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The cats that drive away mice are as food as those that catch them.
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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Here! Here...You Take The Cheese
Mice like rats and slick napping cats,
Only appear to do as they please...
When it is believed the coast is clear,
To re-energize their determined activities.
Only when they are unmistakably trapped,
Do mice and rats feel the penetrating claws...
Of those one eye opening awakening cats,
With a squealing of their innocence.
'Here! Here...
You take the cheese.
I'm on a diet anyway.
I was only in your neighborhood,
Seeking a way to cement new friendships.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Tree Mouse
Wherever you go, you’ll see them
assorted coloured tree mice.
They can be white, black, red and grey.
I must admit I have never seen one
with poker-dot spots,
by now your asking
what the heck is a tree mouse.
Well they are bushy tailed rodents
that love nuts and fruit and other assorted things.
Like a cat, they’ll raid a dustbin or two.
They scamper across our lawn
come the summer time
even do a high wire act
when cables are off the grown.
They tease the neighbourhood cats
with their arial displays
saying come and catch me if you can.
Knowing full well the poor cat
is no tightrope walker.
They are cheeky little fellows
and you cannot help watching them.
If you have a bag of peanuts
and your not quick enough
they will climb down your arm
help themselves, then grab the lot.
Some people call them a pest
and I know a few cats
would agree with that.
Personally, I get great pleasure
watch the tree mice play.
11 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Wise Dog
One day there passed by a company of cats a wise dog.
And as he came near and saw that they were very intent and heeded
him not, he stopped.
Then there arose in the midst of the company a large, grave cat and
looked upon them and said, 'Brethren, pray ye; and when ye have
prayed again and yet again, nothing doubting, verily then it shall
rain mice.'
And when the dog heard this he laughed in his heart and turned from
them saying, 'O blind and foolish cats, has it not been written and
have I not known and my fathers before me, that that which raineth
for prayer and faith and supplication is not mice but bones.'
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Live Not Being Bothered
Mice cannot live where cats will not enter.
Mice do not abandon feeding and mating
Because there's a threat from the predators.
Let me live my life, not being bothered.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Pet Peeves
Nothing pisses me off the most
than two Tom cats upon a post
tirelessly, persistently, crying
at three o'clock in the early morning.
A thing I'm not keen and tolerant of
class Ave defecators’ way up above
flying, flighty, feathery thugs
pooping on my Volkswagen bug.
You all may find these peeves ridiculous
but often I find myself defenseless
against meowing cats’ hysteria
and a flock of birds with diarrhea.
I'm not averse to most animal rights
just these two things that violate my rights!
poem by Albert Ahearn
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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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Free TV: What's Good About A Scheduled Demise?
What's good about an end to free tv after 60 years in
America, should the
cable companies have their way?
The audiences will shrink, as fewer will be able to afford
the pricegouging rates,
thus fewer people to absorb CNN and all other network
war programming,
fewer people to buy hook line and sinker the
advertising lies and materialism shilling,
fewer young to be influenced by the Sodom
and Gomorrha programming of the networks,
fewer customers for fast food murder sandwiches,
fewer fat people, subjected to infinite streams
of food ads, fewer ears for the loanshark megathief
capitalism proponents.
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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The Query: Ahs City (a curious city)
the Query: Ahs CiTy
(a curious city)
iT was the night before whatever
i guess it's not important
In between the now & never
in the City on the Hill
the tremors shook the residents
and the City still was still
-still full of talkers
with alterior shit
we'll call them the Authors
of Material Spit
and the Rich enslaved the people
in their expensive addiction pit
the Rich die in their Treasure
but they arent leaving here with it
..And all the while the suicides pile
for the kitty cats vigil in the city's exhile
the meows were fewer, the deaths were linked
the kitty cats in the city were almost extinct
its the ninth life insanity
enough cats die to dog a greedy humanity..
I marvel in awe as I dwell on this mystery
the suspect then dawns on me
Who is this Mr. E?
He's called Curiousity
he's allergic to cats
(..to be continued in the Neverlands..)
poem by Jesse Allen Anderson
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