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Best Mouse Poems

Below are the all-time best Mouse poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of mouse poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Mouse Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Mouse poems are below this new poems list.

Maybe Hang Up My Mouse by Ellison, Jack
Mouse and Me and You is Three by Nance, Casarah
The Mouse Turned Man Becomes My Gentleman by James, Jamala
THE DOG AND THE MOUSE by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Cat and Mouse by sha, Mint
A MOUSE WITH A CLOAK by Young, Dana
THE MOUSE THAT RAN UP THE CLOCK by Lee, Jeffrey
Cat and Mouse by Salehi, Pashang
The Lady Tiger And The Mouse by Ashe, Walter T.
A Mouse in the Desert by Tuason, Thayne

View all new Mouse Poems

The Best Mouse Poems

Details | Mouse Poem | |

POOR PETER PUMPKIN

Poor Peter Pumpkin had a very itty bitty head.
So the farmer made him stay inside the garden bed.

The farmer said that he was going to keep him warm with hay.
And there the itty bitty pumpkin stayed for many a day.

Finally, the farmer came to check upon poor Peter,
measured him and then exclaimed, “You’ve grown an extra meter!

I think it’s time for you to finally go and face the world.”
Peter got up from his bed. He twirled and twirled and twirled!

“My,” the farmer shouted, “You’ve grown two legs with feet!
You’re a special pumpkin. My daughters you must meet!”

Poor Peter heaved his hefty bulk, waddling away,
following behind the farmer so he would not stray.

They traveled rather quickly, and soon they reached the house.
The daughters saw the pumpkin and grew quiet as a mouse.

The silence lasted just until at last one daughter spoke,
“A pumpkin with two legs? Is this some kind of joke?”

Her father knelt beside her and whispered in her ear,
“Do not be afraid, my child. You’ve not a thing to fear.

We can carve a lantern. It will be your Halloween treat.
Then we can make lots of pumpkin pies for us to eat."

Peter trembled with a chill to hear their horrid plan.
Jumping out the door, he yelled, “Catch me if you can!”

He ran into the pastures. Then he tumbled down a hill.
As  he rolled he bumped into the couple, Jack and Jill!

“Oh dear me,” cried Peter, “I do not wish to be
a lantern for this Halloween. Please, can you guys help me!”

Jack and Jill then led him to the land of Nursery Rhymes.
His sad fate has now been told to children many times.

For he ran across a man named Peter Pumpkin EATER.
Maybe you can guess now what became of our poor Peter!

10~12~14
Contest: Halloween Co-Writes
Sponsor: Diane Locksley
Written By Jan Allison & Andrea Dietrich
~awarded 1st place~

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Hot And Cold Comes The Night


LIST POETRY - A FUTURISTIC INTERPRETATION You must know I cried yesterday and I think I broke the world so I braided some words into twine planted some sweet and sour coated seeds I grew free standing expressions and then I joined them with left over thread to present these interlocking pieces in their proper order regardless of the number they wear in an attempt to confuse and deceive. I offer this humble list for your reading enjoyment It is an honour to have you visit my page. The pleasure I assure you is all mine WORDS ON PAPER - THE LIST FIVE I loved you centuries before we were born. You lived in my dreams before I ever slept. When others wasted time picking flowers I waited for when it was time to pick you. Love calls you in the natural scent of your partner. You'd feel their touch in the vacuum of outer space. Your desire for them would melt away the ice age. I want to find a door in the brightest part of the sky I could open to erase what was, to shine a light so bright it, like a book of golden words, would write ideas so vital as to eradicate even a suggestion of our mournful past. I want to be that magician who does not bother with illusion but rather heals wounds and shatters burden. TWO We were at the fair, joviality in the air. A memory filed, I was a young child holding balloons floating round like full moons in vivid colours bright. Fixed on this joyous sight I was on Cloud Nine proud these were mine. If I had not let go of them. If I hadn't watched them as they flew higher and higher as my heart sunk lower and lower I might of never learnt what it felt like - hurt. Hope gloats, hope floats. either your way or just away. THREE sometimes the afternoon sun is.....too hot to walk barefoot........on the concrete path still even then.......I refuse to wear my hat I guess I'll never change, I'm just like that. sometimes when I jump in the lake in late summer... with all of my clothes on...I do it in the evening......as I go down...way down to the bottom...there's a gentle peace overtakes me..I want to stay down like a rock... revel in the ecstasy...not swim back up..........not ever SEVEN ours was a paper mâché love living in a cut out cardboard home with a macaroni art painted lawn and nothing real to call our own nothing solid that we could hold. we tried stacking lego bricks but you have to be able to pop your cheek to qualify as a kid - to get a license to build. the castle we assembled didn't pass the test. so much for fairy tales - hello reality check. we rolled the dice but our thimble went straight to jail and our mouse ended up trapped. can you hear that buzzing the operation failed. where are you going? your tricycle is still in the shop and I might as well tell you..............I have no eights................."go fish!" we fell through the bunny hole where i - jack fell ddddownnn nnnnnnn and broke my crown and you - jill came tumbling aaaaaaaaaaafterrrrrrrrrrrrrrr EIGHT it is a choreographed ballet our love stands strong legs at the base digging deep build roots delicate hands branched out reach high long slim fingers define twigs draw space the body of our trunk thick sweet filled music fills our human needs one sound wind pixies dance meticulously the air sunlight leaks effectively through dark spots lifts carries holds and shapes our smiles it is a choreographed ballet our love in sync our bodies their senses once immersed in I now us ONE I know the last thing I want to feel as I leave this world, it is your lips on mine. When I take my last breath I want to feel yours with its loving touch. NINE Always, no matter the roar or intensity of the storm how severe the attack even out of the norm Always, i offer my hand with sincerity aim to deal with it peacefully. Always! SIX then suddenly it hits like a swarm of locus. a deep dark manifestation that greases my mind my very existence in its unforgiving sense of doom. every bone stiffens, when I move, a sound of dead dried out forest twigs breaking against the boots of hikers echoes in the confined space of my skull. i reach for a pill slowly it dissolves under my tongue i wait and i wait and i wait ... my body is soaked in a sweat with its own cold and hot tap. i assume the position, lying on an unstable floor. the creature depression is now in full control of my faculties. this too i will survive ...that is what i do...what i do...this is what i do.......somehow i survive. FOUR there is a deafening hush... silently raging through the core of my existence...still...I am humbled by the light and the love I have witnessed in my brief appearance...........here on Earth there is a river...that walks at my side... walks with me........at the same stride... April 14 2015 Armand

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mouse Poem | |

THE OLD OAK TREE


         Oh I am but a simple leaf
         withering within the gutter
         one summer of bliss
         now! Just an autumn flutter.

                   For some; destine to fall
                   upon stony ground, a part
                   of life’s infernal gyration.
                   Yet for those that fall
                   within your reach, to live
                   on within your soul!

         While limbs that stretch
         towards the solstice, create
         vivacious veins as channels of hope,
         a pledge of foliation continues
         to endure what spring has
         furnished; autumn expires. 

                   Yes! If we can but learn
                   from nature’s complex simplicity,
                   that life be of a cycle
                   from the seed we are conceived,
                   then let spring be my beginning
                   winter my exultant eve!

         Let our two cultures
         merge as one, the
         decomposed humus
         to become the sustenance;
         our transfusion the
         new beginning.

                   Let us breathe the
                   fragrance of born again;
                   let each slender limb,
                   stout body bear our
                   tenaciousness, each lyrical
                   leaf our life’s blood.

          Let us mollycoddle each
          precious tear that falls from a
          angry sky; dance gracefully
          upon the wind, embrace
          on moonless nights, bathe
           in summer madness.

                   Let us hear the bluebell call,
                   the daffodil pray, the apple
                   blossom bear witness; the
                   clamour of the field mouse
                   the pitapat of the butterfly
                   the silence of lovers in love.

             Let us be sanctuary to the
             symbolic songstress, scuttling
             squirrel, vulgar urchin;
             a fortress for the warrior
             a haven for the pacifist
             an inspiration for the poet!

 EPILOGUE 

                  The call of springtime
                   we will invoke,
                     logging representative
                      we will gladly choke;
                        nature’s guardian.
                          “This! Obliging old oak.”

Copyright Harry J Horsman 2000


        

         







Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2010


Details | Mouse Poem | |

This Is Jack

Yesterday I saw a very creepy mouse, Sneaking right through my front door, He was wearing tails and a top black hat And dragging a large suitcase too When he saw me, he run inside, And past me he sped so fast, Into the kitchen he went in, To a tiny hole, with suitcase and all I tried everything, to flushed him out, From the hole just as fast. I played him music extremely loud; And even called him on his cell phone So I ordered him some cheese pizza, Provolone and jack cheese by the pound, And placed it close, for him to come out and eat, But...he grabbed with him in a flash An email he sent me later on, In which this certain note,to me he wrote: "This's Jack,thank you,for giving me more food, Now I can stay with you, for another three years. Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 copyright@2005 October,19,2014

Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Lifeless Eyes of Ted Bundy

Lifeless were the eyes of infamous Ted Bundy
No remorse, all emotion had been doused
His gaze pierced my soul as I gave testimony
 
He maintained there’d been too much publicity
Four coeds attacked in a sorority house
Lifeless were the eyes of infamous Ted Bundy
 
This demon had the nerve to make a bogus plea
“Move my trial or there’ll be no justice,” he groused
His gaze pierced my soul as I gave testimony
 
To explain news coverage in Tallahassee
Reporters took the stand, court quiet as a mouse
Lifeless were the eyes of infamous Ted Bundy
 
I took the stand shaking, did not want him to see me
I was sweating so much, wet stains were on my blouse
His gaze pierced my soul as I gave testimony
 
It appeared his conscience was totally guilt-free
What kind of excuse could this death machine espouse
Lifeless were the eyes of infamous Ted Bundy
His gaze pierced my soul as I gave testimony 
 
*Entry for Catie’s “Villanelle Me” Contest
 
Note:  Serial Killer Ted Bundy successfully convinced the court he could not get a fair 
trial in Tallahassee because there had been too much pre-trial publicity surrounding 
his attacks on four Florida State University co-eds in their sorority house.  After 
Tallahassee reporters were required to testify, Bundy’s trial was moved to South 
Florida.  Bundy assaulted and murdered at least 30 young women, and possibly 
many more, in the states of Washington, Oregon, California, Utah, Idaho, Colorado, 
and Florida between 1974 and 1978. After more than a decade of denials he 
confessed to 30 homicides, but the true total remains unknown.

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Poor Peter Pumpkin

Poor Peter Pumpkin had a very itty bitty head.
So the farmer made him stay inside the garden bed.

The farmer said that he was going to keep him warm with hay.
And there the itty bitty pumpkin stayed for many a day.

Finally, the farmer came to check upon poor Peter,
measured him and then exclaimed, “You’ve grown an extra meter!

I think it’s time for you to finally go face the world.”
Peter got up from his bed. He twirled and twirled and twirled!

“Oh my,” the farmer shouted, “You’ve grown two legs with feet!
You’re a special pumpkin. My daughters you must meet!”

Poor Peter heaved his hefty bulk, waddling away,
following behind the farmer so he would not stray.

They traveled rather quickly, and soon they reached the house.
The daughters saw the pumpkin and grew quiet as a mouse.

The silence lasted just until at last one daughter spoke,
“A pumpkin with two legs? Is this some kind of joke?”

Her father knelt beside her and whispered in her ear,
“Do not be afraid, my child. You’ve not a thing to fear.

We can carve a lantern. It will be your Halloween treat.
Then we can make lots of pumpkin pies for us to eat.

Peter trembled and grew chill to hear their horrid plan.
Jumping out the door, he yelled, “Catch me if you can!”

He ran into the pastures. Then he tumbled down a hill.
As  he rolled he bumped into the couple, Jack and Jill!

“Oh dear me,” cried Peter, “I do not wish to be
a lantern for this Halloween. Please, can you both help me!”

Jack and Jill then led him to the land of Nursery Rhymes.
His sad fate has now been told to children many times.

For he ran across a guy named Peter Pumpkin EATER.
Maybe you can guess now what became of our poor Peter!


Written by Andrea Dietrich and Jan Allison, for the 
Halloween Co-Writes Poetry Contest of  Diane Locksley

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mouse Poem | |

What Lurks Within

What Lurks Within

I picture in my mind an old colonial room,
With a door to the garden where my flowers can bloom.
 
A window in the back to see the main house,
A leaky roof and the scurry of a mouse.

Mold on the floor and old bricks in the wall,
And a door in the back to the main kitchen hall.

A stack of hay to the left leading out the front door,
To the gravel path that wraps around to the front porch.

The smell of moisture in the air so damp and so cold,
I can get some water and try to scrub up the mold.

A mat by the door to clean off my boots,
I can get into the car to start my commute.

So much I can picture for this small place,
Nothing to hold back my imagination, but space.


-For Seren’s What Lurks Within Contest

Copyright © Donald Williams | Year Posted 2013


Details | Mouse Poem | |

ENGELBERT EFFLEFLUMP FOR DR SEUSS CONTEST

Engelbert Effleflump put on his disguise Climbed in his orcetector and rose in the skies For his mum hated flying and must never know That Engelbert’s job was in an aerial show Poor Engelbert hated deceiving his mother He’d go out of the house under cloud cover He’d loop the loop in pink polka dot skies Twirling in his orcetector each time he flies Over mountains of candy and lollipop trees Floating on green clouds and lemonade seas Only children knew his secret, they’d point with delight Look there goes Engelbert - he’ll be home by midnight! But disaster happened on one foggy day Poor Engelbert crashed at a flying display He was not badly injured - only his pride But how could he tell his mother he’d lied Unable to continue flying he told his mum of his work When she discovered his secret life, she went BERSERK She shook her gold furry arms high in the air Now confined to his room Engelbert did despair Engelbert begged and he pleaded, but she wouldn’t listen Tears formed in his orange eyes, oh how they did glisten That night he decided that he must simply be free Couldn’t live with his mother – how they did disagree Next morning he munched on his wigglerly grub Drank his foaming juice from the chocberry shrub He announced to his mother that he had a plan We would get a new job, become a delivery man Engelbert moved into a chocolate house He lives there with his purple pet mouse His new job lets him work at his own pace Delivering dreams to Effleflumps in outer space * an orcetector is a word that was made up by the little girl I used to be a private nanny to - she was just 2 years old and she couldn't say helicopter. Contest:- Children’s story Dr Seuss Style Sponsor:- Casarah Nance ~awarded 4th place~ 08~21~15

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mouse Poem | |

A Mouse Family's Christmas

It's Christmas Eve and through the house 
there creeps a curious little mouse.
He climbs into the big arm chair 
and finds the cookies waiting there .
He only takes the smallest bite.
Santa will find his treat tonight.

He gazes with wonder at the tree
and the bright wrapped gifts left there to be
a mystery tale to tell his spouse,
when he gets home, this curious mouse.
What an adventure it has been,
he has drunk of some spilled gin
that had been left upon the table.
His wife will think it is a fable
he has concocted to amuse  her.
She is homebound, we must excuse her.

He once came home all out of breath
to say he had been scared to death
by a huge rat with fluffy tail.
She noticed he was very pale.
"While I was nibbling off some cheese
to bring to you, my love, to please,
he almost had me in his paws.
I'm sure he wasn't Santa Claus".
But this night is so very quiet.
He spies some fruitcake, has to try it.
It reminds him of that sip of gin
and wonders if his head will spin.
He hears a noise, runs for his life,
carrying fruitcake for his wife.

Christmas morning, spread before their eyes
for the baby mice, a grand surprise.
Their mama had fixed a Christmas feast
from food their dad had saved from beast.
A bit of butter, a glob of jam
and a fairly good-sized piece of ham.
Bread crumbs saved from other forays.
They had enough to eat for days.
Those little mice would never waste it.
If they didn't like it, they'd still taste it.
This food their mama set before them,
their dad risked his life to get it for them.

11/22/14

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mouse Poem | |

PHEW WHAT'S THAT SMELL

A smell permeates through the house I’m convinced it must be house mouse I hunt high and then I hunt low But the source of the smell it won’t show I get down on my hands and my knees The dirt and the dust make me sneeze The pungent smell makes me feel sick Burn scented candles right down to the wick Now I have a sad look on my face The origin of the smell I can’t trace Get some cheese and lay it on a trap Wait for the jaws of the trap to go snap But the cheese remains where its put The jaws of the trap don’t snap shut Found hidden in the huge laundry box An old pair of my son’s cheesy socks! Smelly socks are confined to the bin Now I can say to my guests 'please come in'! 13th January 2015 Fictional write for Humor Contest!!! Sponsor Carol Eastman ~awarded 1st place~

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mouse Poem | |

A Visit From Santa Claus

It was Christmas Eve, not a soul made a sound,
And not so much as a mouse could be found,
The children had hung their stockings on the hearth,
As a quiet, peacefulness gently fell upon the Earth,
My family were all asleep, their heads full of dream,
Of Santa's arrival with his eight reindeer team,

Father in his nightcap, slept soundly in bed,
And Mother in her nightgown of green and red,
When all of a sudden I heard a commotion,
And jumped out of bed with a curious notion,
I ran to the window and pulled open the curtain,
I thought it must be Santa Claus for certain,

New fallen snow shone bright below the moon,
Giving the illusion of daylight in mid afternoon,
I looked out my open window despite the cold,
When a sight met my eyes, wondrous to behold,
A lively, old gentleman aboard a great sleigh,
With eight flying reindeer leading the way,

As quick as a bolt of lightning out of the sky,
He called to each one as they rocketed by,
"Now, Donner! Now, Vixen! Now, Dasher and Dancer,
On, Cupid! On, Blitzen! On, Comet and Prancer,
Leap up to the wall and onto the rooftop,
Dash away all and let us make our first stop!"

They flew through the air with much ease,
Like dry autumn leaves on a sudden breeze,
The reindeer landed so smooth and swift,
Along with Santa and a sleigh full of gifts,

I heard their hoofs pawing upon the shingle,
And joyful laughter from that old Kris Kringle,
I ran downstairs to catch a glimpse of his face,
Just as he came down, out of the fireplace,

He was cloaked in red with a fur trimmed suit,
And covered in soot from his hat to his boot,
A large sack full of presents he carried along,
He opened it up as he hummed a Christmas song,
With much merriment his blue eyes twinkled,
His face was joyful, and yet somewhat wrinkled,

His cheeks were blushed like the berries in holly,
His snow white beard was long and quite jolly,
From his pipe came out a great puff of smoke,
He began his work and not a word he spoke,
Santa Claus was tall, with a belly quite round,
And his laughter was a most glorious sound,

I looked on with glee as a smile crossed my face,
When he approached and gave me a warm embrace,
Then, Santa placed several gifts beneath our tree,
Something for the children, and Father, and me,

He filled the stockings with sugarplums and a toy,
Which I know will delight my little girl and boy,
The midnight hour on the mantel clock chimed,
He turned, then back up the chimney he climbed,

With a whistle he signaled for his reindeer to go,
And away they flew with a hearty, "Ho, ho, ho!,"
Before disappearing Santa exclaimed from his sleigh,
"To all a good night and a Happy Christmas Day!"



(repost)



Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse

Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
are painted on walls of green.
A maple crib stands in the corner.
It's a picture perfect scene.

There is only one thing missing
in this room so perfectly designed.
The baby was never to take a breath.
You have to wonder what God had in mind.

Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
live behind an ever closed door.
To look at the would-be parents
you couldn't tell who was grieving more.

Not all plans have happy endings;
some endings never seem to end.
How much sadness can two people take
before they break instead of bend.

Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
are painted on walls of green
in a room now shrouded in sadness
where no child will ever be seen.




~~~ 03/01/2013 ~~~
     Francine Roberts

Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2013


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Funny Onion

Out shopping met an old friend from school
he turns to me serious looking
what are you at these days 
Well says I
working for a China man
picking up crumbs 
for disabled birds
Those with broken wings
who are unable to fly smiling
to warmer sunnier climates

Whoa he sounded shocked
he said what a job
What's the money like 
he asked laughing out loud
I said less than peanuts
out all weathers 
Barely feed a mouse

God I am glad he said 
that I have bumped into you
saying you have just really cheered me up
What a man really needed
Peanuts I replied
He began laughing 
saying that I was a character
really brightened up his dull day
leaving all I heard was him laughing

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Twins Revenge

A. W. Nutter

Fog from my breath in the way
Temporarily impeding my vision
A small lamp, illuminates my prey
Unaware, of his impending execution

Rons wife, conveniently out of town
Visiting a sick relative, her perfect alibi
She must really despise this clown
I wonder if she kissed the fool goodbye

Staying in the shadows around the house
Dressed in black, invisible in the darkness
Entering their kitchen, quiet as a mouse
Through a window, left unlocked on purpose

From the first bedroom a child moans
Peering at the bed and the sleeping boy
The husband was supposed to be left alone
She'll pay dearly for this unexpected ploy

With the silencer in place I wake up Ron
He dresses quickly picking up his keys
Protesting will endanger his bastard son
He drives us deep into the forest of trees

Removing my mask he views his twin
Staring into the face of his supine form
Before he can protest I commit the sin
Then pray for God to help me reform

Burning the body along with the gun
Quickly driving home to start my new life
Showering, I slip into bed with my son
Real father and mother now husband and wife

Copyright © Anthony Nutter | Year Posted 2010


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Oh them hot air balloons

SOCIETY AND THE HOT AIR BALLOON

Them that need to climb
ride as the hot air balloon--
soon come down to earth


THE VIRTUAL HOT AIR BALLOON

Ride with the rainbow--
silent as the mouse cursor
across Google earth 


For SKAT hot air balloon contest.
    

Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2010


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Spoonerism Poetry: She's Too Titty

She’s too titty to be a preacher.
She can’t even bead a rook.
A rental deceptionist?  Maybe.
At my teeth she once look a took.

As a wean clerker, she’ll never do.
I once caught her nicking her pose.
She doesn’t even hash her wands.
And she chews the tails off her nose!

For this lad sass, I see joe knob.
No mouse or honey has she.
Her life has not one pun fart!
I’m glow sad I’m shot knee.

Written march 25, 2016 for the Contest of Roy Jerden

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016


Details | Mouse Poem | |

My Muse, I So Abuse

My Muse, I So Abuse

My muse crying loudly, please write this way
I replied laughing, that will be the day
She storms off in a most indignant huff
I shouting at her, damn isn't that tough?

No fear, she always runs as she returns 
she my heart so loves, as my mind she burns
I, that often sit on cold bed of stones
She, poetic judge that often breaks bones!

Dead of night she cuddles up to me near
utters words, sweet nothings and a cold fear
I inquire, but my heart you love so dear
She shouts, that was a folly from last year!

My muse and I play wicked cat and mouse
She may be the roof but I am the House!

Robert J. Lindley, 08-26- 2014

note: My muse is a vindictive little tramp
she makes me kneel humbly before she lights the lamp!

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mouse Poem | |

A Different Game

Friends and trouble go hand in hand.
Legends of the  neighborhood.
Like statues  and vacant buildings  still stand.

A crime in plain view no one ever saw.
Held hostage in fear.
The mouse sturggles to escape from 
cats claw.

Blood on the bricks  that stains my mind.
Time takes me away.
Yet never leaves the memory far behind.

Summers in the city nights run into days.
We turn are backs to the truth.
But in this game everyone plays.

Heros are villians  depending 
on who you are.
Stories told bout the other night.
Hidden truths  like the bat under the bar.

The players are future tombstones
Men glorified beyond there name.
the citys children caught within her  confines.
Forced to play a different  game.

 

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009


Details | Mouse Poem | |

You Say- I Say

You say things that are really mean
I say that I'm still pretty lean
You say I'm fat and that's unfounded
I say I'm not fat, just well rounded
You say my big waist makes me look like a clown
I say that's not my waist, my chest fell down
You say I should be able to touch my toes with ease
I say you're right, if they were on my knees
You say my socks don't match, I should be more discreet
I say it's not my fault, I can't see my feet
You say I'm too heavy for my height, that's what you state
I say you're wrong, I'm just too short for my weight
You say I should weigh one eighty, no more
I say I'm five ten, I should be six four
You say next Halloween I should dress up as a mouse
I say I'll wear a window and go there as a house
You say I should get more exercise and try to shed a pound
I say that when I sit around, I really sit around
You say at the theatre you were embarrassed and didn't know what to do
I say it was because you sat in seat number three while I sat in one and two
You say I thought you were watching your weight
I say I am, I'm watching it inflate
You say being with me doesn't seem the same anymore
I say I'm still the same, just a whole lot more
You say you'd call if I were thinner
I say just don't call me late for dinner
You say we should work out at the gym down the street
I say we should get up and go out to eat.


Please note! A waist is a terrible thing to mind.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2006


Details | Mouse Poem | |

I Am An Owl


I always hunt in dark of night
     With wings so quiet in my flight
It's hard to see me up in trees
     Since I am camouflaged with ease

My ears are placed in such a way
     I hear most sounds from far away
Large beak is hooked and sharp to tear
     But feathers cover it like hair

My eyes are large on my flat face
     But do not move, stay firm in place
To see, I turn my head with ease
     Two hundred seventy degrees

I hoot, hiss, scream and most times, screech
     To find a mate within my reach
Or let my competition know
     This is my space, and they must go

In trees, I wait for choicest prey
     Small mammals, birds, that come my way
Some days, on insects, I may dine
     Also, a fish from pond is fine

My talons are like raptor claws
     When prey appears, without a pause
I quickly fly from tree to ground
     And clench the bird or mouse I've found

My prey I often swallow whole
     Complete digestion is my goal
Whatever I cannot digest
     Comes up as pellets I express

And something you may think is cruel
     When raising owlets, it's the rule
To feed the best and largest first
     And so the weakest ones are cursed

A cannibal I can be too
     Eat smaller owls that I pursue
I never feel the slightest guilt;
     This is the way that I was built

Of owls, there are two hundred kinds
     We've been around since ancient times
From small to large, with raptor claws
     I think I came from dinosaurs.


Sandra M. Haight

~2nd Place~
Contest: Owls Personification Form
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Judged: 02/14/2016

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016


Details | Mouse Poem | |

The Duck That Lost His Quack

The Duck That Lost His Quack


A Duck woke up late one day last week,
And all he could do was to squeak.
He looked everywhere and listened to different things, 
Even heard sounds all around, from pings to zings.

For example, he tried many gates, stairs, and barn doors,
Then went and stepped on cracks in nearby creaky floors.
He visited several witches, doctors and some were both,
They prescribed everything from lemons to ginger troth.

In his travels, he came across a quaint woodshop, 
Being so tired, he sat down with a solid plop.
A carpenter saw that the Duck was so very sad, 
From behind the counter, he came to help the lad.

After hearing of the tale of a missing sound,
The carpenter leapt up with a double bound.
He said, “From within is where it comes, 
Not outside, as most would sum.”

“I have made many instruments for music, 
And what you need is something acoustic.”
He brought out a short board with a nail, 
Then attached several metal strings to a pail.

The carpenter said, “Play away and listen to the sounds in your head.”
The Duck strummed everything from Enya to the Grateful Dead.
After a fashion, the Duck was soon lost in the tunes,
And started to dance and sing like a midnight Lune.

Who knew that this Duck had a knack,
And in the middle of it all started to quack.
So you see, it’s not external to what you seek,
In many cases, its internal and who you meet.



Written by Michael Eastman, 8-25-2015,

This, after listening to Bubbles the Mouse speak,
And hearing a long story composed of squeaks.

Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mouse Poem | |

WEASEL

                                                    WEASEL

Tiny little weasel,
Sneaking `round the house,
Searching for a midnight snack,
A chick, a kit or mouse.

Crafty little rascal,
Scurries here and there,
Must find enough to feed the brood,
A bird, a pup or hare.

Nocturnal little scavenger,
Omnivorous opportunist,
Relentless once he spots his prey,
A formidable impugnist.

Cute little weasel,
Can be really sweet,
Cut the little guy some slack,
We all have got to eat.

                                   Judy Ball

(Just make sure your pets and live stock are protected.)

Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2011


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Night owl

 
 As the moon sang a lullaby
to a distant star
The creatures below to sleep did sink
Except for the owl,  who didn't sleep a wink

 " What time do you  have" asked the owl 
" It's a  quarter to nine"
Said the  tree with a scowl
" Thanks, I am going on  my hunting spree"  the owl replied
As he flew off into the night from  the old oak tree

  "Oh my,  I'm running late"  
exclaimed  the field mouse,
As he looked  at his watch
while hurrying  to  get to his house
It was then that the owl made his catch
as with his talons, the mouse he did snatch!
                           --- 
 12/11/12

Copyright © Joseph May | Year Posted 2012


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Bird Poop In My Eye

Looking up into the sky
a bird pooped in my eye
as it was flying overhead
causing me to see red

It was warm and soggy
making me feel queasy
I scurried into the house
like an upset little mouse

I headed for the kitchen sink
and got there in a blink
Using the faucet spout
I tried to flush it out

When it was expelled
it had a funny smell
and the sink water
had a dirty colour

So when a bird is flying overhead
keep your head down instead
Do not look up into the sky
or you may get poop in your eye


Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2013


Details | Mouse Poem | |

Tea Cup

                                                       I
                                                        AM
                                                         NOT
                                                       ONLY
                       A CUP FOR HOT TEA, I CAN BE ANYTHING YOU’   D
                         LIKE ME TO BE. YOU COULD FILL ME WITH         A
                            BOUQUET OF FLOWERS FROM YOUR CH          I
                             LD, OR MAYBE WITH SOME COFFEE  BE         I
                              T STRONG OR BE IT MILD. YOU  MIGH       T
                                EVEN WANT ME, TO DECORATE YOU     R        
                                  HOUSE, FILL ME UP WITH PENNIE     S
                                    OR HELP YOU CATCH A MOUSE.  I
                                      THINK THERE’S SOMETHING
                                           YOU SHOULD KNOW
                                               BEFORE YOU DO
          YOU SEE, IN ENGLAND I AM ONLY USED FOR THEIR BELOVED TEA.

Brenda Meier-Hans
2012

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014