"Bahamian Yard Chickens" - Bahamas AI art
©A. Derek Catalano
Bahamian Yard Chickens
In the heart of Bahamian neighborhoods, where the sea breeze blows,
A curious enigma unfolds, a mystery no one truly knows.
Free roaming chickens, with feathers bright and eyes keen,
Appear around the islands, yet where they came from remains unseen.
They wander through urban streets, a part of island life,
With roosters crowing at dawn, cutting through morning's quiet strife.
As the first light glimmers, one crows to greet the day,
Another far away replies, with a call that's here to stay.
Each rooster’s voice distinct, a song in the island's air,
Creating a symphony of nature, echoing everywhere.
In the heart of Bahamian neighborhoods, where the sea breeze blows,
A curious enigma unfolds, a mystery no one truly knows.
Free roaming chickens, with feathers bright and eyes keen,
Appear around the islands, yet where they came from remains unseen.
They wander through urban streets, a part of island life,
With roosters crowing at dawn, cutting through morning's quiet strife.
As the first light glimmers, one crows to greet the day,
Another far away replies, with a call that's here to stay.
Each rooster’s voice distinct, a song in the island's air,
Creating a symphony of nature, echoing everywhere.
Mother hens, diligent and wise, scratch the earth with care,
Their brood of chicks close behind, tweeting with voices bare.
They scratch and peck from morn till dusk, a never-ending chore,
Feeding on insects, worms, and grubs, and always searching for more.
Rice and grits thrown by kind hands, or spilled by bins in disarray,
Add to their foraged feast, as they make their daily way.
Through streets and yards they roam, in a quiet parade,
The rhythm of their lives in this urban escapade.
When thirst calls, they seek the rain, where puddles glisten bright,
Or drink from public water pumps, their beaks dipping with delight.
Strong survivors they are, in this urban sprawl,
Dodging cars and potcake dogs, with a sudden startled call.
They escape with frantic flaps, to perch on a branch up high,
Watching the world below, beneath the Bahamian sky.
Hidden in the shadows, on the ground, nests are laid with care,
Where eggs with yolks of gold, are treasures oh so rare.
Sometimes found by children at play, with eyes of wonder and glee,
These eggs, so rich and pure, are breakfast meant to be.
Bahamian cakes baked with love, rise high with island pride,
Their flavor unmatched, made with nature's eggs from outside.
As evening falls, the chickens find their perch,
In trees that line the streets, their nightly search.
They settle down in peaceful roost, till the dawn breaks anew,
To start the day again, beneath the sky of endless blue.
Thus, they live, these yard chickens, in an island dance so free,
Part of the Bahamas’ tapestry, a woven mystery.
Their clucks and crows, a soundtrack to the life here,
In urban spaces where island and nature intertwine so near.
They are more than just chickens, they are a part of the land,
A reminder of survival, in a world so grand.
©A. Derek Catalano/ChatGPT
Related pic: Chicken Egg Nest
Related Poem: Ode to the Bahamian Potcake
