Speaking Greek
If didn't make sense to you
Just maybe it wasn't suppose to.
The man and mouse speak.
It's of a language thought to be of Greek.
So foreign are the mouth movements.
With micro expressions that tell you nothing.
With honesty how can you condemn?
A famine upon the eyes.
With a desire for something with a little more taste.
Poor little man, poor little mouse, such a wasted life.
You are but of the same class.
Separated from everyone by a social status and stature.
You hatch ideas all your own, but they will never be accepted because they will never understand.
They mark you with a label and a branding.
You just don't fit the accepted standard.
So you sit upon the shelf like an unwanted and avoided toy.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Related quotes
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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If I Had A Million In Money
Though money will not save you from the reaper and your mental depression won't cure
I'd rather be wealthy and unhappy than to be unhappy and poor
For how can some one poor be truly happy and it does not make much sense to me
When some says he is happy go lucky though he is living in poverty?
If I had a million in money I could help out a needy few
For if you are a poor ordinary battler not much to help out can you do
I know what it feels like without money one might say tell us something new
And that money can speak any language as ever happens to be true.
You may be a well meaning person a kind soul with a heart of gold
But lack of money is your major drawback the same old story as of old
And without money you cannot do much for others though you can help them in some other way
Like doing work for some needy person without asking for any pay.
If I had a million in money I could help a few friends in need
And others would say he is generous and by good example he lead
But I am as poor as a church mouse and I've never been financially secure
And like everyone lacking in money I cannot do much for the poor.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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My Life to Live
I've been connected!
To every aspect of my life.
I myself accepted.
Regardless of who thought that wrong,
Or right!
From birth I've known the path I walk.
And stubbornly I kept my aim.
I was prepared for rumors and the talk...
Long before my name change,
To label and brand...
The quality of my game!
Played by my command!
Oh yes!
I've been connected!
To every aspect of my life.
I myself accepted.
I've been connected!
To every aspect of my life.
I myself accepted.
Regardless of who thought that wrong,
Or right!
This is my life to live!
What is it on my resumé,
You find it difficult to believe?
Hmmm...?
And I am just getting started!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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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 mouse that only trusts to one poor hole, Can never be a mouse of any soul.
Slow And Steady (Based on the Tortoise and the Hare)
As usual an argument
An argument arose
In the poppy field
Next to the red rose
It was between the mouse and the cat
(No worse enemies existed than that!)
In the end they had a bet
Whoever won, he would get
The poppy field for his own to live in
While the one who lost would be given
"Exile, banished from here forever! "
Said the cat (who really was very clever.)
The mouse thought: "What nonsense!
But it'll be ME who'll win
And that cat will have to live
In the garbage bins! "
But before the mouse could get a word out,
The cat who had been prancing about
Cleared his throat, "I declare!
The competition shall be judged by the hare.
We are going to have a magnificent race,
Poor mousie won't be able to keep up the pace! "
There mouse stood, flabbergasted as ever!
Really, that cat, was sly and clever,
He knew mouse couldn't run at all!
He'd just trip over his tail and fall!
But (though worried he was) he had to do it,
Yes, mouse had to go and prove it,
He would run faster than any cat,
He would run like the wind and knock- them- flat!
The next day dawned, pearly and white,
But the poor mouse was pale with fright!
As he stood in his place
Ready for the race
The cat yawned, as if bored with all this!
When the starting goose gave a hiss,
"Ready, set, GO! "Shouted the hare aloud
The cat ran fast, leaving behind a cloud
Of dust, and the mouse ran as fast as he could
"I'll win this race! I'd do anything to, I would! "
As the cat ran ahead he couldn't help but think:
"There's no way that the mouse can pass me! "
I got ahead in an eye's blink!
Why don't I settle down for a nap?
I have to run only one more lap,
I can rest my eyes for just a little while,
Mouse probably hasn't even run half a mile!
There don't seem to be any chances
Of mousie passing me, I'll win, I'll win! "
And he made quite a din.
The cat settled down in the shade,
Of a tree in a peaceful glade.
He slept soundly, till the mouse had gone on ahead
While the cat was snoozing on his primrose bed!
When the cat finally rose, it was just too late!
And though he ran fast (in a bedraggled state.)
He just couldn't make it, the mouse had got the lead
And crossed the finish line (leaving the cat in defeat! !)
The mouse had won, he'd proved Cat wrong,
Who walked away, singing a mournful song:
"I was boastful and full of myself, it's true
And now I've lost the race, I don't know what to do!
I'm sorry that I looked at mouse with scorn! "
And the cat traipsed by, looking forlorn.
" Dear Cat, you're looking blue, "
Said the mouse, "I feel sorry for you.
How about we divide the Poppy field
Between us, one half for me, the other for you? "
And of course the cat agreed!
He'd learned a lesson indeed!
"Slow and steady wins the race."
Said the mouse, in first place....
poem by by unknown author
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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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The People We Don't Want To Know
From pay check to pay check many working class people have two jobs,
then it all dries up and there is no work and manual labourers are
called work shy…. I knew a woman with three jobs she was tired coming
home, yet boiled potatoes and fried fish for her children before falling
asleep, coughing a lot. She had tuberculosis and sent to a sanatorium,
and the children sent to foster homes. Her illness caused by unhygienic
home, people from the social services said. No one asked why a woman
should hold down three jobs to fed her children and no one said she was
a “deserving” poor whatever this word means. This inequity will go on till
we understand poverty is not a choice but a mishap of birth, few escape,
those who do will always carry the dishonour, the mark of Cain, by being
more hateful of poverty and branding the poor lazy. As the average actor
who got a role in a film that made him famed, his hate his own class, poor
himself once, reveals his fear of slipping back to poverty again; he harms
his flesh and blood in an attempt to get rid of his own stench of privation.
But the Haves can smell an imposter, but they do like money so perhaps
his daughter will make it to the The People We Don't Want To Knowball.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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So Help Me God
It wasn't me!
But you who were maneuvered,
To move in and sleep...
With the demon.
Separated to feast.
As you were teased with trinkets dangled.
Now that you have been isolated,
And strangled.
With beliefs you had been accepted.
Only mangled and defeated with deceit.
You call me anticipating rescue?
Why?
Remember you declared...
It was no longer a you and I,
But them.
And you defended their shenanigans!
To ensure my loss?
And you a definite win!
It wasn't me!
But you who were maneuvered,
To move in and sleep...
With the demon.
Separated to feast.
As you were teased with trinkets dangled.
Now you find yourself mangled with no way out!
And I am to run to you because you shout?
After you rocked and knocked about,
My reputation.
And devastated my character,
With an assassination of defamations.
It wasn't me!
But you who were maneuvered,
To move in and sleep...
With the demon.
Separated to feast.
As you were teased with trinkets dangled.
And I don't like this one bit.
Smuggling you away from here,
As if I'm the convict.
Shut up,
I've had enough of your lip!
Put that mask on and fix that wig!
Hopefully no one will recognize,
The true swine you've become!
And I have not adapted a taste,
For gutter pigs.
Shut up and sit.
When we get away from here,
You're going to have hell to pay.
And I'm going to make sure you'll remember...
All of what you're getting.
I promise you'll receive every bit of it!
It wasn't me!
But you who were maneuvered,
To move in and sleep...
With the demon.
Separated to feast.
As you were teased with trinkets dangled.
And you might want to reconsider this...
Since when I get us safely away,
Tieing you down and going ballistic...
With a snap cracking of my whip,
Is what I have in mind...
For a hard headed behind!
And that will be done my way.
'God,
Please no! '
God has nothing to do with this!
I've already begged for His forgiveness,
When I defied His wishes...
To leave you where you were.
So shut up and sit.
When we get away from here,
You're going to have hell to pay.
And I'm going to make sure you'll remember...
All of what you're getting,
Applied first class!
With a touch of sadisticness.
And I'm going to enjoy every bit of it...
So help me God!
~I thought you said I had nothing to do with this!
Do you wish for My assistance or not? ~
No My Father.
This task I undertake,
Will be mine to define...
As I proceed!
But I do thank You for the offer.
~Hey...
No big deal!
I'm always here when needed! ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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A Mouse in the night
As a mouse creeps silently through the house
It hardly makes any noise
It seems like that little creature
Holds the night in it's poise.
I wrote this poem myself because I like mice, and because it makes sense to write about a mouse in the night. This type of poem is a Ballad Poem. O, ya, just to let you guys know, all the poems you will see here are not copied from somewhere else, and I didn't even get any of my ideas from other poems. Just for a heads up! Well, I hope you enjoyed this poem.
poem by Isabella Badger
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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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That's Life One Must Suppose
At the bottom of the social rank and low in self esteem
That's where the haves want to keep the have nots or that's how it does seem
For every new member of the millionaires club there is more poverty
And that people of malnutrition die does not make sense to me,
When many have far more than enough but not enough to satisfy their greed
For them 'twould seem that much wants more that does seem sad indeed
Though some quite wealthy people some of their profits share
Amongst the struggling have nots of the bigger World out there
The social gap keeps widening getting bigger every day
And the poor are getting poorer or so 'twould seem that way
Many hungry and homeless and low in social rank
For the poverty of millions we do have greed to thank
Some have to go for months on end without a change of clothes
And the poor keep getting poorer that's life one must suppose.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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My Red House
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
I once played in that red house
Shy was I, like a little mouse
Tippy toed I went looking around
Giggling, without making any sound
Happy was I to run around and play
My very own home to live and stay
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
Darkness came swiftly one night
A sense of something was not quite right
The shadows came across the wall
Covering my eyes, ready for my fall
The sounds of whips and chains dragged
against the floor
The sheer terror numbed me from looking
passed that door
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
The darkness slowly turned to grey
The black clouds lifting away
No longer trapped, I did not need to stay
Free was I to let go and make my own way
So ever slowly, opening that door
I could see the light and so much more
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
Changing and always moving
Never stopping and always wanting
Step by step, I shed all those tears
One at a time, I climbed up those stairs
Moving closer to where I want to be
No longer a child but an adult me
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
I came home today
The Red House, same as it was yesterday
Slowly, walking up that hill
Everything seems to be in a stand still
I could only stay for a while
Before the darkness comes within a mile
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
The breath of life you gave to me
But took away the child within me
No longer a pawn to your destruction
I have found my peace and resolution
Turning away towards the path of light
I see a very beautiful sight
My Red House
There is no longer a mouse
poem by Miu Miu Ayushi
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What I Have Not Been To The Few I Loved
What I have not been to the few I loved,
the cost of what I am. Whoever that is.
And the poor boy happy ending
that was supposed to conclude in money
to redeem the aristocratic poverty
of a doomed childhood, scrapped
from the start as slavishly predictable.
I shone for a while, angry and bright
and university was an easy ordeal of guilt
while my mother washed floors in the Uplands,
and I went through culture shock
in my own country to learn that
not everybody lived the way we did
never further than twenty concrete blocks
away from the despair and poverty of home.
Three meals a day and shopping tours
to Europe, with a jaunt to Auschwitz
along the way. My mother would dress up
for three hours to go to the corner-store.
And it was everything I could do
to keep from laughing out loud
at the pygmies of pain in English Honours
who cried their eyes out in the library
because their mothers were social butterflies
and it was the sixties on the West Coast
when no one was suppose to live in vain.
And I remember the little wet doctor's sons
who used to remind me of who
they thought I was, asking me, at the end
of an advanced Shakespeare seminar,
at the end of a creative writing class,
after a three hour oral exam on Marlowe,
to sell them heroin I didn't use or deal
to make them feel, like the postcards of Auschwitz
that showed the skulls in the furnaces
and read Arbeit macht frei,
they were slumming with reality, lest
I forget despite how well I did in class,
where I came from. And the difference
was obvious and lasting. So many things
I had to master just to wear a plausible lifemask
into the golden future of the middle class.
How to sit down at a table and eat
with cutlery as if I were doing surgery.
How to relate to the trivializing of the poor,
listening squeamishly to the screening myths
of how the rich suffer at their hands.
How my mother with hands and knees,
cracked like lobsters boiled in bleach
was leeching them dry on welfare.
I broke up with their daughters.
I punished their sons atavistically
and losing my taste for trying to prove
you could find diamonds in the coalbin
of everyone's ancestry, and I could stand
eye to eye with the stars as well as anyone,
I ran with a wolfpack of ex-cons
who accepted me as a well-educated
one of their own. And through it all
I returned to poetry after every brawl
and threw everybody off my back
to climb a private mountain of my own
while my mother said do
what makes you happy
and went on scrubbing floors.
poem by Patrick White
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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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English, once accepted as an international language, is no more secure than French has proved to be as the one and only accepted language of diplomacy or as Latin has proved to be as the international language of science.
quote by Edward Sapir
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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