Long Mouser Poems
Long Mouser Poems. Below are the most popular long Mouser by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mouser poems by poem length and keyword.
The cat had caught the mouse some while ago
a stealthy stalk, a pounce, a single blow
not fatal, for now, the cat would need take joy;
and ease the tiresome day with this new toy.
Feigned indifference, a chance escape, a catch;
oh, silly mouse, for cat you are no match.
Cat cleans a paw, other on the mouse's tail
which will wiggle, struggle, all to no avail.
The feline foe lays on back; without a care
begins to throw the mouse into the air
until even this fun bores our mouser so
and now decides, the mouse he has to go.
The little mouse is shaking, waiting there
the cat humps up her ginger derriere:
a sudden mighty swoosh, a flash of grey;
the mouse looks up and quickly runs away.
The raptor's silent wings to distance flies
accompanied by our moggy's plaintiff cries.
. Mouser.
The distillery cat was flat on his back
He’d had too much to drink.
The silly moggy his mind was foggy
He could hardly think.
It was thee day he was on his way
His time was really up.
The rules require he must retire
So he had drunk from the goodbye cup!
Those little mice they didn’t think twice
they quickly ran amok
And in no time felt quite sublime
Could not believe their luck!
Tails in the air, Mouser so unaware
Their party had began.
For life’s a must, much was discussed
Like an employee ownership plan.
“Imagine if, Mouser was a stiff
And we all ruled this place,
By and large we’d be in charge
Something we could all embrace.”
But just at that appeared a Rat,
You know what they all say.
You’re never more than through a door
Away from their decay.
“Well gee whiz, so what is this
We have an open house.”
He said with grin, “I’ll just move in
And go and get my spouse.”
The mice felt down and wore a frown
And thought we can’t have this,
Awake that cat from off his mat
Get him out his drunken bliss.
So it was to great applause
He had ended up quite upset,
They’d got the hose and gave a dose
Of water cold and wet!
Mouser howled then he scowled
Jumped up and cried aloud,
“I’ll get those mice they are my vice
They will end up in a shroud.”
The mice did flee with so much glee
The Rat it disappeared.
Mousers head felt like stale bread
His paws they went real weird.
And so it was, like an arbitration clause
Came in the Big Bad Boss.
“What’s all this noise I don’t enjoys,
I prefer a hearing loss!”
So Mouser stayed, a big blockade
And the mice he tipped a wink,
The big brown Rat, he don’t like a cat
That’s had too much to drink!
Now drink can make you think
It can feel good alright.
Whiskey can make you frisky
But it can also make you fight!
For a Scottish cat enjoys combat
As much as a Father loves his daughter,
Although there is a cure,
maybe it is obscure,
We could of course add water!
Purring in perfect perfection.
Curled up in contended contentment
he lies - half asleep, half awake -
ears attuned to tin opening...
coiled, curled, like a spring ... prepared.
Once playful and kittenish
he has aged into feline maturity.
Moving with stealth and pouncing,
surprising his prey with pliable precision,
then proudly presenting the prone prize to me.
This cat has character -
a constant companion since 'kitten-hood'.
Turning from tabby tearaway to
majestic malkin, marvellous mouser...
ears twitching as he sleeps ....
rousing to rustles - reacting with ready reaction ...
poised for action, or soporific on sofa...
preening at intervals, then asleep again -
dreaming of midnight prowling,
tom cat howling, rat and mousing.
He is my therapy: stroking his purring form;
conversing, cat-calling, cuddling, cajoling
him to come home .... he is a comfort -
a faithful feline friend, now middle-aged -
like me - and both curled up in contented contentment.
You have the hysterical look of mutes
that roar through narrow straws.
I see in your yellow eyes – a Jules Verne winking moon.
Soon that ribbed pink cave will release
another flock of demented coots
hacked from the craw of an ancient macaw.
Soon the whip of your vocal squawks
will pluck my eyes from their trembling stalks.
Maine Coon, part Persian, part whiskery herring,
grimalkin mouser,
I love you not when you sing.
Verne goes to the movies, a flickering French theater
of painted malarkey, where mice threaten to Can-Can.
Buck Rodgers shoots rays of hyperbolic sound
from the open nozzle of your mouth.
Whilst I stand munching oats and fresh hay
Kitty visits, she’s my special friend
If she proffers a mouse I’ll say neigh
as a mouser kitty’s a godsend!
Kitty visits, she’s my special friend
I look forward to see her each day
As a mouser kitty’s a godsend
I enjoy watching my friend at play
I look forward to see her each day
on my company she can depend
I enjoy watching my friend at play
Kitty chases mice right to the end
On my company she can depend
If she proffers a mouse I’ll say neigh
Kitty chases mice right to the end
whilst I stand munching oats and fresh hay
Pantoum Rhyme - Personification Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
Checked with how many syllables - 9 per line, and rhymezone
Image 2 used
04/19/20
Jack and our Jill
went up the hill
And there she broke her water.
She laid right down
upon the ground
and bore them both a daughter.
Poor Jack, undone,
had hoped a son;
their marriage, it was fleeting.
In deep despair,
fell down the stair,
and there his heart stopped beating.
But life goes on,
so Jill wed John;
and they too raised a daughter.
A giant mouse
broke in the house,
ate all their cheese and got her.
Off on a quest,
John was out west
to find work as a double.
You might have guessed,
Jill, sorely pressed,
addressed the rodent trouble.
She tracked him down;
he’d gone to ground
all holed up in his hidey.
With daughter there,
she must take care:
no guns, just nice and tidy.
The mouse was sly,
he near got by
but Jill knew rodents better.
And in a snap,
she set the trap:
herself, all smeared with cheddar.
As rodents come,
he wasn't dumb
but instinct overtook him.
Got on his knees
to smell that cheese;
her big knife arced and hooked him.
The mouse now dead,
her girl in bed,
scanned headlines for a story.
There right up front:
Failed Movie Stunt
the details, rather gory.
While filming Wick,
John goofed his trick,
fell head-long through the rafters.
That third time charm
raised Jill’s alarms,
stayed single ever after.
In our world technological,
Here's how to talk to gadgets digital,
"Now listen up, keyboard and router,
Not to mention dysfunctional mouser....
Are you listening carefully to me?
(I am talking to them, but silently),
I do have replacements for each of thee,
I see a future ahead of you three,
Tossed into the gaping jaws of a bin,
off to the council tip, repository of sin,
Did you hear that? Listening in,
Stop trying to do my head in!"
Now they're behaving dutifully,
Technology responding beautifully,
"I'm warning each one of thee,
No more messing around with me!"
Yes, how to talk to technology!
(But make sure you do it silently!).
I will have a million monies when I grow up.
I have to make more monies. You can make monies? Sure.
How? You mean you do not have a money-making machine at your house?
Two kindergarteners, in my office, playing.
Holy, moley, guacamole.
Hey, that’s a rhyme! I can rhyme too. Horse and house.
They don’t rhyme.
You did not hear me! HORse and HOUse. They rhyme.
You are a crazy daisy.
Hey that rhymes! Loud fake shriek laugh.
You are funny! Duck. Duck. Goose. Another rhyme.
What about Frosty the Snowman? Begins to sing now.
Money, honey, funny! Giggle, laugh, giggle.
Hey! Don’t touch that! What is it? A Hollipop Lollipop.
Here is some more money. This is a hundred million thousand
Monies, and I am keeping it.
At this point, I am highly interested, disappointed it is only
A bunch of red and white legos. Hey! This is a baby elephant.
Looks like a frog. Laugh! I’m a frog! Ribit! Ribit!
I’m going to make a power. You mean a tower. No. I mean power.
Hey is this a turd horse? I look up, wondering for a second.
Hey! Let’s make a tunder storm!
Yes! Tree horses! One! Two! Tree! One starts after the other
one’s tower. Uh-oh.
Loud laughter! Hey! I catched that before it fell over.
The builder who cries at the thought of an infraction, looks up hard.
I am expecting a sobbing concert.
Instead he holds up a tiny gray cat and says, This is a killer mouser.
They have their arms around each other as they skip back to tare room.
There once was a sickly blue jay named blue
He was struggling with the dreaded bird flu
He loved to dance and sing
And a crowd it would bring
Until he " achoo-ed", his fans then flew
There once was a picky beaver named Bob
Always searching to find the perfect log
Chewed many trees as he could,
Toppled piles of rotted wood
Until the huge wood pile dried up his bog
Fred adopted a new cat to kill mice
And thought new cat mouser Sam would suffice
When the first mouse appeared
He saw Sam run off scared
Then he knew why Sam was so cheaply priced
Leroy was a young owl who could not hoot
Luckily he was talented and cute
But at nighttime his new song
Sounded whimsically wrong
When he resorted to playing a flute