When the mouse has had enough the meal is bitter.
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When the mouse has had its fill, the meal turns bitter.
A Free Meal?
you like free meals
they taste so well
nothing is bitter
everything is sweet
why do you like a free meal?
you save much for yourself.
why do you save much and not
spend anything for yourself?
you are into the vice of misery.
You are the miser storing much
and still beg for more
hence the free meal.
there is no such thing as a free meal
if you only know the real score
you could not have eaten that free meal on the table.
everyday you eat this unnecessary gratitude
tomorrow you shall pay it
with what? your dignity,
even your whole life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Losing One's Dignity
you like free meals
they taste so well
nothing is bitter
everything is sweet
why do you like a free meal?
you save much for yourself.
why do you save much and not
spend anything for yourself?
you are into the vice of misery.
You are the miser storing much
and still beg for more
hence the free meal.
there is no such thing as a free meal
if you only know the real score
you could not have eaten that free meal on the table.
everyday you eat this unnecessary gratitude
tomorrow you shall pay it
with what? your dignity, even your whole life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do You Really Like A Free Meal?
you like free meals
they taste so well
nothing is bitter
everything is sweet
why do you like a free meal?
you save much for yourself.
why do you save much and not
spend anything for yourself?
you are into the vice of misery.
You are the miser storing much
and still beg for more
hence the free meal.
there is no such thing as a free meal
if you only know the real score
you could not have eaten that free meal on the table.
everyday you eat this unnecessary gratitude
tomorrow you shall pay it
with what? your dignity,
even your whole life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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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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A Nonsense Poem - a Villanelle
A little mouse sings in a bowl
A little fish runs on a wheel
A little worm hops in a hole
A little hat has lost its sole
A little petal has no peel
A little mouse sings in a bowl
A little dog dances a reel
A little frog jumps on a mole
A little fish runs on a wheel
A little boat rings out a peal
A little bell loses its keel
A little mouse sings in a bowl
A little rock slips on a seal
A little perch walks on a pole
A little fish runs on a wheel
A little card shakes on a deal
A little sigh fancies a meal
A little mouse sings in a bowl
A little fish runs on a wheel
poem by Alison Cassidy
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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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When a mouse has fallen into a meal sack, he thinks he is the miller himself.
When the mouse is satisfied, the flour is bitter.
The flour tastes bitter to the mouse who has had enough.
Marcabre Dance For A Dead Mouse, After Robert Burns and Theodore Roethke
.
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
While merry stars laugh in the sky? - Sarojini Naidu
Wee brisket.
Gray fodder.
Thou art today tossed down
fat with grain.
Teeth sing to poison,
paws dance behind walls
taunting cat's tongue and
my impatient demand
'gainst thy nightly
gnaw gnaw
gnawing
Now brace for leaves.
Tossed from back porch to woods
Thy ballet's done, bitter fey.
Sun's up, swan song,
The cat play thee for a meal!
Wheel the poison again!
Swell fellow's passed on!
Reel, poison, reel!
poem by Warren Falcon
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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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When the mouse is full, the flour tastes bitter.
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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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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Fortunes
Every morning a woman comes and hand picks her rubbish -
Gems discarded by the elite of the city.
She takes them to an interesting shop;
There she exchanges them for a meal ticket (money)
She chooses her meal as if fine combing a menu in elegant Paris,
In the finest eatery, along the finest strip.
Her meal is that of which they (the elite)
would never consider to chew.
Her enjoyment in consuming such a meal is one which
They can never realise.
poem by Anthony Dawson
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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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