful squall

It's not just thrice or twice

But a cacophony that persists

No gesture of goodwill, just vice

Incessant cries that resist

Picturing myself, clad in dawn's dew

Stomping towards the source

My song a mix of anger and rue

A threatening wolf, using force

A call and answer, rooster and man

Both locked in a primal song

Each trying to transmit its own plan

In a misguided tune that’s gone wrong

The fog shrouds our altercation

The sun adds a dramatic flair

A dispute, a twisted recreation

Of a morning that’s anything but fair

Yes, I woke up this mornin’

To a rooster crowing outside my door

Lord, if you don’t stop that little bird’s singing

I’ll make sure it don’t sing no more

This dream of mine, a constant scream

Of silencing the dawn's unrest

A battle waged in the morning's gleam

Against a rooster, a furious pest

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Explanation:

The poem "A Morning Serenade" captures the frustration and annoyance of waking up to the persistent crowing of a rooster. The speaker reminisces about the iconic blues song opening line, "I woke up this morning," setting the tone for a blues-inspired narrative. The imagery of Howlin' Wolf is evoked to express the intensity of the speaker's emotions towards the disruptive rooster.

The stanza-by-stanza explanation delves into the details of the speaker's experience, from the initial annoyance to the escalating desire to silence the rooster's cries. The conflict between man and bird is portrayed as a primal song, with each party trying to assert dominance in their own way. The fog and dew add a mystical quality to the scene, enhancing the tension between the rooster and the speaker.

Overall, the poem explores the theme of frustration and the desire to restore peace in a disruptive morning routine, using vivid imagery and a blues-inspired narrative to convey the speaker's emotions effectively.

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Well, I have two chicken stories. I have a teacher friend who was ticketed in our town for rooster at large. His chicken got out and I guess someone complained.

My other story is still scary to me. We use to raise chickens and then help with the butchering. We as kids were in charge of plucking the feathers. My dad used an axe to chop of their heads. I must have been around 4 and would dream of our parents running over our heads with a car and we'd be flopping around like chickens. Later in my 30s I went to a dream workshop and he said that my dream felt like to him it was my feeling of not being worthy enough and easily not worth much to my parents. That did hit a chord.

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I was visiting my mother in law, sleeping away the cares of the world and outside the window a &$?45@“ rooster 🐔 began to crow. It scared me to death as I had never heard one before. His crowing set off a nearby donkey who began braying in harmony with the $&@;: rooster! Agh! It gave me the Blues alright!!!!

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The ol’ farmyard symphony.

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Haha those donkeys get after it too don’t they

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The one Guinea white rooster? I thought of how many ways I would strangle it - then it disappeared for 2 weeks and one Midnight it shows back up around a streetlight at the corner - yelling its head off as Guineas like to do - maybe it was an alien abduction situation?!

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Oh man, Guinea Fowl are brutal! My sister had a couple for a little while. Thanks for reading, Kerry.

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I had a really beautiful little green black rooster I picked up for free on a message board with a duck - The rooster had a panic attack and died before I could get it into the backyard - the duck lasted maybe a week - I found one last foot

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Plus I had Guinea Fowl for 10 years !! Until something ate every thing that was in my pen

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I realize I always have a need to hear & play the Blues - and go back in Time to Sources ….

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Roosters and their horrendous racket is the sound of a desperate modern life.

All wired up to be startled at the least bit of fright.

Wild and in the trees, their calling is a calling to be ate.

Tamed and in the cage, their calling is a calling to be fed.

What was natural and enchanting was forever moving, now they are unnatural and unenchanting they are forever unmoving.

Please just let them damn birds be free and allow me to be.

☺️☺️☺️

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❤️

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One of Canned Heat's best songs: "I woke up this morning with bullfrogs on my mind...."

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Hell ya! Love Canned Heat.

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wow, this is magnificent...

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Thanks Robert!

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I think I’d much rather have the rooster for a neighbor than Bob Graham.

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Haha probably a good choice on your part.

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I'm thinking of a mother who lost a son, who died alone on a little farm in the woods. There would have been chickens and a rooster. I don't have the guts to share this with her. it might be comforting, or not....He did love music.

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Appreciate you reading, Kevin.

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<3

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Wow- what a powerful piece! Starting with blues and chickens to the love of a mother and how it all melts into oneness inside of you. Quite unexpected weaving of threads in such a beautiful way!

First time reader but it’s definitely not my last.

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Thank you so much, Fawn!

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<3

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As a rooster owner, I've had those mornings. Really chicken, really? It's 4:30 am. Great story, beautifully weaved. A story fit for the County Highway! Woke up this morning, feelin round for my shoes, I said you know about that, I got those walkin blues... - Son House, 1930

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Appreciate it, Artemus. Love me some Son House.

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"Her heart translating itself to mine, so we could commune for a moment, in perfect comprehension." 😭😭😭❤️

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❤️

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right!? Bob's a magician

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