Rats For Neighbors
Rats scramble across the floor,
making loud noises like never before.
They are in the attic having a fun time,
they are nesting together they know it’s Christmastime.
Wind blows and they huddle together,
they are smart, they know better.
Rats lived in the back house and now they are in the front,
if they are of the same family I’m out of luck.
They are from Europe and they are die hards at that,
they will want to stay in a house not a flat.
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Night Runners Competition Counted
we enjoy counting the rats
running around at night,
when we are arriving home
on our faithful motorbike,
usually two or three rats to see,
Kayla and I have a competition
counting first spied rats we see,
who can spot local drain rats first
the biggest rats seen truthfully
are as big as healthy pet cats,
we go look at pets frequently
in BSD once a week we peep,
in at a pet shop when we watch,
a movie in expedition BSD every week
a family movie is a special treat,
our two happy daughters think it so neat
our neigbour concreted over their open drain
next door rats love their drains seldom stray,
so less rats outside rats too close we do disdain
rats who venture close in life peril cannot stay,
if any bold rats venture into our house ceiling,
these rats are disposed of poisoned very quickly
our rule is no entry for any rats poison strictly,
tropical rat best learn trespass has no pity feeling.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Admit The Rat (Interlude)
I got a story
bout all these rats
all the sewer rats
all these gun rats
im talkin bout all these gold diggen rats
these hood rats
my grandmothers a rat
she's just an old school rat
my mothers a rat
she's just a high class rat
my sisters rats
she's just a middle class rat
my cousins rats
they just low class rats
im tired of rats tryin to get into my boyz pockets
im tired of rats tryin to ride around in my cars
im tired of rats talkin all that jibber jabber to their friends
but ond day these rats are gonna be straight
no diss to rats
cuz there are some rats that i love too
my message to you today is admit the rat in you
to all women admitt the rat in you
admit the rat in you
admit the rat in you
admit the rat in you
song performed by by Next
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Admit The Rat
I got a story
Bout all these rats
All the sewer rats
All these gun rats
Im talkin bout all these gold diggen rats
These hood rats
My grandmothers a rat
Shes just an old school rat
My mothers a rat
Shes just a high class rat
My sisters rats
Shes just a middle class rat
My cousins rats
They just low class rats
Im tired of rats tryin to get into my boyz pockets
Im tired of rats tryin to ride around in my cars
Im tired of rats talkin all that jibber jabber to their friends
But ond day these rats are gonna be straight
No diss to rats
Cuz there are some rats that I love too
My message to you today is admit the rat in you
To all women admitt the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
song performed by by Next
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Slave To The Wage
Run away from all your boredom
Run away from all your whoredom and wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
All it takes is one decision
A lot of guts, a little vision to wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Sick and tired of maggies farm
Shes a bitch with broken arms to wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Burn away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pagan Place
Jer Bear and Mikey Mouse,
smoked pot in Pagan house.
Pagan house had bugs inside,
and rats that crawled the sides,
now this is where I used to reside.
Spider woman lived below me
with clothes black and white,
and Top Dog in front house
blasting radio into the night.
It was the Pagan House with
Stories that were a disgrace,
it was a weird and crazy place.
My pup Shieka was stolen on
The sidewalk,
across from the table where
I used to talk…to Lu Lu who
told me a thing or two.
Luckily Sheikee my new pup
showed up,
Just that week,
she was shy and meek.
These were my best memories,
on Ocean Breeze.
Written by Christina Sunrise on Feb.7,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pagan Place
Jer Bear and Mikey Mouse,
smoked pot in Pagan house.
Pagan house had bugs inside,
and rats that crawled the sides,
now this is where I used to reside.
Spider woman lived below me
with clothes black and white,
and Top Dog in front house
blasting radio into the night.
It was the Pagan House with
Stories that were a disgrace,
it was a weird and crazy place.
My pup Shieka was stolen on
The sidewalk,
across from the table where
I used to talk…to Lu Lu who
told me a thing or two.
Luckily Sheikee my new pup
showed up,
Just that week,
she was shy and meek.
These were my best memories,
on Ocean Breeze.
Written by Christina Sunrise on Feb.7,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Home Truths
Seeking a Truth
The sewers under the abortion clinic
is where successful rats live and only
the strongest survives.
From the bland food of suburbia and
narrow minded excrements, unwilling
given back to the drains and nature.
These big rats have survived to sit by
the top table and be respected as those
who deserves a prize for endurance.
They live on sludge of fetuses, tiny fingers
small, beating hearts; also, clean livers;
and the rats grow and reason as humans
Rich rats now have an army of lesser
rats to defend them, nothing last always,
but for some it ended before it began.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Robins And The Rats
the robins are the most
visible feeders
of my rice which i have put
beside the house
but the rats underneath the pile
also take their share
of this bounty
i envy them all
because from you my dear neighbor
you have never shared anything
you have fenced yourself so high
as though we are your rats and robins
that you fear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Madam and The Rent Man
The rent man knocked.
He said, Howdy-do?
I said, What
Can I do for you?
He said, You know
Your rent is due.
I said, Listen,
Before I'd pay
I'd go to Hades
And rot away!
The sink is broke,
The water don't run,
And you ain't done a thing
You promised to've done.
Back window's cracked,
Kitchen floor squeaks,
There's rats in the cellar,
And the attic leaks.
He said, Madam,
It's not up to me.
I'm just the agent,
Don't you see?
I said, Naturally,
You pass the buck.
If it's money you want
You're out of luck.
He said, Madam,
I ain't pleased!
I said, Neither am I.
So we agrees!
poem by Langston Hughes
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Rats Of Bikaner
Rats of black and grey
Were scurrying across
the floors of Karni Matha Temple.
Rats are not a scourge there
and people scatter minute eatables.
Munching the grains strewn around,
the fearless rats scamper about
the inner sanctorum of the Goddess.
Where had scuttled off that white rat?
People searched to ferret it out,
but it eludes watch or catch.
The sight of it would bring luck and wealth!
But I saw one in white marble
lying before the idol of Matha.
A strange sanctuary for rats
in that semi-desert land!
Even the dead ones are not given
a quick decent burial with rites.
The Rajputs don’t celebrate the wedding of rats
as we do for asses for abundant rains.
Cats scenting rats don’t enter
and I am sure there is no rat- fever.
People are given preferential visas
as they eat meat, chicken, beaf and fork
and alas, the flesh of rats ignored!
News hadn’t reached Ghazni Mohammed
or else he would have marched to Bikaner
to rob the white rat instead of raiding
again and again that Somnathpur
passing through the desert and marsh.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Incident at the Farm North of Las Cruces
Now the killer sees the snake;
Boards are kicked aside.
Now the snake stares through the sun.
Birds chirp from the corn
When the rats burn through the brush,
When the dog barks past the moon,
When the wasp stings to the bone,
Death will find a home.
Hiding now,
Rising low.
Hear the heartbeat
From the dirt?
Watch the fear,
Numb the mind.
Hear the moaning
From the cave?
The snake is kissing killer's head.
Wind shrieks through the boards;
Black dust blows above the corn
While birds and rats lie low
Is the torment over now?
Are the children in the barn?
Has rain cleaned the blackened air?
Let's stand and guard the house.
Wendell Gee
Thats when wendell gee takes a tug
Upon the string that held the line of trees
Behind the house he lived in
He was reared to give respect
But somewhere down the line he chose
To whistle as the wind blows
Whistle as the wind blows, with me
He had a dream one night
That the tree had lost its middle
So he built a trunk of chicken wire
To try to hold it up
But the wire, the wire turned to lizard skin
And when he climbed inside
There wasnt even time to say
Goodbye to wendell gee
So whistle as the wind blows
Whistle as the wind blows, with me
If the wind were colors
And if the air could speak
Then whistle as the wind blows
Whistle as the wind blows
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Black House On The Corner
I passed by that house everday,
wondering what lurked inside of it,
was their some kind of ancient evil inside,
or a normal family that we never saw,
a house of macarbe,
it was painted black like the devil's sin,
it was surrouned by devilish-looking,
figures that stood outside on the line,
was also surrounded by a black pointed fence,
rumors of the devil himself living there,
the devil in the flesh,
satan living on my street corner,
The black house on the corner,
can't you see it,
you must walk past it everyday to,
dosen't your mind wander,
when you walk by The black house,
don't you to know what lays inside of the house,
maybe a ton of dead bodies under the floor boards,
a madman butcherd up his family,
could that be true,
or are our young minds racing again,
with impure and insane thoughts about,
who or what lives in the black house on the corner,
the black house,
painted with the devil's sin,
We were told to stay away from the black house,
that so many evils lived inside of it,
but us being kids we didn't want to live,
we wanted to see what was inside of the black house on the corner,
But we are to afraid to go forward,
we are to afraid to step through the gate,
and walk up the beaten path to the door bell,
it looks so old and so evil,
The black house on the corner,
we shall never know what evilness,
or what macabre force resides within,
the black house on the corner,
whatever you do,
don't go into the black house on the corner,
stay away from,
the black house on the corner,
it holds so many evils,
the black house on the corner,
poem by Robert Rumery
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Palm-Kernel-Chain Game
Chain Point One: The big cat may be away
But may appear any day
The Long-whiskered rats
Are pretending
NOW: a bait of palm kernels
Is strategically placed
The big cat
Pretends hiding
The rats
Start telegramming…
The cat is waiting
The rats are
Picking…!
The cat is inputting…
Chain Point Two: Palm kernel is the main gastronomy
And has national distribution-tag
NOW:
The cat is flying
The rats
Are sprinting
The feline rake
Is closing in
Some rats
Are hollering
Gripped furs
Are falling…!
Chain Point Three: Oh no lessons in the inner tray
No baiting chain breaks
NOW:
The big cat is away…
And
Again long-whiskered rats
Rush out
Again to rummage thru
Stately kept pantries
For
Fresh palm kernels
Chain Point One: A big cat may be away…
poem by by unknown author
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That house
That house
Feeling that sadness every time I go by
The house I stand in front of
She was the best I can’t lie about it
Look towards that house I’m scared
See her face in the pitchers on that wall though the window
I can’t go in she’s gone died in the ground
It’s hard to say why but the feelings hit me like no other
Making the pain come back
For every second I’m there
For every time I’m thinking about her
She was a friend who had no shame
The rain falls like music long ago befoe her time ended
poem by nic Leisure
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Stranger In My Own House
(a capella: she said: boy, your luck is running out...she make me feel like a stranger...in my own house)
I come stumbling in at a quarter to three
To the sound of my own dog growlin at me
Im scared to move or turn on a light
Youve got me creepin around in the dark
Like a thief in the night
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got no place to live
I never feel at home
I walk into the kitchen to see whats there
Im tired and Im hungry but the cupboards bare
Ive been working all day and all night too
I cant believe this is all I have to come back to
I guess Ill take a look upstairs, in the danger zone
I wonder what Im doing here
When I never feel at home
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im a stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
I see the do not disturb sign on my bedroom door
What is this sheet and pillow laying on the floor
I wore out my welcome
I hear you loud and clear
Its time to get a few things straight around here
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got a place to live but I never feel at home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
With a woman like you Im better off alone
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im just a stranger in my own house
Oh, honey Im home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
You got a lion on your hands girl, not a mouse!
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
Well, somebodys got to go...
Stranger
Stranger
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old House in the Glen
Winter has come and the wind and the rain
Wash over the house in the glen.
It cradles itself as if it were cold
For no one still lives within.
The years have passed over it, leaving it aged
And empty, and lost, without heart,
With no one to live there, no one to care
And the leaves are piled up on the hearth.
If you stand in the doorway, you can feel
Soft music that hangs in the air,
Like the soul of the house that ever lives on
Though there’s no longer any to hear.
The door is now gone, the windows un-paned,
The wood on the roof has gone slack.
But it still lingers on, as if waiting for
The people it loved to come back.
The old house listens, and waits, and sings
As the wind blows in through the door
And the beat of the heart of the house still sounds
Like the tread of their feet on the floor.
poem by Kate Wiley
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Visits to St Elizabeths
This is the house of Bedlam.
This is the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is the time
of the tragic man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a wristwatch
telling the time
of the talkative man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the honored man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is the roadstead all of board
reached by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the old, brave man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
These are the years and the walls of the ward,
the winds and clouds of the sea of board
sailed by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the cranky man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
beyond the sailor
winding his watch
that tells the time
of the cruel man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a world of books gone flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
of the batty sailor
that winds his watch
that tells the time
of the busy man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is there, is flat,
for the widowed Jew in the newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
waltzing the length of a weaving board
by the silent sailor
that hears his watch
that ticks the time
of the tedious man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
These are the years and the walls and the door
that shut on a boy that pats the floor
to feel if the world is there and flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances joyfully down the ward
into the parting seas of board
past the staring sailor
that shakes his watch
that tells the time
of the poet, the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is the soldier home from the war.
These are the years and the walls and the door
that shut on a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is round or flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances carefully down the ward,
walking the plank of a coffin board
with the crazy sailor
that shows his watch
that tells the time
of the wretched man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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A House Without Stairs
do not say
that without the stairs
the house is not a house anymore
without the ceiling
the more the house becomes to me
take the roof
if you want
or the beams
or even the floor and window frames
my house will still be a house
the sky its roof
the stretching grassy plain its floor
all the stars become
my magnificent ceiling
whatever is taken
we must imagine that all things are still there
lest we only have a house
that crashes on the floor
with all of us
dead
crushed to the death of
our imaginations
a door without an exit
because you have not seen hope coming
the lock and key
are all in the mind and heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Past a house
We yesterday
drove past a house
near a shopping centre
and at the front wall
the plaster was broken,
the garden that was something
at a time
was treaded to pieces
and left uncared.
The front door hanged decaying
and when my eyes
walked down the corridor
some of the ceiling was missing,
and the wooden floor
was being used for firewood
It seemed as if the house
was now really becoming a ruin
and a naked black toddler
were crawling outside
and a very thin dog
looked as if it never got food
and my darling said:
“We stayed here at a time
and once this house
belonged to us
and it was a beautiful place
and just see how it looks now.”
poem by Gert Strydom
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