He that wills not to feed a cat feeds the mice.
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My Heart Overflows
My heart is so hungry
And it can't feed on food.
It feeds on sustenance
from being wooed.
My heart is so thirsty
And it can't feed on drink.
It feeds on sustenance
from how I think.
And think I do
while my heart stays still
And finally overflows
as it always will
with you.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Maria's Lullaby
An extract from a poem written for my grandchildren to Brahms Lullaby
Sleep; little mice sleep
Mother will watch over you
Shut your eyes and don't peek
Tomorrow the skies will be blue
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
No harm will come whilst I am here
The sun has gone down by the peak
When the day dawns it will appear
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Your father is watching the house
That no owl or cat dares to seek
Harm to creatures or mouse
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Tomorrow you run and play
Now is not time to speak
When you awake a new day
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Rest now for your own sake
Shut your eyes now be asleep
I will be here when you awake
Sleep; little mice sleep.
poem by Thomas Golding
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Who will not feed the cats, must feed the mice and rats.
Our Journey
the journey is long
and inter-dimensional,
many who should
have walked it
have sold out,
forsaking
a radical
freshness
of mind,
you do not
walk
your
journey alone,
in an
interconnected world,
you need
never walk alone,
the hopes
aspirations
dreams
of many
flow with you
flow into you
feed you
sustain you
food of your though
feeds their hunger
feeds their love
feeds better beginnings
poem by Terence George Craddock
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It is better to feed one cat than many mice.
We Have Mice
We have mice in the bedroom,
the living room, kitchen and the loo.
I have even found one in the bathroom sink.
They come in all sorts of colours
red, green, purple, blue and pink.
They all belong to our cat family,
Arthur, Barney, Charlie and Daisy.
They leave them all over the house,
even hide them in our shoes and under the mats.
Sometimes they take them to bed
when they are lying on ours.
We have mice, mice and more mice,
ain’t life grand when your kitty winks have fun
and you suffer at their paws.
However, we would not be without them,
as all cat lovers know.
11 January 2011
poem by David Harris
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Three blind mice
Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run!
They all run after the farmer's wife,
And she cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did ever you see such a thing in your life
As three blind mice!
poem by Beatrix Potter
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Three Mice Who Hoped
Six mice stared out their door.
The Cat was crouching there.
“Have hope! ” one cried.
“The Dog will come and scare it away! ”
But one mouse ran out, gave up.
In the jaws of Cat he died.
Five mice stared out their door.
Still the feline purred.
“Have hope! ” one cried.
”The Dog will be here soon! ”
But one mouse could wait no more.
In the jaws of Cat she died.
Four mice stared out their door.
The Cat was waiting for them, too.
“Have… hope…” one said.
But one mouse snapped and darted out.
And soon, in jaws of Cat, was dead.
Three mice stared out their door.
The Cat sat ready, claws extended.
“Have… h-hope…” one said.
But one mouse squealed and started –
The one who’d spoken held her down.
“Have hope! ”
For hours more the three mice sat.
The watched, trembling, the mighty Cat.
But still: “Have hope! ” they cried.
Then came the Dog.
The Cat scurried away to hide.
The mice were free at last.
poem by Sophia White
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It Is A Leech
A leech feeding,
Could care less off of what it feeds.
It is a leech.
Feeding to satisfy its own need.
To do what it pleases...
Eat to feed itself to then move on.
And anyone observing a leech in action,
Is not going to convince that leech to share.
The awareness of the leech doing that is not there.
A leech feeding,
Could care less off of what it feeds.
It is a leech.
Feeding to satisfy its own need.
To do what it pleases...
Eat to feed itself to then move on.
It is a leech!
Born and taught to exist for what it is!
It is not a care provider.
Or a nourishing vegetable,
Loaded with beneficial vitamins...
Benefiting the mind and physical wellbeing of mankind.
No,
It is not!
It is a leech.
That's it.
Defined by its own circumstances.
And programmed to identify,
What it has to do to survive.
And once it knows what it is,
It is not going to be anything else.
No matter how lengthy the therapy sessions.
Or the sacrifices others make...
When the activities of the leech begins to become outsourced.
A leech is a leech!
Nothing more.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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From Where I Stand I See The Silent Tomorrow
tomorrow comes
on small
silent feet
like a cat
from a window
overlooking
a harbor
gently,
the clouds drift
the mist and frost
slowly gone
and what the cat
sees
is the sun
smiling
and the cat
remembers her mother
the one that feeds
her with pink mice
and
sharper claws
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bag Of Mice
I dreamt your suicide note
was scrawled in pencil on a brown paperbag,
& in the bag were six baby mice. The bag
opened into darkness,
smoldering
from the top down. The mice,
huddled at the bottom, scurried the bag
across a shorn field. I stood over it
& as the burning reached each carbon letter
of what you'd written
your voice released into the night
like a song, & the mice
grew wilder.
poem by Nick Flynn
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Sugar And Spice And Fourteen Blind Mice
Sugar and Spice and fourteen blind mice
sat in a room way up in the barn.
the name of the cat was Sugar and Spice
fourteen blind mice, they were spinning a yarn.
As you can picture, the odds were unfair,
though none of the mice had been overly wise
a mad starving hunter to sit there and stare
planning the strategy of a surprise.
How can a cat catch so many at once?
Only with claws and a growling old gut
cats do not utilise swords, spears and guns
this one just sat on her soft furry butt.
The night was soon over and all things were the same
all the mice had been snoozing, unaware of the foe
in the cold of the morning now the cat sought to aim
its formidable powers like a young feline pro.
But a god now took mercy and he told all the mice
that united you stand and divided you fall,
so they jumped on the cat, and they squeezed like a vise
and the end of the frenzy wasn't pretty at all.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Know that a monkey is on your back
There is a monkey on your back
At any point of time each one of us is carrying a monkey on the back.
Whether you like it or not your thoughts, words and deeds are determined by this very powerful monkey.
This monkey is nothing but a personification of the tasks either
assigned to you or taken up on your own.
The life line of the monkey is the strong desire that you nurse to
accomplish these tasks.
You may not know that you only feed this monkey and make it naughty.
They quality of your feed and its extent depend on your knowledge, attitude and earlier practices.
Often, wittingly or unwittingly we act only to get rid of the monkey.
Unfortunately, if one monkey goes the other is just taking its place.
And you think, talk and act accordingly.
Some wise people, are they really wise, pass on the monkey to some other’s back tactfully, so the monkey is rid off, but still alive. This is what
exactly happens in a work environment.
Know your monkeys and their feeds.
Fail not to feed them in time, as monkeys should be fed or shot to death. Otherwise, they will starve to death, forcing you to conduct postmortem.
Keep monkeys' population below the maximum number you can probably feed.
Feed monkeys only by appointment, otherwise you will be feeding them at odd hours.
Feed monkeys personally, if left to others, they may feed wrong and/or in unacceptable doses.
Each monkey is unique, hence its feed and frequency of feed differs.
No monkey stays long. They know when to leave you as once the monkey is satisfied with your hospitality it jumps off your back.
The new monkey on your back is the task to know whether monkeys are there or not on your back.
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Dead Silence
Not the one
Souls are gonna burn
You're the one
Coming down the dead
Thru the darkness
Skies are gonna shout
Pray for lies
But who's the one to go
Streams of blood
Flow into the streets
Feeds the need
Of the decayed rotting means
Fires breeds upon
The weary young
Evil tales
Sold his only son
Life no longer
Fills the need
Dead silence
In which to feed
Fires breeds upon
The weary young
Evil tales
Sold his only son
Life no longer
Feeds the need
Feeds the need
Of the decayed rotting means
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The God’s role
The God feeds those who pray to Him.
The God feeds those who don’t pray to Him.
The God feeds those who ignore Him.
He terminates them all any time too.
19.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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It is clear that he does not pray, who, far from uplifting himself to God, requires that God shall lower Himself to him, and who resorts to prayer not to stir the man in us to will what God wills, but only to persuade God to will what the man in us wills.
quote by Thomas Aquinas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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