Short Mousy Poems

Unstable
in stature;
potions and cake
caused drowning in mousy
tears...

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Last night,
a spirit moved along the ceiling...
I followed it 
through cat eyes.
   It moved slowly
like a winter spider 
or sower in an oil painting.
  Was it a surveyor from heaven,
a hell sent scout
or just a mousy dream 
shuffling
beyond a shadow of doubt....

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Imagine Me 

Short and mousy
Glancing through a window 
The party is inside and yet standing on the outside
The soft face whom someone stops to ask directions 
But the wrinkled smile dismissed instead for the younger, trendy smirk 
Hiding in solitude to be neither, walking away from the window.

09.14.19...

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I thought it was death finally coming for me
There were footsteps outside my bedroom door
Lying scared in the dark, quiet and mousy
I thought it was death finally coming for me
Peeking into the night nervously
Shaken to the core
I thought it was death finally coming for me
There were footsteps outside my bedroom door...

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It is crazy
To be lazy
And lousy
To be mousy:
Of one naughty
Who chose to be haughty
And Snobbish
Who often mouths rubbish. 

You can’t be chatty
And not hearty
Nor Natty
When you’re the fatty:
From almost every nit
Not a word of wit,
Everything mirroring a haze
For his longest gaze…

All these: What live observed
And should n’t  want them reserved....

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aftersomanyyears of listening to rainclouds
you forget towonder
what you were crying for

mouseholes long patched over
are revisited by that catlover
who became a two-handed umbrella man

they are empty – the holes
alwayswere
the mice long moved to Florida
lived elsewhere not evenclose
so you write a little mousy poem
– smile

    take awalk
around the sun...

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Mister Cat adjusted his spectacles,
Upon his nasal receptacle,
As he spoke to his kittens three.
Why must you climb the one tree
In Widow Calico's prim front yard?
You know there are trees out back
Without fear of a sneak thwap attack 
From Widow Calico's trusty broom.
Now you must play in your room,
While I placate the old shrew
With a fresh pot of mousy stew!
...

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An uncertain time,
light switch in the dark
whirr of wings,
unlocated -
swift hither, swifter thither
soft mousy leather.
Fledermaus,
Bat!

On the ceiling,
fridge top,
skitter of featherless wings
in the air a timid fear,
clinging now to a hook.

Throw open the screen door,
Circle back, head ducked,
flap towel
shout something, anything but yes.
Blurred flight zooms past left ear.

Put heartbeats
back into their drum,
make coffee....

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Cat caught the mouse in my head
no more scurrying around up the walls
for him
I feel him squirm and I hear the crunch
of his head being chewed on
His mousy tail hanging from the cats mouth
I have to lie down
as it chomps away
I quiver with the mouse
and squint my eyes like the cat
its jaw clenched
drooling between chomps

I think I must eat the cat
the cat that ate the mouse
I'm not sure I can
or where to start
but somehow
this is true...

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A mousy light filters a tracery of sunset,
dappled beams succumb to gloaming.

Evening stretches moments
for the rescue of wreckages,
to calm the upheavals of disheveled hours.

Dusk softly pronounces its adieus,
carries the bruised upon ebbing tides
as children, they are brought out 
from burning houses.

Upon a twilight cradle
eventide glides each baffled breath 
along a dwindling shore,
a Moses basket
that dreams us unto dawn....

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