What is sport to the cat is death to the mouse.
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Missing
Has anybody seen my mouse?
I opened his box for half a minute,
Just to make sure he was really in it,
And while I was looking, he jumped outside!
I tried to catch him, I tried, I tried....
I think he's somewhere about the house.
Has anyone seen my mouse?
Uncle John, have you seen my mouse?
Just a small sort of mouse, a dear little brown one,
He came from the country, he wasn't a town one,
So he'll feel all lonely in a London street;
Why, what could he possibly find to eat?
He must be somewhere. I'll ask Aunt Rose:
Have you seen a mouse with a woffelly nose?
He's just got out...
Hasn't anybody seen my mouse?
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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a mouse teaches Diogenes
You see Diogenes living in the slums. He lives in a barrel. This is the man even Alexander the Great admires. So it makes you wonder about Diogenes.
So you pretend to be there quite by accident and you ask: “Diogenes…Who was your teacher? ”
“A mouse was my teacher, ” says Diogenes.
You are quite confused. And you say: 'A mouse is your teacher? And how is that, Diogenes? '
“Well, most exquisite Sir, ” says Diogenes to you. “Most cultured Sir, ” he says. “I had no home and I was in the streets. I almost killed myself. Then I saw mouse. Mouse ran around and looked for food and it found some and I observed mouse for over two days. And I realized how resourceful mouse was. And then I said to myself: ‘Learn of the mouse, Diogenes- and all will be well.’ And so I learned of mouse. And every time I have a problem, I simply ask myself: ‘How will mouse solve this? ’ And so mouse became my teacher. And now, most Exquisite Sir, I have a problem. You. I want to get rid of you and I ask myself: ‘How would mouse solve this problem? ’ He would bite…”
You listen to this and you are afraid – and you run. And Diogenes has done well; he has learned well from his teacher. And you can hear him shouting to you: “By the way, who was your teacher? ”
poem by Raj Arumugam
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A Mouse Is Killed Today
a mouse is killed today
by an artist
who got mad because
the mouse ate his painting
of the nude woman
that evening while he got so furious
the mouse was at his hole
on the floor eating his usual cheese
the artist mumbled and murmured
and grumbled
and the mouse heard it
and called it
slapstick poetry
a doggerel,
the artist was not able to hold his temper
anymore
got an armalite and shot the hole with the mouse in it
in the name of art
the artist invokes his right to kill the mouse
he says it was
' clearly an artistic expression
and protected by the First Amendment.'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Learning to Die
Death is not sudden, death does not grieve,
Death takes a while to achieve.
Death comes in layers;
Death is the mouse
From under the couch
At three am, and from under the stairs.
Death is the tumour on my mother’s skin,
Death is a jackhammer pounding in.
Death is a scrabbling crab on all fours,
Death is a jaguar on rough padded paws,
Lurking in the oven doors,
And hiding in the bureau drawers.
Death is the lump within my breast,
Death is the invited dinner guest.
Death is the cadaver,
A slab of cold meat
That lies on a plate.
Death is the wall of frozen sleet.
Death to me comes much too late.
poem by Caroline Misner
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The Sport I Love
Like any other sports
this is the one I choose,
I love, and I have been playing.
the sport I want to be belong.
That is soccer.! ! !
Playing this game
have been giving me an event
that is hard to forget.
It is exciting right! ! !
And therefore
I do not know how
could I leave this sport.
Of which is this sport
help me to build my stamina,
meet a lot of friends, and
also this sport taught me
how to act as a human being,
in order to have a discipline
not only in this sport
but also in the community
as well as in a situation.
It help a lot in me right! ? ,
therefore i must not have to forget
as well as to leave this sport
but to love this sport forever..
I love soccer.! .
poem by Patrick Pinote
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Why Are You Gloating?
Why are you gloating?
You look as if you were a mouse,
Who was just awarded...
A lifetime supply of cheese.
'That's almost funny.
No.
But...
Say I 'was' that mouse.'
Okay...
Mouse.
'And that mouse was suspected of stealing cheese.
And those who made the cheese...
Did all they could to find the mouse guilty of the crime.'
Go ahead,
I'm listening.
'And...
The mouse,
Kept telling the makers of cheese...
They actually befriended rats!
And those rats were the culprits of the theft all along.'
I don't get it.
What has that got to do with you?
'You see...
The folks had their eyes focused on the mouse closely.
Under microscope.
Not realizing they socialized and entertained disguised rats.
Masquerading as wholesome folks with undeniable integrity.'
What became the outcome?
'Well...
Not only was the mouse awarded that lifetime of cheese you mentioned.
But efforts long dismissed achieved notoriety for that same mouse.'
Soooo,
'Why' are 'you' gloating?
'Forget it.
Just forget it.'
Hey,
Wait a minute.
Don't get angry with me.
You were the one to bring up the mice and rats in disguise,
Working inside a cheese factory.
Yeah...
That's right.
Walk away.
You need to lay that head down and get some rest.
No wonder I see him smiling all the time.
The dude is nuts!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Cat and Mouse
I am the mouse running from the cat,
or am I the cat chasing the mouse?
According to Chinese astrology I'm a Rat,
so who is the boss of the house?
Cat and mouse, chasing in my head.
Who I am? I don't know. It's better to forget...
poem by Jacqui Broad
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...and The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
Muscled, black with steel-green eye
Swishing through the rye grass
With thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie.
Tail balancing at half-mast.
...and the mouse police never sleeps ---
Lying in the cherry tree.
Savage bed foot-warmer of purest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
He's the all-night working cat.
Eats but one in every ten ---
Leaves the others on the mat.
...and the mouse police never sleeps ---
Waiting by the cellar door.
Window-box town crier;
Birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red ---
Licensed to multilate.
From warm milk on a lazy day
To dawn patrol on hungry hate.
...no, the mouse police never sleeps ---
Climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock.
Warm-blooded night on a cold tile.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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... & The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
Muscled, black with steel-green eye
Swishing through the rye grass
With thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie.
Tail balancing at half-mast.
...and the mouse police never sleeps ---
Lying in the cherry tree.
Savage bed foot-warmer of purest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
Hes the all-night working cat.
Eats but one in every ten ---
Leaves the others on the mat.
...and the mouse police never sleeps ---
Waiting by the cellar door.
Window-box town crier;
Birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red ---
Licensed to multilate.
From warm milk on a lazy day
To dawn patrol on hungry hate.
...no, the mouse police never sleeps ---
Climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock.
Warm-blooded night on a cold tile.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The City Mouse And The Garden Mouse
The city mouse lives in a house; -
The garden mouse lives in a bower,
He's friendly with the frogs and toads,
And sees the pretty plants in flower.
The city mouse eats bread and cheese; -
The garden mouse eats what he can;
We will not grudge him seeds and stalks,
Poor little timid furry man.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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To Be Noticed As A Serious Undertaking
The playing of cat and mouse,
May come to validate the cat and the mouse...
Choosing to play.
However...
Someone deciding,
They wish to see a cat and mouse game played...
Without the interest of the cat or the mouse,
Might discover themselves to be disappointed.
And the focus of an attention not wanted.
Some folks can amuse themselves,
By assuming their misdeeds...
Increase with their childish effectiveness applied.
Like deciding which toy soldier,
Prefers to be in the trenches or on the battle line.
And these minds try to enforce an authority of some kind,
To be noticed as a serious undertaking.
And not regarded as a joke.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Alankar (Decor) -32
Chase (Rondeau Redoubled)
I won't let you go out o' little mouse
Shall see to it once and all for today
You run run-I run run-round round the house
But I win, you're caught and lost just today
Here I keep the trap to trap and dismay
Sugared magic sure you're fooled o'poor mouse
Cunning you think? brainy you think? ..today
I won't let you go out o' little mouse
Fought, caught, taught to rot petty petty mouse
Bitter squeaks, what a pest, what a hell, hey
Snouty mouse, messy beast, out from this house
Shall see to it once and all for today
May foe feline be fed on you today
Be hooked and thrown-that I shall venge you mouse
Ha, ha, ha then shall all end just today
You run run-I run run-round round the house
No reason, no season, no taste o' mouse
krrkk, krrkk-nibbling all things, all time whole day
Like thief hide and steal you do in my house
But I win, you're caught and lost just today
Here is the trap for your best goal today
Slip in soundless for the 'masaal' o'mouse
I'm sure you will tempted fall but at bay
Thrown awed by foe feline outside the house
I won't let you
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Sleeping Mouse
Sleeping Mouse
In front of me, on the track that leads into the bushes, a tiny field mouse.
Picked it up and put it in the palm of my hand. The mouse was brown and
white, absurdly cute when it curled up and fell asleep in the morning light.
Eyes, lungs and heart, like me, so what’s next? I couldn’t stay here with my
hand outstretched waiting for it to wake up from its slumber, nor could
I take it home. Behind me I heard the shepherd with his sheep and dogs,
Put the mouse in my pocket. When dust had settled and the baaing stopped
I put my hand in pocket to pick it up, only it wasn’t there anymore. To have
a mouse in the palm of my hand, is one thing, but to have it crawling about
inside my pants? I took my trousers off. I took my shirt off. I stood there
naked as Adam in Paradise, no mouse. As I slowly dressed, butterflies flitted
making the woods enchanting.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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My White Mouse
At dusk I saw a craintive mouse
That sneaked and stole around the house;
At first I took it for a ghost,
For it was snowy white - almost.
I've seen them in captivity,
But this white mouse was wild and free,
And every eye with stealth it stole
And foraged in the garbage hole.
I told the folks, yet wondered why
No one could see the mouse but I;
For it was really, truly white,
And not just silvered by moonlight.
And then there came a big black cat,
And thought I said: "Get out of that!"
It stared at me with savage eyes,
As big and yellow as moonrise.
And often times I wonder whether
They didn't just go off together,
In the bright moonlight, paw in paw,
For never more my mouse I saw.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Alchemist And The Mouse
Once there lived an alchemist in a strange and distant land,
So wise and famous and revered, great power he did command.
For he could turn base metal in a flash to solid gold,
And so the alchemist grew rich, as he in years grew old.
The alchemist had riches, but a mortal man was he,
And came unto his house one day, a gypsy to foresee
His fortune with a crystal ball that showed his time was nigh,
So he a magic potion made, his own death to defy.
And when this potion to give immortality was made,
He took the potion to his lips, but then his hand he stayed,
For there his pet, a small brown mouse, was sitting on his knee;
He gave the mouse a sip and waited, the effect to see.
So time it passed, the mouse it thrived, so then he drank the brew.
Now safe from death, his fame increased, and so his fortune grew.
And so the years went by, he didn't age, always was well;
He and the mouse lived on, and to them nothing bad befell.
The centuries rolled on, his friends and relatives were dead.
In time the human race was gone as onward time it sped,
But even Earth is mortal, and at last the Sun grew tired;
The Earth became a cold dark rock, its spirit had expired.
And all was black, for only feeble starlight pricked the sky,
And silence reigned for there were only two who didn't die;
There gazing out to space, the last two tenants of the house;
The sad and lonely alchemist; by his side an ancient mouse.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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A piece of white flannel about cricket
Sport is popular. Fine.
Sport attracts sponsorship. Fine.
Sport becomes showbusiness. mmm.
'Pietersen embraced Collingwood on his century
like a footballer'..
I say, old chap, that's just...not cricket...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Cat Mouse Space Games
on earth many a mouse
hunting prey cheese
is swift mousetrap caught
in space the moon
is the night mouse
the earth hunting cat
earth waits huge mouth open
huge feline fangs teeth showing
waiting to swallow whole mouse
a natural ending to cat mouse games
base animals space wars old habits
space quarantine grounds earth minds
poem by Terence George Craddock
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