Long Mice Poems
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Located in the country town of Ennis, in the Banner County of Clare
Is the ivy clad Old Ground Hotel, and to enter mice wouldn't dare
Because OG is in residence, who wears a fur coat and has green eyes
And the last little mouse to try his luck there, was taken by surprise.
T'was one cold December night, that this mouse decided that he'd raid
And wasn't until he was in the dining room, realised the error that he'd made
He'd heard a loud hiss and seized with terror, ran all the way to Poets Bar
But he was certainly no match for OG's speed, and alas didn't get very far.
OG put out a statement, via the press office at the Old Ground Hotel
To all the mice in Ennis I'm warning you, stay away and all will be well
I move like a bullet at lighting speed and prisoners I will never take
If you come within one mile of here, you'd better organise your wake.
Word quickly spread in the mousey world, the Old Ground is out of bounds
Because faithful OG is forever vigilant, he's always patrolling the grounds
So if you want a mouse free stay, then I recommend the Old Ground Hotel
And for you it will be like paradise and for our mousey friends living hell.
He will welcome you when purring, as if to say "what have you got a for me"?
But don't fall for for his tricks, because he's treated well with caviar and brie
We have adopted him as our mascot for our family reunion in twenty three
And we all can't wait to meet that friendly feline, that cute bundle they call OG.
written on 26th October 2022
Little Bo Peep her head full of soft cotton wool
Lost sheep! No wonder. She thinks her ram is a bull
Over the hills and far far away
forever these sheep are astray
whilst their little plump bellies remain, delightedly full
There once was a sweetheart with title of Cinderella
Met a desperate and randy old fella
In her carriage she fled
prefer he stayed out of her bed
If she has to she'll hide way down in the cellar
Hickory Dickory Dock a big electric clock
shorted out, three mice endured a shock
The farmers wife's knife very blunt
Kept their tails laughed at her stunt
Will they run up again they'll immediately now take stock
There was a tarantula spider well known as Incy or Ipsy
Hotel every Friday always came tottering home very tipsy
His dwelling is named the Web Inn
When drunk renamed Wobble In
Constructed inside a web that's attractive and wispy
Humpty Dumpty he sat on a ten metre wall
Such a conceited big head he was due for a fall
Suddenly bricks took a tumble
Humpty now atop this big jumble
Come stick me together that was his desperate call
Jack an invitation to step sister Jill
Together lets go sliding down this long hill
Jill ripped her pants
can't wear them to dance
But the sliding together gave them a wonderful thrill
Little Miss Muffet sat perched on her tuffet
The porridge too hot to eat she said stuff it
Through her guts went the curds
passed out now as turds
She then arrived to eat some fruit at a buffet
Little Jack Horner still remains in the same corner
For many years an inveterate mourner
Once pulled out the plum
That injured his bum
Decided it's time to cheer himself up so dived inside a hot sauna
(to Mittens)
Schrödinger’s Cat is where it’s at,
nor live, nor dead, nor purring.
With half a chance she’ll live to prance
the worst may be occurring.
There must be something I can do
that Nature says is not taboo
to rescue this poor Russian Blue.
But if I’d look I’d lock her fate.
Dare I disturb her quantum state
when spooky action at-a-distance
could conclude poor cat’s existence?
Somehow unseen I need to see
behind that curious curtain,
where “God plays dice” with cats and mice,
where Heisenberg was uncertain.
Where large meets small, and cause effect,
where fact finds science fiction …
It boggles my small intellect,
each way I think of to protect
her has some contradiction.
Where simple seeming Maxwell’s Demon,
if programmed to assist …
To no avail, he’s doomed to fail,
he clearly can’t exist.
Where mighty minds have failed before,
what chance have I to best Niels Bohr?
Poor Einstein nearly fried his noggin
when he tried at Copenhagen.
Then, at the Solvay Congress, rambling,
suffered his cerebrum’s scrambling.
Each clever loophole that he “found”
failed, for Bohr shot each one down.
Where the world’s four known forces and all its best minds,
couldn’t save kitty lest they Unified.
So, he tried and he tried, and he tried and he tried,
still, we weren’t Unified on the day Einstein died.
Then followed footsteps, Steven Hawking.
Though he didn’t do much walking,
wowed us with his brilliant squawking:
“Black holes have “hair?!”
Could information
in pairs of virtual creation,
entangled but with separation
by a great wall of gravitation
as “hairs” of “Hawking Radiation,”
repair in Grand Unification
to spare this long-hair’s ruination?
Might yet unwritten cosmic laws
apply behind those blurry walls
to spare her furry feline paws?
I can’t remember if I cried
when I read that Steven Hawking died.
Such sadness touched me deep inside,
still, we were not Unified.
So, confidence I can’t exude.
The only thing I can conclude:
Alas, I lack ability
to tinker probability.
But I will give you even odds that all our odds are even.
This odd result results because we’ve mixed our rhymes with reason.
So be it odd to play at God … by God there’s a solution!
I have free will and will by God will out her execution.
So, by stroke of this pen I do decree:
This story ends here. Happily!
Motionless
It looked such a sorry sight
Standing in the shed
Covered in rust and dust
With just a trace of red
A vibrant red with a flash of black
Across the outside door
No sign of this embellishment
As the car sinks into the floor of the shed
A car that has lost its glory
Stands motionless and dead
This old car was my pride and joy
Many moons ago
It's going to be a wrench
To see this vehicle go
Even though the seats are worn
As are the tyres, gears and brakes
When the engine is turned on
A dreadful noise it makes
Smoke billows everywhere
The muffler has snuffed it
Mice have made their home in there
Which they must soon all exit
Broken windscreen, windows scratched
Doors all buckled and dented
Tattered stickers on the car
Air freshener that once was scented
I suppose it's true or so it's said
Everything has its day
This was my thinking
As the car was towed away
To the wreckers. a graveyard for most
One wonders if those worn-out cars
Become angels or ghosts
I rock in this outdoor cheap chair
Its cushion foam like ice cream
Half-eaten by the winter mice in storage
I don’t mind
Don’t need a full seat to see before me
The drop off on Torch Lake
Its fine line drawn between sky and space
So turquoise on one side black and blue on the other
Top to bottomless cliff
A mere step to reach one side from the other
If I dare walk on water
Wind carves the lake into slices of pie
Pulpy blueberry squeezes out the sides
Dragonflies bob in lilac updrafts
Broke open moments ago from their crawling lakeshore nymphs
Split open on the rocks
Their brittle wings snap in the wind
Snacks uncrinkling to a Kingfisher’s snatches
Fate born that way is hard to take
Of course many of these spindles escape to the flowers and meadows
But not all
I stand up
Boy to Dad to Grandpa
When did this happen? To survive this long?
To still hunger these many wonders?
To grow to know I am no more important
Then this oozing lake
Divided
And Memorial Day wind colliding with dragonflies and Kingfishers.
[Him]
When desert heat has burned my feet, I’ll reach you on my knees,
And if it would impress you I’d swing naked through the trees,
I’d paint myself with honey and I’d swim a sea of bees,
I’d do these things and more because it’s you I aim to please.
[Her] So… that’s it…… is it?
[Him]
Should the space between us be a thousand miles of ice,
I’d cross that wasteland even if my sled was pulled by mice,
And if a polar bear was there then I would stand and fight,
For you are my fair maiden and I am your fearless knight.
[Her] And then what?
[Him]
If I could I’d drag a trampoline way-up to the moon,
I’d bounce high in the lunar sky if it would make you swoon,
I’d reach up and I’d grab the sun and make for you a ring,
And if you should accept it then my heart a song would sing.
[Her] Anything else?
[Him]
My journey back to earth would be by heart shaped parachute,
I know it’s slightly passé but it’s also kinda cute,
I would sprinkle sparkles from the pouch fixed to my belt,
And in the sky they’d spell out why I felt the way I felt.
[Her] And you would do all of this… why exactly?
[Him]
You are my life, my heartbeat, my true purpose and my being,
And every star however far and all the stars I’m seeing,
I would gather every one that I could ever carry,
And I’d go back to gather even more if you said we could marry.
[Her] So…… are you quite done?
[Him]
There is one tiny thing I ask; a marriage contract rider,
If ever there should be one, would you save me from a spider,
Were I to count the stars above, how pointless that would be,
For if you deal with spiders, you’re the only star for me.
…
…
…
[Her] Wimp!
…
…
…
…
[Her] WIMP!
In a world less ordinary
would the stars still shine,
milk and honey drip from the vine?
would clouds appear and drift on by,
give break to azure from the sky?
Would sea spray ruffle linen dress,
send children reeling, soaking wet,
let lovers kiss and holding hands,
touch their hearts and see the land.
This old and ordinary place
a palace grand
a special grace.
The stars of men
they do not shine
those pale reflections
lost with time.
All the acts that men can do
need night to cover, the sooty hue
even night cannot erase
the peal of siren
copper chase.
Villains Hyde like,
Jekyll's heirs
lounge in leather
easy chairs
Stroking salve into their wounds
make up artists
paint cartoons
faces plastered, stretched,
pulled back
mask the fissures
time did track
like rows for seeds
love and care
iced over smooth
no growth is theirs
What eternal patience waits
to trap the mice
from out this place
to sweep the dust from under rug
release the waters
bring back the flood
to wash it clean
this palace floor
refit for life
and love
and more.
Somewhere on this pretty planet,
There is a heart made of granite,
Indignation its pulse would take,
The soul’s machine fear'd trust too fake.
On righteous wings glory’s noose,
Hangs the head of war’s best muse,
Her eyes befit the worst of times,
The look, the stare defies all rhymes.
Reaching into forgotten tales,
History chose armored males,
Dusty tomes on hidden shelves,
Books in tongues for tiny elves.
Here’s to He who broke the bread,
A promise too many came instead,
Land so fertile flowers swooned,
Food to heal the people’s wound.
Abundance wreaks what dreams deny,
Riches breach thy neighbors cry,
Winds begin like soft whispers pass,
Fear the tempest that might amass.
No one heard the approaching storm,
The blind saw not the eyeless worm,
Man’s great cities it came to breed,
A pathos so hungry it began to feed.
The poor of mind hailed this time,
Its witless soldiers stuck in crime,
But this was no Christian phase,
Powerful waves, everyone pays.
Morning took hold, the sky was dark,
The bow was bent and knew its mark,
A book of facts, a thousand lies,
Verse so deep frozen beauty cries.
With thunder’s yoke rains wash took hold,
On tides ebbed out went all once old,
Upon spring flowers hope took turn,
Lime and ashes make death’s love yearn.
Once the deluge heavy airs broke,
Weeds and vermin went with a stroke,
Poison and bile, cancers two friends,
Fell to the grounds hungry amends.
Trees laughed loud and grew their hair,
Opulent green color’d the air,
The crowds were gone, the coast was clear,
Butterfly songs for all to hear.
Know you man’s hopeless devices,
Always waiting for a crisis,
To stick a sword in another’s heart,
Man’s most pathetic lost dead art.
Wolves and tigers follow no rules,
Never betting on prudish tools,
Blaming not the world as given,
Their jaws obey love’s laws arisen.
Eons ago a vow was made,
Years before words lost to trade,
The path before you poets know,
Only your heart can make life glow.
Pointed fingers hide three blind mice,
Beware of crowds and mob’s advice,
J’accuse writ large holds guilt away,
Thumbs up to She who holds her sway.
In retrospect
I often whisper
To words cast upon a sea
Of turgid thought
Struggling within
The borderless confines
…Of poetry
I let them out to play each day
Knowing some will drift away
Others wait in silent queque
Unsure of what to say, or do
Some mock the Rugby scrums
Snarling mice in search of crumbs
Oh, those words I can’t recall
That stood their ground
Just wouldn’t fall
Now come back to haunt my dreams
New brushes can’t undo old scenes
For words are but a scribbler’s tools
Etching thoughts of wisdom’s fools
Upon the hearts of passing pawns
Encased in a mist of breaking dawns
John G. Lawless
©11/20/2025
As an orange sun sets in the west
Silhouetting the trees
Flashes of orange and bright, bright white
Sights eyes can not believe
What were those flashes of orange
And white so clean and bright
Curiosity got my interest
And covered all the fright
As soon as next day's sun came up
On a trek to explore
In the woods and up the mountain
This enigma can't ignore
It was a long hard climb to the top
But there were flowers blooming.
In the shade, on the forest floor
Seemed something was looming
In fright I crept along the path
Well beaten by creatures
Mice, squirrels, and chipmonks footsteps
Along the trail featured
Then there asleep just outside a cave
Wearing nothing but shoes
White high top athletic pair
An orange ape peruse
Holy cow, it's bigfoot sound asleep
Just inside the cave more
High top athletic shoes bright white
To keep them clean a chore
Bigfoot began to move and stretch
Behind a tree I hid
He began to unlace his shoes
And those big feet undid
Augh!!! The odor that came from those
Feet, I almost got sick
He went down to the creek and washed
Coming back really quick
He threw the smelly shoes in the wash
And powdered down some clean
Danced away across the forest
Awaking me from dreams
Sponsor: Skat A (Poet, Destroyer A)
Contest: Bigfoot (the contest)
Written: April 20, 2015
Author: Sara Kendrick
unfinished