Best Gerbil Poems | Poetry
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New Gerbil Poems
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Ode to my Gerbil
by McDermott, Susan
ode to a gerbil
by Bien, Jo
Life As A Gerbil
by WordSlinger, John E
The Runaway Gerbil
by Lee, Anne-Marie
View all new Gerbil Poems
The Best Gerbil Poems
Rodents can be loquacious
That includes your average gerbil
They love to prattle, chat and blather
They really are quite verbal
Hamsters are talkative too
Just as garrulous as can be
With running mouth and wheel to match
They are a sight to see
But I am loath to squander words
Sparing usage is my way
I gather them like so many acorns
Against a rainy day
Yes, word collecting is the passion
Of this precocious squirrel
I garner adjectives, verbs and nouns
Be they singular or plural
The park is fecund land
There a plethora may be found
Vociferous, vehement and vex
I lately scooped up off the ground
The verb tree is prolific
Its discovery quite a boon
The other day it bestowed upon me
Flaunt, foster and festoon
All along the sidewalks
Concrete nouns lie strewn about
How blithely I did snatch up
A lummox, a laggard and a lout
To command a better view
I nimbly scampered up a pole
From this lofty perch I spotted
Wheedle, coax and cajole
Away in the distance
I spied a tempting pile
Heaped up for the taking were
Enticing, alluring and beguile
What do I with so much verbiage?
You would be fair to ask
Squirreling away so vast a lexicon
Must prove a mammoth task
The answer lies in my arboreal abode
Where these many words I stash
In alphabetical order they are arrayed
From zealous to abash
In a capricious mood one day
I grouped them by part of speech
Such a cacophony arose from clustering
Banter, badger and beseech
No matter how I sort them
The wasting of words I spurn
Reserved for rarest use I keep
Reticent, laconic and taciturn!
by Brian McClain - Feb 17, 2016
Originally posted Feb 17, 2016
Accidentally deleted Feb 22, 2016
Reposted Feb 22, 2016
Copyright © Brian McClain | Year Posted 2016
This is a story of sharing. This is a story of caring for one another and placing other's needs above our own.
Once upon a time there were two gerbils in a gerbil cage. One gerbil said to the other gerbil, “Hey, wanna go for a stroll on the wheel?”
The other gerbil replied merrily, “Nah. You go first because you haven’t run for quite a while.”
The first gerbil hopped on the wheel and began to run and run and run until he couldn’t run any more. He even became dizzy and almost fell off the wheel. He was so excited to get some good old fashioned rodent exercise, but he just didn't know when enough was enough. Finally he hopped off the wheel and took a rest for a while.
Soon after that the owner of the gerbils came over and said, “HI! “
“How are you two fellas doing in there today?” said the owner with a happy grin.
The two gerbils looked up at him and decided to run on the wheel again just to say thanks to the young boy for taking such good care of them.
The second gerbil hopped up on the wheel first and then after two minutes decided to take a break. Then the first gerbil began to jog merrily on the wheel again. It was like gerbil heaven in the cage and the two friends continued to take turns all throughout the day. They even helped each other take turns at the water container too.
The young boy who owned the gerbils wondered what it was like to be a gerbil as he sat there most of the afternoon. He wondered if he could survive all cooped up in a glass cage too.
There is a moral to this story. There really is!
The moral is you never know what you are getting yourself into when you live in a gerbil cage.
The second moral is that even in the smallest environments you can learn to live in harmony with one another and peace can prevail. It takes effort and it takes a BIG HEART too!
Copyright © Gwendolen Song | Year Posted 2015
I’m scum, I know, I am an ***
I knew through cardboard you could pass
You chewed and chewed a great big hole,
I wish I knew you had a soul
You ran and laughed, but what you saw
It stomped you flat, it was a paw
That cat, he smirked and ate you raw
He stuffed you in his great big maw
My dear sweet babe, I won’t forget,
Your tiny life and what you met
The fault is mine, and I must pay,
Though when and how, I cannot say
The day will come, my life’s all done,
Until that time I’ll have no fun
Copyright © Susan McDermott | Year Posted 2016
The following poem is based on a true story
We were sitting down one evening when the phone began to ring,
“Hello mum,” said Father, “Can I help with anything?”
Grandmother then answered, “There’s a gerbil in my house!”
“Do you really mean a gerbil? Don’t you mean a mouse?”
“I’m certain it’s a gerbil,” My grandmother defended,
“And the fact you think I’d get that wrong makes me feel offended.”
“I’m sorry, but a gerbil? Are you really sure?”
“Yes I am. It must be one of those they’ve got next door.”
“We’re on our way.” Said my Dad and then hung up the phone,
And then within the hour we were at Grandmother’s home.
“Ok Mum, please tell me, just what did you see?”
“It came out from the kitchen and went under the TV.”
Dad went in a cupboard and then took out a trap,
Set it with some chocolate and waited for the “Snap!”,
It only took a moment, and what do you suppose?
A great big rat staggered out, the trap caught on its nose!
Dad chased it to the garden and gave it quite a whack,
“It’s ok Mum, that gerbil is never coming back”,
“Thank you Son, you know that I’d have struggled doing that,
But it could have been so much worse. It could have been a rat!”
Copyright © Sharon Smith | Year Posted 2012
little gerbil in a cage
running your wheel but full of rage
hate being locked up all the day
waiting for your big escape
wondering what it would be like to play
in the heat of the sun's rays
Copyright © Jo Bien | Year Posted 2009
THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS...
WE HAVE MINI SANTAS!!!!!
'Twas the night before
Christmas, and all through
Nothing was stirring, just
the gerbil and mouse.
Then I heard a tapping
upon my front door,
Just a gentle rat-tat and
then nothing more.
I opened the door and
saw no one there,
Then a small piping voice
called: 'Oi, you up there.'
I looked down and got a
Lots of miniature Santas
appeared to my eyes,
They were all so alike
that they could have been
There was just no way to
tell one from the others.
Along with them came the
most peculiar machine,
Like a big television with
no case and no screen.
As I stood there goggling,
they said: 'You're not
We really are Santas, It's
just that we've shrunk.
'To help with the work at
this time of the year,
We invented a machine,
the one you see here.
'It multiplies Santas, that's
quite plain to see,
But we all came out tiny,
at just two foot three.'
I sighed and I told them:
'Just bring the thing here,
Though I've already started
on my Christmas beer.'
I opened the device, got a
shock and a blister
But finally traced the dodgy
I plugged the thing in, and
then switched on the power,
It flashed for a minute (it
seemed like an hour).
The first Santa shouted:
'Let's have some quiet.
We need a brave Santa
who's willing to try it.
'If it wasn't a good and
We can all get a job
driving for Scalextric.'
Santa popped in through
And a six-foot-three Santa
appeared on the floor.
At this they all queued up,
this Santa-ish horde,
They just couldn't wait to
be fully restored.
The last one went through,
and I asked: 'Is that all?'
And unplugged the box
from the socket on the
Though I hated to do it, I
asked: 'But who will?
Be helping me settle my
They said: 'In view of the
help that you've been,
We'd like you to keep the
So I did, and when I ran
a bit short of cash.
I reproduced fivers, as
quick as a flash.
Copyright © Darryl Ashton | Year Posted 2015
As a baby, love comes in soft and simple ways
A warm bottle, a hug, fresh sheet on which she lays.
The toddler, she matures, begins to fill her days
Walking so she can grab the toys with which she plays.
By five our sweetheart is eager to face school ways
The gerbil in her class never ceased to amaze.
At puberty, she's in that "I-know-it-all" phase
Any attempt at advice brings a zombie gaze.
When graduate is on her own at last all pays
She becomes a friend you happened to help to raise.
One day she'll say the thing that sets your heart ablaze:
"You're gonna be a grandma," -- one who's earned her praise!
Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2017
In 1985, we had three daughters.
They were 5, 10, and 11.
So life was fun, of course.
Each daughter had a gerbil.
Flopsy, Crumbone and Taylor.
Don’t ask me which is which.
They are rodents.
I broke my leg on a Thursday.
In 5 places, trying to ride a bike to the day care
Center to pick up the 5-year- old because my
Husband had the car, and the police will come
Pick up the 5-year-olds who are left after 6.
This is California, where everything is weird.
My mom who had never flown on a plane,
Flew out wearing wings pinned to her bosom
It’s a wonder I wasn’t already dead.
I was expecting that actually.
By evening she had fought the dogs
For their cooking pans full of water.
These dog-food pans were soon sterilized and
cooking spaghetti. And there was garlic
bread too, hot, piping, out of
an oven or something.
My daughters were astounded.
They thought food came from
Styrofoam with restaurant
Names on it.
On Tuesday Mom was doing the 18,482
Pieces of laundry we had used the week
Before, and she said, “Caren, come over
Here.” I hobbled over on my crutches,
Which was not easy.
“I think a guinea pig is dead,” she whispered.
I poked it with a hoe. It did not move.
I poked it with a broom.
We have to announce this
Delicately, my mother said in
Hushed tones of reverence.
We did not mention it during breakfast.
We did not mention it during lunch.
My mother kept looking at me expectantly.
By supper time after yelling for the three
Girls to come downstairs, and being ignored
I lost it and yelled, “A GUINEA PIG IS DEAD!”
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
Wailing and keening began.
“That was subtle,” my mother told me.
Yes, it was.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
She is long, lean and very much into exercise
In body building contests, she always takes top prize
Now she is training for a Triathalon
Her mother coaches her from her car eating Bon Bons
She tells her it takes self discipline to succeed
As she is rolling up a joint from her dime bag of weed
She says you can accomplish anything you wanna
She is close to being my girl, my very own Anna Conda
I am usually sitting at her house watching her pet Gerbil
She runs my life, when she's not there, I really get verbal
I tell her Gerbil, Gertrude if you don't like it, then get out
I feel brave with Gertrude, so I really get loud
This has me thinking do I love her or her dominant ways
Sometimes I don't see her for days
So I call her sister for some support, her name is Rhonda
She tells me we better not talk, I don't wanna feel the wraith of Anna Conda
I tell her I am not afraid of her
Besides, she is busy at Shoney's Buffet feeding her mother
So Rhonda and I get together for some sneaky fun
I threaten Gertrude, you better not tell her what we've done
I am true American, I can't tolerate Commie Hoes like Jane Fonda
When will I be loved by Anna Conda
The phone rings, I am disappointed, it's only a bill collector
I didn't understand a word, but I did catch his name, he goes by Hector
So another a person who speaks English, tells me she is 3 months behind on her Honda
I tell the person, I dare you to come and get it, that's a direct quote from Anna Conda
Three days later the car is gone
She kicked my butt from Dusk til Dawn
Now I have a new love, her name is Vonda
The nightmares are still there, the virtual hauntings from Anna Conda
Copyright © Eugene Carmen | Year Posted 2008
Insomnia isn't what this is...body feels the antithesis
too many synapses tap dancing late
A recital of thoughts that wont disapate
Body idle despite the cranium cartwheels--The heart feels ..
much like a gerbil wheel spinning
tireless night, patience is thinning
In the dark, there's no repression for forced out thought
Losing ten counts in bruising mind bouts
No preoccupation to mask this.... basque this in brighter shine
this is the jail-cell of night...
With my past trangressions in sight, I lay here reflecting
REM rejecting...as if everything's not alright
Lunar-revelation is my one-on-none time....
Nights like these
make me spiteful
to morning birds that wake me
Copyright © Steve Voorhees | Year Posted 2009
When I enacted the interaxle differential
Would I be abreacted out of my whimsical lull?
Oh the futile gerbil spin-to regain traction again
Have I lost my mind or my sole admirer?
Does the road truly unwind or do I merely
dance a jig atop the funeral pyre?
When I searched the land scrape
smashing protons with a wedge
Am I still perched teetering on the edge
of my precarious ledge?
Oh the creaking knees-Charlie's horse
crys for menthol please
Have I tossed in my beret
to my inquisitive inquisition peers?
When on the frozen tundra slab I lay
I can finally say I abolish my fears
When I nearly fainted searching
for The Living Lord
Should I continue with painted fringes
or pull the reins from loping
totally off my gord?
Oh to be Tai Chi Chuan grounded
or molehills mounded
lending only to dumbfounded
Have I counted the cost
wrestling with the princes of Persia?
Son of Man has found that which was lost
yet I still flounder attempting to thrash
3-20-2017 Duncan R. M. Ferguson
Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2017
Energized by light
run with power
The opponents become pawns on a grid
A universal world in our imaginations
Spinning at the speed of light
Not a gerbil running on it's wheel
Made by a creator
Which one day will self destruct
Vanishing among a sea of stars
An eclipse of a moon
One like no other
after walking out of the game alive
Trying to make it back home
before you hear the final
Copyright © Michelle McDermin | Year Posted 2011
There was a hole in your cage
And out ran you
Head held high and laughing
Like a gerbil would do
You hid behind the dryer
And maybe slept a few
And had a merry time
Thinking we couldn't catch you
You grazed on paper
And snacked on the lint
All the while we were wondering
Where the heck you went
But there you sat
After a bout of being free
No more running and hiding
You said catch me
Put me back in my cage
Shut the door tight
Fix that hole in my roof
And, watch out, I bite!
Copyright © Anne-Marie Lee | Year Posted 2008
as a child
the amazement with little things,
the wrapper on the present,
(instead of the present itself)
shiny objects & furry fuzzies,
all brought with them an
enjoyment which couldn’t be held onto---
crumbling brittle &
swiftly falling through the hands with the
grains of sand.
the passing years allowed for
a new notion to be instilled within by those without
(for the child themself
is not to blame)---
like a hypodermic needle being driven into the
the already-corrupted who have
succumb to the environment of dog-eat-dog
which western “civilization” demands,
watch quietly with mr. smithers-ish sneers
as that same once simple child
is raped of their wonder,
strapped into the seat of eternal labor-for-the-sake &
beat into submission,
running like a cartoon cop with a stick protruding out in from of them
(with donut swinging from a string),
they learn quickly that
what matters, is not the development of a better self
(whose own progress inside can
benefit those around them through mutual
conversation & communication),
but instead is the accumulation of
these things to be acquired
differ much from those things that could bring smiles for
hours when the individual was young,
as they are not meant for enjoyment
are needed to assert an achieved sense of worth
as defined through those who have already
given up every other option
which might have existed
prior to becoming material addicts.
the accumulant needs more things
so that those around them will respect what
s/he has done with their brief life,
because this is how respect is gained in the strip mall
we call america
after the accumulant has begun to gain enough things
so as to be coveted by one who has
they need to spend time & money gaining
security, so as to protect those things
from being taken by others who
have not played their cards in a manner
best suited for the capitalist gang bang,
as the accumulant has done.
the accumulant shows no further signs of being human,
but instead has become a gerbil
who must continue running on the wheel
in order to produce work for the system that will give them
with these things
a tower of excrement
symbolizing a life of
building & building
(according to “the way that it has always been”)
has been constructed---
as long as the gerbil continues to run
the tower continues to grow &
security around its base
continues to be strengthened,
until that day when the gerbil can no longer
the tower is ransacked,
Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2011
Two black eyes
Peep out of the bedding
A quivering nose
And not much more
A tail as thick
As a bit of string
It is a gerbil
Is it not?
Two blue eyes
Look into my bedding
Arms and legs
And a good deed more
Clumsy and huge
I wonder why
It grows so slow
And grows so high
It is a person
Is it not?
Copyright © 2017 Diane Cassels
Copyright © Diane cassels | Year Posted 2017
The gerbil is not food
She doesn't like you
You pounce and prey upon my friend
The gerbil is not food
You paw at her, but she will bite
Your claws will never hold her tight
The gerbil is not food
She doesn't like you
Copyright © Katelyn Crouch | Year Posted 2016
I would like to thank you for your visit.
I have removed these poems for a distant future book publication.
I believe we poets, can make a difference
in this world. We live in the 21st century,
we have tools( technology), we have our past, and imagination.
We just don't have the courage, because
I guess most are afraid to fail, to loose money.
All I have to say is we can't take money with us,
when we die. I also say hasn't mankind failed enough,
and isn't mankind worth the effort, our children is worth the effort..
Thank you, and my your God Bless you
John E WordSlinger
Copyright © John E WordSlinger | Year Posted 2009
Recollections of a Pekingese
Remembering she loved me so.
Alone and frightened in that shop,
Hidden like a gerbil, laying low.
While wishing someone kind would stop.
I barked and yapped when she came near.
Because I knew she'd loved me so.
With sparkle eyes, she held me dear.
And took me home where I did grow.
Protecting her when we would go.
While in her lap, I’d bark and yap.
We lived because she loved me so.
And thus it was ‘til death did tap.
I watch from heaven up above.
And shield her from life’s dreadful woe,
Two spirits fitting like one glove.
Remembering she loved me so.
© Dane Smith-Johnsen
April 18, 2010
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2010
In My Brain
Here comes the cat
He's chasing a rat
Followed by the dog
Who is playing with a frog
Then my hamster went by
With a huge apple pie
The my gerbil appeared
He had grown him a beard
Well my budgie he cheered
Now if you think this is weird
Well my pigs disappeared
All in all it's insane
Because it's all in my brain
Some people work hard all of their life
Missing time with children, husband or wife
Earning money their only goal
Missing from family their heart and soul
The children grow they miss so much
The wife or husband miss their touch
They think chasing money is really cool
Till they find they've been a busy fool
When they look back at what they did miss
Money can never make up for this
So stop chasing money hoarding a stash
When all around you is worth more than cash
What would we do if peace should arrive?
Would we help the weak to thrive?
Once the weapons of war have been disarmed
By peace will we all be charmed?
Our will we only throw it away?
Well what do you reckon what do you say?
The light rain that they forecast
Is here it has reached us at last
They said light rain that was a lie
I'll tell you the reason why
It's pouring and I mean lashing down
Lovely weather for ducks makes me frown
It’s banging on the window it wants to get in
So much for the forecasters they really cannot win
So I'm going to grab a pinecone off the ground
Open for sun closed for rain it will be sound
Rhyme Of A Dream
He was sitting in a yellow corner
His name wasn't even Jack Horner
They wanted him to climb up a hill
Again His name wasn't Jack and there was no Jill
They wanted him to move the cows in the corn
Yet his name is not boy blue and he had no horn
This nursery rhyme of a dream
So confusing it did seem
Now he awakes and behold
In a yellow corner with his Jill with a golden horn to hold
Copyright © Owen Yeates | Year Posted 2017
pays to be me,in defeat,do you scream.lean, plaeser,a hellbent
ceaser,weezer,the band,my biggest fan.so?who are they/they repay from
scratch,did it catch?where are they?doing it/when?where/give in,care.see the
lights,fantastic,creme de creme,me agnastic.wastic,pretty boy,give it up,give to
loins.foil man,where's the gerbil?
Copyright © chris bowen | Year Posted 2006
What If Destiny...
Deeded Mine Singular Default Mode To...
strictly and hypothetically)
merely allowing me to burble
essentially rendering, limiting,
and fixing me tubby nonverbal,
where frustration ensued -
inducing passivity, asper myself
shrugging shoulders in resignation
**** sitter ring thy fate
nsync with that of a gerbil?
Thus codifying, con
fining, and consigning
stricture to a sorry lot
perhaps finding me
Gus of ergot,
which organism at least participates
in a pro active life cycle,
though one may say,
said organism doth rot.
Now...all Joe King aside,
an attempt will be made tried
though daunted to cogitate beside
Ritch ching deep inside
and remain on - ride
ding the straight and true
so please dont chide
restricting me to bide
with guise of seriousness,
when aye decide
did to complete on
par tragedy thalidomide
wrought, yet this poem, though belied
and bedeviled pondering
how Yukon not induce tongue re:
totally tubularly restrained,
sans tubby unable to talk
plus afflicted with autism,
did through extreme effort
to feign being denied
critical skill to chat
with a snap allied
(NOT with van knit tee),
but dead seriousness try
ying with futility hypothetically
impossible to imagine tubby
accursed without means to speak
compounded by autism,
an immeasurable frustration
must mount inside,
viz unfortunate behavioral demeanor,
nonetheless I cried
inside when the limp deceased body of
six year old
Maddox Ritch – already died,
drowned mainly supposedly,
when dashing ahead,
he didst play hide
with his father (Ian Ritch),
while the special needs child
(unknowingly) both spent
final hours together
bonding at Rankin
Lake Park in Gastonia
within North Carolina.
Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018