Field Mouse Poems | Examples

MOUSE HOUSE

MOUSE HOUSE*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In my shoe, I found quite a sight,
a small mouse, with fur soft and light.
     He twitched and he squeaked,
     as I gasped and I freaked,
Then we both took off running in fright!

*This poem is written in memoriam and dedicated to the field mouse who mistakenly decided our garage would be a cool place to wait out summer's heat.

In my green field

Laying in the summer sun in a field of green grass 

In the distance a lake shimmering like a pain of clear glass 

Birds are singing their sweet songs in the bushes and trees 

And the soothing humming sound of the honey bees

The smell the wild flowers so pungent and delicious 

The scurrying of a field mouse carefree but still suspicious
 
Laying in a field of green grass the warm sunshine on my face 

Alone with my daydreaming away from the human race.

Autumn Faerie

October brought in pumpkins, but also Priscila, autumn faerie.
Adorned in tangerines, oranges, yellows, her mood bright and airy.
She did not make herself known to the humans in the house.
But she was spotted instantly by a cat, pig and field mouse.

How often do you come here? Asked the curious cat.
Every October, stated the mouse, who was the size of a rat
The pig stared at the beautiful faerie, no words were said.
He dreamed of her often, that love-sick sow, Ed.

Manifesto

Deprivation of my rights and freedom
Bodily autonomy, tossed out of 
a terrace window, seventy-third floor 

of a building in New York that touches
the same ground I walk on, yet reaches much
higher than I could ever imagine.

I scream to them, giant politicians, 
but the shadow of their business loafers
overhead      scare the sound from my pursed lips.

My individuality      exchanged
for a man’s practicality; it seems
as though they've had their fun     suppressing us

Toying with my consciousness like a cat
praying on a field mouse, so innocent.
They say: so innocent!      Could I be, too?

or shall I wear my curiosity
like a garment, like an oddity for
men to squint at, confine my mind and bones

to the idea that women shouldn’t 
bare the decision of what lives within;
     shackles on my reproductive organs

dig into my skin like the words they spew
from hot mouths, pouring into the laps of
women, alphabet soup spelling, “no more”.

Let us breathe in the possibility
of respect and dignity,     the promise
of true liberty and justice for all.  

     Far too powerful, they fear, women are.

COLD-KU

Idle nests linger
Fledgling feathers learn to fly
Angry winds scowl


The old bell shivers
Its tone muted in the cold
A fox perks its ears


A lost mitten weeps 
What am I going to be
A field mouse moves in


An icy moon
A symphony of shadows
Nature’s nocturne

when I was beautiful

When I was beautiful

A rose in bloom
a field mouse
Climbed my stem
fell asleep in the center
To inhale and sleep
in my fragrance.
The rave
had no sense of beauty
I was a lure
The struggle was short.
Self-indulgent
I kissed the sun
Nothing untoward
had happened
Summers are so short
To be a revolutionary.
The Rose Revolution
in Portugal ended 
now we have
social-democracy

Life Raft in Amber

When brother was fading away
black chimes signaled for the demons to play
They attacked all sides of the hobbled mind
Treating the heart like an orphaned marble
They were rabid and had brackish intention
hope chipped away like crowbar on cement.

In a dream one of them took me into its sky
I clung tight to its undercarriage
begging for it to release me
It promised that it would if I said
that I loved it...I relented
It didn't keep its promise as expected.

I coddled a little amber cross.... 
(a field mouse in an owl's greying claw).
I was dismissed into a pillow of tranquility
The demons slowly drifting away...
as did my brother the very next day.

God Controls Time

God Controls Time
Miracle Man 
8/20/2024

From high on it’s perch,
a patient hawk seeks it’s prey.
Also with each clock tick,
God is shortening man’s day 

It’s “survival of the fittest”
so a field mouse below.
Is on the menu for dinner,
And clock continues to flow

The titmouse isn’t aware,
That it soon will be sup.
The clock keeps man’s time
God decides when it’s up.

Surreality of Girlish Dreams

The girl and her smile straddle the rainbow
neon hair the fluid cascades of northern lights
seafoam cloak the ripples outgrown by the shore

she adores the breeze adorned with gems
emeralds fly from silk strings in the wind
kites made of ruby and sapphire and pearl
sit on a picnic checkerboard in envy-green grass
betting on play-dates with zephyrs
—dice cubes roll beady-black-eyes at their folly

she chases books as they sail from trees 
fingers stretch to net helter-skelter hummingbirds
she leafs through slices of fruitcake
each nutty page a silver frame of insane;
crows croon Crosby tunes
two baby paisley owls drive a car
the car does a hop-scotch down bourbon street
field-mouse-flowers meow 
the moon jumps over the cow
…she sings “the world needs more bumblebees!”
as a two-masted schooner scries water for its soul
the palm of a leaf offers a diamond ring
palm trees pull up anchor and hover the sunset 

she laughs as nuns ride upside-down the roller-coaster rim
her dreamcatchers sticky and tricky as spiderwebs
as virgins lose the reins of sugar-cookie-horses
tilling confetti seeds growing puppet gardens 
where Dali wombs and peacock plumes bloom

Buzzard Gets His Lunch

teeny tiny field mouse did not have a chance there
eagle-eyed red headed buzzard spotted him from the air
swooped down, then took mouse up to fifteen thousand feet
making him into a squirming wiggly tasty treat

Expansions

The sweeping stops
the world cuts its own grass
feeds itself with the living
while the dead grow trees and turf.

You notice things,
the eyes of your eyes are open lattice windows,
shutters taking pictures;
making those images move.

Suddenly, as quite as a field mouse
the view you are watching
becomes just watching.
Only then do you recognize
this ever expanding life of all who move
through you.

Employing the Wind

Employing the Wind

The red-tailed hawk sails across
the backdrop of the April blue sky
Employing the wind as he defies gravity
with the gesture of his tail and ease of his conscience
His great wings reaching out for abundance
as he scans the ocean of green grass below
with its occasional island of trees
herded together many seasons ago 
from the might of the farmer’s plow
The field mouse scurries across the pasture
circumventing the patchwork of cow patties.  
Employing the wind as he gages his path 
with the twitch of his nose and the whip of his tail
His tiny soundless feet carrying him into the abyss
With nothing to assure him but his own intentions.

Jump On Back of This Porcupine

Pixie’s favorite steed is a porcupine.
I thought this was an exaggeration, some kind of line.
Surely that is not true, don’t they have prickly quills?
If you get them young, they will give you thrills.
I took a look at the porcupine and I laughed like a louse.
Pixie's porcupine was actually a regular field mouse.

You mean it is fun to be galloping on a porcupine?
Oh, yes, and you can bring your sandwiches and dine.
You will have a fine time, a really fine time, cousin of mine.
Just jump on the back of this porcupine!
I commented on how soft the porcupine was to the Pixie.
But my muse and I secretly laughed; her name is Trixie.

Scary Easter Egg

Painted Easter greetings miraculously appeared on a giant egg
In the middle of a field, the story goes from my cousin Meg.
The scarecrow was frightened, he hid his face from the anomaly.
We were all scared agreed a field mouse. Not me said a flea.

No one can see you, so it’s not like you were in danger anyway.
This was stated by a caterpillar, who is prickly almost every day.
I saw the flea said the rabbit who was finishing up the sign.
He was not bothering anyone, and now he is a friend of mine.

The Buz

In the low pasture
cowbirds are picking over humming cow pats.

In the high sheepfold
lambs are dropping small round blueberries
that are really not blueberries
and the whirring beetles know it.

Black fly are in the barn swarming
over the hissing horse hay.

A field mouse said to a stiff-necked tortoise:

"Reminds me of my vacation in the dry Tortugas,"

which all gathered there knew was bull crap
but it did raise a sort of fizzing laughter
from the ever feeding insects.

Over the busy farm
an arid painted rainbow buzzed on.

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