Friday, December 4, 2009

Rat Poetry Suffers at the End of Term!



Okay, the above picture is the latest rat casualty. One would think *that* alone would inspire some rat poetry. But, no... The Tracinator has been grading madly and has no time for rat poetry it seems. In fact, I am most overdue in publishing this latest gem from a gifted rat poet. It is the start of the weekend though, so I figure I can devote a few minutes to publishing Ali K's latest contribution:

"Haute Cuisine---Rodent Style...
I've seen rats in cages
but never outside.
I've heard tell of some
because of where they reside;
they will hide there all day for the secret it holds...
the city's worst alley
gross, and smelling of mold.
Most humans find a new way to go
(I certainly do)
delivery guys, workers going in the back door
of the city's famed eatery;
the rats know the score
(they're not dumb!)
Legendary are they
not just because of their size
but for what they know will be coming outside.
For these rats are gourmands
won't eat any old trash
but only the best French leftover scraps!
all day they watch, sit there and wait
for the chefs to throw out the old bouillabaise;
baguettes, creme brulee,
coq au vin might emerge.
The dumpster outside holds all they deserve
(well, they believe that).
New rats vie for a place on the block
but they're quizzed
"what makes up a good chicken stock?"
they don't know; many do fail,
which brings the cautionary part of this tale:
don't walk down this alley
unless you're a chef,
for the rats will not tolerate anything less!

---Ali K (2009---original)

And now it's "Ack!"
To grading back.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Mice Are Nice--- Especially Twice!

Um... this is from someone who "claims" she hasn't written poetry before. Sure...

Part 1: Mice go away!

A big tiger cat
he's vicious, not tame.
He's called Oscar Wild;
he lives up to his name
(except when he's cold and wants love).
Bored is he of his leisurely life;
he wants excitement, adventure, to kill all the mice!
(and anything else that moves, including me).
He sits still as stone for great lengths of time,
waiting for mice, to have a grand time.
“But why”, I ask, “is it always at night,
asleep in my bed I hear the big fight?”
"Oscar!" I cry, "Put him down, let him be!"
I pry open his mouth, to let the mouse free;
a chase then ensues, the mouse, Oscar, me…
Who will win? It’s now 2 against 3,
for the rest of the cats have now joined in the fray;
the dog is trying to keep me at bay---
(the only time they join forces)
By the little mouse tail, I snag him at last---
out the door, 3am, what a ridiculous task!
“Is the mouse even grateful,” I think as eyes close;
Oscar Wild returns to his statuary pose.
I drift off, back in bed, with the thought in my brain,
"When will this start all over again?"

Part 2: Mice please come back!

This night-- it’s Annabelle
jumping with joy
a prized possession, a shiny new toy!
So proud is she;
yet again it is 3---
(I never get to sleep through the night)
I jump out of bed, ready to fight,
but soon enough realize, something's not right!
Not a mouse, oh no!
But a snake that's on show!
Are there more, could there be?
Why is this happening to me?
Another creature out the door by the tail,
Annabelle's off to sniff a new trail.
Back in bed, eyes shut tight,
unbelievably, I wish, for the return of the mice!
--Ali K (2009---original)

This is really good stuff. Keep sending it this way!

Friday, November 27, 2009

Squirrelel, Not Doggerel



A post-Thanksgiving thank you to Nicodemus, who is, apparently, chock-full of rodent poetry despite his otherwise busy life. Would that I could be so productive!

"High Life"
Squirrels leap from tree to wire,
Able to fly
It seems
And for balance, the pole plays only
A supporting role.

Death wish? Or just
Disregard for danger?
The real game is not chicken
It is waiting, darting left, right
To bite the tires.
The game is squirrel.
--Nicodemus (2009---original)

"Nuts"
Squirrels leap and squirrels jump
Squirrels balance on a twig
Squirrels get together and hump
Squirrels small and squirrels big.

But squirrels from the day they're born
Go crazy for a big acorn.
--Nicodemus (2009---original)

Thank you, Nico, for your passion for squirrels!

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Thankful to be Squirrel, Not Rat, Mouse, or Turkey.




"Squirrel Gifts"
'Tis the gift to be squirrel, 'tis the gift to be free,
'Tis the gift to eat nuts and scamper happily.

And when we find ourselves on the fence by the house,
Thankful are we, we are not a rat or mouse.

When true squirrel-icity is gain'd,
We tease the kitties, and we are not ashamed.

To tease, tease will be our delight,
Till by teasing, teasing we give the cats a fright.
--Fambly Squirrels (with a nod to the Shaker community)

Happy Thanksgiving all! We're glad you humans picked turkey instead of squirrel for this holiday. And should you want to play our tune, the music is below:

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Rat in the Kitchen

Great UB40 song, but not the reason for this blog's title. My rat-poet roomie's sister turns out to be a great rat-poet too! She is a pastry chef, and I never knew this, but apparently there are such things as "glue traps" to catch the poor, dear mice who invade the bakery where she works. This kind rat-poet attempts to liberate them. The following is her expression of empathy for her rodent brethren:

"HINDSIGHT IS 20/20"

“A bakery!” I thought as I scurried by
Seemed like a good idea at the time
A life of luxury, all just for me!
No fields, no famine, easy this life would be
cake crumbs, bread crumbs, always more
A lazy mouse I could be for sure
No cats, no owls, no snakes to escape
This was definitely my lucky fate!
But 12 hours later, neck snapped in a trap
The first one to find me, I'm tossed in the trash
If only I’d touched it just light as a feather...
Just goes to show you, easier isn't always better.
--Ali K (2009---original)

"Stuck on Glue"
Stuck, stuck, stuck on glue
that's what these humans do
trying to escape
can I change my fate?
Here she comes and I'm afraid
Will she save me if I behave?
(try not to bite her!)
I'm off, limping off
At least I'm free to die where I please.
--Ali K (2009---original)

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Seffles on Rats...



I am Persephone, also known as Seffles, Seffie, and Perseffle-knees. My parents rescued me when I was very young and weighed only 13 ounces. I know they are a bit miffed at me for "playing" with rats, but that's what cats do! I can assure you that I was raised most lovingly with ethical behavior instilled in me (okay, sometimes I scratch the furniture and piss in the closet, but, hey, I'm a cat!), so please don't blame my parents for my "bad" behavior. I love rats! I really do!

"Seffthello Soliloquy"
It is the rats, it is the rats my soul.
Let me not name it to you, you chaste rodents.
It is the rats. Yet, I'll not shed their blood,
Nor scar their ratty skin, soft as mine own fur.
Yet rats must die 'cause they're so frickin' awesome to play with.
Toss up the rat, then toss up the rat.
If I kill thee through play, rodent toy,
I can justify my means as being my fambly's end.
For, as Chris says, you are flea-ridden vermin.
Though cunning'st rats are fun to play with,
My family, from disease, I must protect.
Just kiddin'. Rats are fun to play with.
That's all I care about. Period.

--Persephone F. Brunner (--with a nod to Shakespeare)

Monday, November 16, 2009

New Alarming Rat Casualties!




Ugh. It has recently come to my attention that there are more rat deaths going on around here than I recently suspected. Rat 6 was being played with in a most horrific way this morning. Unfortunately, unlike Niccolo, these last 5 rats had no chance at all. Oh, the grief! Will I ever be able to bloglish my happy squirrel poem? Not yet...

"To the Rats, to Make Much of Time"
Gather ye food-scraps while ye may,
The cats are still a-killin'
And this same rat that scurries today,
Tomorrow's garbage'll be fillin'

The first to kill poor Nic, Leah
Has since been quite contrite.
Sorrow, rage, Nic died!---see ya.
Poor Nic, it just ain't right.

Three more rats since then expired,
Their deaths well hidden from me
By my dear husband who was tired (of rat poetry).
The murderer? All three cats look guilty.

Rat five was found during dinner with a guest.
The cats looked guilty again; they were present all.
Sweet baby Seffles killed Rat six; I was depressed,
for Seffles thought the rat great fun and used it as a ball.
--Tracinator (with a nod to Herrick)

These last two stanzas are not working at all for me, but I'll get back to them later.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Rat-mate Poetry!



I was excited to get these poems from my old college roomie. I figured she would be a hater of mice (and their dirty ways as she was somewhat of a "neat-freak" and didn't seem to enjoy my half of the dorm room looking like a pig sty). Liking rats though? Who woulda thunk?!? I like the gratuitous use of "fuck." I am a big fan of that word (seriously). I am also most appreciative of the baby squirrel picture. I have never seen a baby squirrel. Most of our local squirrels are too "squirrely" to show their babies. Hell, I don't even know where they hide the peanuts we give them, tho' I did find one on top of my car engine once. I do love squirrels, but they aren't too bright. Anyway, here are the poems:

Chapter 1: Mice
Mice SUCK!
They make me say FUCK (a LOT).
Running on the counter top
Pooping as they go, they never stop.
Keeping all our food in plastic
I want to snap those mice with an elastic.
Cleaning up after them is enough to nauseate me
Obviously those nasty creatures hate me.
Why can’t they just stay away—don’t they have
Another place to play?
Now the season’s getting colder
Those damn things are getting bolder
Popping up every day
Squeaking right at me as if to say:
“Hey, can’t you throw some more crumbs our way?”
Mice suck. They make me say fuck. A lot.

Chapter 2: Rats
Now, rats are another story.
I had one in Kindergarten as a pet—named Lori.
Lori had a beau named Whiskers
And together they produced several litters.
We kept one, named her Amanda
Then we had three rats, and a
Hermit crab (but that’s another poem).
Anyway, have you ever seen a newborn rat?
I know what you’d have thought of that:
Naked! Wrinkly! Skinny! Squirmy! Blind!
Who could ever love one but one of their own kind?
And love them she did, that mother creature—
Ate several of them, like some horror double-feature.
What’s worse-looking than a baby rat?
Half-eaten baby rat limbs, devoid of all fat.
I guess I’m lucky that I had rats on purpose,
Rather than chasing them ‘round the kitchen surface.
But no more rodents for me, I say—
I’ll stick to cats (however lazy) any day!

Chapter 3: Squirrels
I watched my Rio on the sill
Watching what? I didn’t know, ‘till…
I saw a squirrel, schlepping sticks
To the corner of the window—was it just for kicks?
She worked all day, didn’t rest
And when I awoke, there was a nest!
A day went by, and then another
And then that squirrel became a mother!
Six tiny baby squirrels, seen through my window
Hoping that there’d be no wind blow
To knock the nest over and scatter those babies
Because heaven forbid—what if they had rabies?
Mama Squirrel was oblivious
But my two cats were quite lascivious
Keeping watch just in case
Those babies got into the house—it would be a race
To see which one would be devoured first
I hoped that wouldn’t happen, it would be the worst.
But Mama Squirrel caught on one day
And moved those baby squirrels away
I went to bed and they were there
But when I woke up the nest was bare.
--chiqui b (2009---original)

Thursday, November 12, 2009

"That cat had it in for me": to be sung to the tune
of "This Land Is Your Land, This Land Is My Land"
(with apologies to Woodie Guthrie)

As I was walking, down a concrete pathway
I smelled the garbage, and I got hungry
So I stopped to eat there from those leftovers
But that cat, she had it in for me.

As I chewed down there, I heard from near
A little bell ringing, on the cat Leah,
I tried to escape, but still she caught me
That cat, she had it in for me.

And first she hit me and then she bit me
And then she bit me, and then she hit me,
And then she toyed with my life a little,
That cat, she had it in for me.

Then Tracy found, she found and got me,
She saved my life from the cat that caught me,
I thought I was safe then for I'd been rescued!
That cat had had it in for me.

But I was was bleeding, and I was dying
As in the Birkenstocks box I was lying
And as I passed on I was thinking,
That cat, she had it in for me.
--Nicodemus (with a nod to Woody Guthrie)

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Oh, my! Terribly sad rodent poetry...

I was contemplating writing a squirrel poem while waiting at the doctor's office. Alas, there (for once) was no waiting time. I came home to write some squirrel poetry, but I remembered that I had to enter this lovely submission first. It is a sad piece, I warn you. I cannot write about the happy rodent, the squirrel, right now. I fear the Fates have conspired against my squirrel poetry! (could be laziness too) Perhaps next week. Again, this poem is from a student. Again, I am so pleased to be a teacher at times. Lovely writing!

"Mouse Sonnet"
When I was young
I had a pet mouse;
he was sick, he had one lung.
We lived together in my house.

I came home from school.
He was gone...
"Mom," I said, "that's not cool!"
She replied, "Hush! Go mow the lawn."

I went outside to cut the grass.
It was burning hot;
I didn't think I would last!
But I stuck it out; that meant a lot.

Yet, while cutting the grass, I killed my pet.
Now I'm "boo-hoo" crying with much regret.
--CC (2009---original)

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Rat-citement, redux!

Another student contribution. It is at times like these that I know I chose the right profession. Beautiful poetry!


"Masked Anti-Hero"

Sneaky: a birthright, thou covers thy face,
A brow fitted with a mask-like guise.
Here now and then gone without a trace,
Stealthy by nature makes thee seem wise.

Pitter, patter, goes thy nimble feet,
Thy long stripped tail whips past my window.
As I watch thy paws begin to creep,
And out my door, I start to follow.

One man’s trash is another’s treasure,
Seeing thee stand there, I begin to smirk.
Through my refuse, I see thee measure,
To fill thy belly, tuna might work.

Raccoon: Name synonymous with pest,
But tonight, be my honored house guest.

--Yas (2009---original)

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Friday, November 6, 2009

Rat-citement!

After a crappy week at work, I was very excited to receive the first rat sonnet from one of my Shakespeare students. I was not surprised that it was from Lex as she has taken 2 other classes with me, and besides being a great student, she often helps me out with my tech "problems." Lex: (gently): "Don't you remember that you had to do that last time you played a DVD?" Me: "Ugh." Here is her lovely poem (and for those strict sonnet wingnuts out there, I told my students to focus more on rhyme scheme rather than iambic pentameter).

"The Hanging Possum"
One very dark scary night
My mom and I had one lovely fright
Outside the window hung an ugly possum
Daggling all lonesome
He stared back at me smiling with hundreds of teeth
My mom and I screamed behind belief
Didn’t know what to do
We plotted to woo
This ugly possum away
But instead he decided to stay
Then we contemplated a plan
To wake up my father the wise man
My father got up and left with a bat
Stepped outside and the possum ran like a naked mole rat

--Lex (2009---original)

I'm so proud of my students. I must log off now and weep a weep of gratitude for the student who rescued me from thinking all was lost....

Thursday, November 5, 2009

RatPoetry is still alive (unlike poor Niccolo)!

Okay, I got a friendly nudge from a fellow Rat Poet about my recent neglect of this blog. I am currently devoting my time to my paid vocation of grading crappy essays (if you are reading this, and you are a student of mine, I can assure you that *your* essay was marvelous). Here is the poetry dialogue that transpired:


"Monuments"
So, does RatPoetry stand now,
A silent tribute, a monument
To Niccolo's temporary brilliance?
Telling of the glories, both, which were
His life and death?
Or will you begin, in
Time honored fashion to move on,
To write of rodents new,
Of squirrels?

--Nicodemus (2009---original)

And my cheesy (but true) response:

"Next Week Will Hopefully Not Suck As Bad As This One"
RatPoetry is not dead.
It is much alive within my head
In fact, it caused me 'round a bend
Another car to 'most rear-end.
Thoughts of rodent poetry
Near killed me for eternity (or caused my insurance rates to go up)

Then there are the essays bad
that I must grade, that make me sad...
Squirrels are next; I must be cheerful,
Squirrels are happy; they are not tearful
So once I get my life ahead,
I will be blogging (and baking bread)

--Tracinator (2009---original)

Monday, November 2, 2009

One Week of Rat Pain

I had not planned to write today. Grading numerous essays have a way of making u stoopid. I meen, u no things r rong but they start looking write.

I couldn't, in good conscience, ignore the one week anniversary of Nic's death. Besides the moment of silence I observed this morning (okay, just a sec or two between slamming sentences in my students' essays), I have done very little to memorialize my poor baby rat. Being stoopid at the moment, I shall contribute a piece that my husband forwarded to me.

I thought that this little gem from Jim Morrison may fulfill your requirements. It’s recorded on the Absolutely Live album as part of “Break on Through #2.” I believe it’s on side 3.
I don’t have the text, so this is from memory. Jim fans, please excuse any errors.
--CP (aka rat-hater)

Dead cats, dead rats, did you see what they were at? Alright.
Dead cat in a top hat, sucking on a young man’s blood
Wishin’ he could come .Yeah.
Sucking on a soldier’s brain, wishing it’d be the same.
Thinks he can kill and slaughter. Thinks he can shoot my daughter
Dead cat, dead rat did you see what they were a
Fat cat in a top hat thinks he’s an aristocrat
Dead cats, dead rats, think you’re an aristocrat? Crap! That’s crap!
---The Doors

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Meditations on a Rat


As you may recall, my rat-hating husband cruelly interred baby rat Niccolo in the trash. I "made" him write poetry as penance. Yesterday, I got the rat poetry from my dear husband. Apparently, I underestimated DH's ability to produce something "soon." Perhaps I shall bring up the matter of the gutters again...

Here is the lovely note accompanying said poetry:
"Tracy,

Please accept these submissions for the rat blog. I wrote them quickly, so they may not be up to the standards of professional poets, but I think they illuminate ideas on death and immortality."

They are indeed quite philosophical... Enjoy, gentle readers (actually, I suspect "readers" should not be plural).

"On Nicco #1" -draft 2
Uncertainty
Niccolo was killed by a cat.
After all, he was only a rat.
The diseases he spreads are well-known.
Leah was simply protecting her home.
A rat’s death we should not despair,
For there will be more rats, perhaps upon the stair.
Nicco suffered a great travail.
He fought, was cared for, to no avail.
The young rat died, that is certain.
Who pulled the final curtain?
Life is dangerous, life is weak
Nicco took a chance, and Leah reached.
The rat, though vermin, reminds us all
The cat’s jaws are open and ready to fall.

--Rat-Hater (2009---original)


“On Niccolo #2—Wish to Follow” -draft 2
Niccolo, young rat, do not despair.
Your life is better, away from here.
You may be transformed into a cat
Then you too may kill a rat.
Your tail was long, your fur was gray,
But what did you do to fill your day?
Fight with your brethren for your milk?
You will suffer no more on this earth to tread.
Perhaps your glittering eye may some distant
Galaxy soon espy, and you could trace
For the human race a sign of hope.
O’ Nicco, who can say what you will be.
The far country for you may be everlasting
Plains of joy and mirth where no cat pounces,
Do not fear it, Nicco.
Accept the freedom and be glad;
For you, Nicco, have escaped from the dying planet, Earth.

--Rat-Hater (2009---original)

Saturday, October 31, 2009

(G)ratitude Redux

A new "rat poet" has joined the ranks:


For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon
**his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having considered God and himself he will consider his neighbor.
For if he meets another rat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one cat in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Rat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness
**he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction if he is well-fed, neither will he spit
**without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness when God tells him he's a good Rat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him, and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of
**the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defense is an instance of the love of God
**to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor, and so indeed is he called by benevolence
**perpetually—Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the cat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete rat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can sit up with gravity, which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick, which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Icneumon cat, very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the electrical fire is the spiritual substance which God sends from heaven
**to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, though he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.
--Christopher "Rat" Smart (with a nod to Christopher Smart--- ironically, sometimes known as Kitty Smart)

Friday, October 30, 2009

(G)ratitude!




I want to express my gratitude to all those rat poets out there who have been contributing to the blog. I would also like to thank the poets from whom much of the rat poetry has been "cribbed."

"Niccolo The Mystery Rat" (with *many* apologies to TSE)

Niccolo's a mystery rat, he's called the skinny tail,
For he's the master criminal whose plans can never fail.
He's the bafflement of Homicide, the CDC's despair,
For when the reach the scene of crime, Niccolo's not there!

Niccolo, poor Niccolo, there's no rat quite like Niccolo,
He's mastered every human skill he even plays the piccolo,
His power to spread diseases would make Typhoid Mary stare
And when you reach the scene of crime, Niccolo is not there!

Your may seek him in the basement, or underneath the stair,
But I tell you once and once again, Niccolo is not there!

Niccolo is a gray-brown rat, he's rather small and frail,
You would know him if you saw him, for he has a rat-like tail.
His ears are round, yet pointed, his smell is rather musty;
His coat is covered with dirt and germs, his whiskers, they are dusty.
He sways his tail from side to side with movements like a snake,
And when you think he's half asleep he's always wide awake.

Niccolo Rat, Niccolo rat, there's no-one like Niccolo Rat,
for he's a fiend in rodent shape, a monster of a solo rat.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square --
But when a crime's discovered, then Nicollo is not there!

He's outwardly respectable (they say he carryies germs)
And his pawprints do not show that he has served three prison terms.
But when the larder's looted, or the cheesebox has been rifled,
Or when the chocolate's nibbled, or there's footprints in the trifle,
Or the cats are mewling wildly to get beneath the house,
Then you can be sure it's Niccolo, it isn't just a mouse.

And when the CDC has found an outbreak of the flu,
Or bubonic plague has broken out and they don't know what to do,
There may be some DNA that shows that someone's spread disease,
But Niccolo will prove it was not him, not wearing gloves like these!

And when the crime has been disclosed, the Secret Service say
It must have been that crafty rat, but he's a mile away,
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a biting at a cat,
Or doing hard mathematics, for that is where he's at.

Niccolo, rat Niccolo, there's no-one quite like Nicky,
There never was a rat child so assured or quite so quick,
He would always have an alibi, or a hole down which to hide,
But now his time has come and gone, and Niccolo has died.

And they say that all the cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, Seffles, or Griddlebone)
There are none whose deeds have hurt the world in quite the wicked way
That cat Leah's did when she took poor Niccolo's life that day.

--Nicodemus (with a nod to T S Eliot)

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Ratcrostics

I must post again today. The last post was a real "downer" with all the less than enthusiastic "tributes" from less than enthusiastic rat lovers. This is much better stuff:


"Niccolo is gone, R.I.P"
Niccolo
Is
Closer now to being
Consumed by worms
Or decomposing. All thanks to
Leah, unrepentant
Ogress of felinity.

In other words
Soon enough we all return.

Go back to whence we came.
Out of this mortal world
Now
Existing only in memory.

Remember him.
In sym-
Pathy.
--Nicodemus (2009---original)

"Niccolo Went"
Not over grieving.
I'm still in pain.
Can't get past the
Callous husband's horrible "burial"
Of your sweet rat self,
Lost in a trashcan!

Will we forgive?
Eh? I guess we must, but
Never to trust husband
To inter rodents again.
--Tracinator (2009---original)

Bad Rattitude



Some people are very "tetchy" about the rat poetry project. Here are some poems reflecting that.




In response to this e-mail to my dear rat-hating husband:

I think you need to contribute a poem to atone for your callous "burial" of Niccolo.
Love,
me

"No!"
I will
not write poetry
about
vermin that
you bring into
the house.
--Rat-Hater (2009----original)


Cryptic, no? Actually, this is the response I got:

It’s a cool page. I’ll try to come up with something soon.
Love,
me

Frankly, this response is even more worrisome than the one I made up. I am wondering if "soon" has the same meaning as in, "I will put up new gutters soon."
--Rat-Hater (2005---original)

Then a friend's response to my solicitation of rat poetry:

"Enough!"
Enough with
the
rat poetry
already!
--Dr. Elvis (2009---original)

Frankly, this one was very hurtful :-(



Then, a half-hearted (tho' strangely lovely) poem sent in by a friend:

"You want Rat poetry, ok."
A pity the fish that I did wish
to call my very own
for away she did swim
and closed the gates within
to leave me all alone.
I think about this fish
and how we did kiss
and sometimes pick up the phone,
but I know she's not there
(even tho she might still care);
so I hope she gets eaten by a gnome.*
This is my write, to be full spite
in other words, a coward.
If I had a dish, I'd get my wish
but I wouldn't name her Howard.

Happpy now?
*just kidding about the gnome part, I didn't mean it literally, I just couldn't think of anything else that scanned.
--Teddles (2009---original)


I fear that (A) this has nothing to do with rats per se. (B) it was "tossed off" rather hastily. (C) that Teddles, who is a precise grammarian, actually meant the extra p in "Happpy now?" simply to increase the sarcastic tone. I should also add that people who do not respond immediately with their own pseudonyms will have to live with mine.


Finally, I have also been guilty of taking the rat poetry less than seriously today. I am having ice-maker "issues", and poor little Niccolo has been replaced in my mind by wondering how "soon" these issues will be addressed.




"Ice Maker Blues"
My fridge is no longer making ice;
I think that is *so* not nice!
"Whatever will I do?" I think,
"Without cold ice to cool my drink."
"Is this rat poetry?" say you.
'Tis--- because rats like ice too.

-Tracinator (2009---original)

Well, at least I made a nod to rats at the end.
Do rats like ice? Hmmm....

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

From Rat----> Art Form

The above is some superb rat art poetry by an old college friend
--ShrapnelCatcher (2009----original)

I was not going to post again today, but several interesting submissions have rolled in that have gotten me to think. Need this blog be about poetry in it's "purest form?" After these 2 beautiful submissions, I think not! Art poetry and soliloquies are perfectly lovely tributes to the rodent as well. Keep thinking outside of the box, my dear rat poet friends.


"Ratlet Soliloquy"
"To Be, or not to be rat?" is the question,
Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the
teeth and clawing of outrageous feline
Or to bite arms of felines raised against him
And by opposing, bite them. To die: to squeak
No more: with no more squeak to say "some cheese" to end
The heartache and the thousand pangs of hunger
That rats are heirs to, for consumption is
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep; perchance to dream
--Nicodemus (with a nod to William Shakespeare)

Act of Catrition


Leah, killer of Niccolo, was urged to write a piece of rat poetry as a form of penance for her crime. Her contribution:
"mew"
meow. meow.
mrrr. purr.
--Leah (2009---original)
Inscrutable, I know. But that's the way cats "roll." I believe the sentiment is genuine though. She has been most affectionate lately, winding herself around my ankles and "helping" me to grade papers (by sitting on them-- thank you, Leah). I have great faith that she will mend her wicked ways.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

A Rat is a Rat is a Rat... unless he's a field mouse.


24 hours since Niccolo's demise... In my current state of grief, I am a wee bit distressed that so much debate has been generated about how truly "genuine" Nic's "ratness" is (was). I have even been told that "field mouse (or mice)" scans wells poetically. Judge for yourself:

"Mice, right field"
field mice
are twice as nice --
I make them rhyme,
all the time,
and still they scan,
so I'm a fan
--Nicodemus (2009---original)


“Mouse, left field”
field mouse,
that rotten louse
-infected
undetected
little beastie
who's at least
been trying
to dispel the news of dying
rats.

--Nicodemus (2009---original)


Hmmm.... not too shabby.


But Niccolo did *not* look like the picture above!

Monday, October 26, 2009

Rat Poetry: The Beginning...

"La Mort De Niccolo"
He was a rat
He was quite small
He met my cat
I took her off.
But she had tried
To bite his ball
And so he died.
My hat, I doff.

--Nicodemus (2009--original)


"Not safe in his Alabaster Chamber--"
Not safe in his Alabaster Chamber--
But cruelly disposed of by Chris in the trash.
Sleeps little Niccolo, sweet baby Rat---
Rafter of pizza box,
And Roof of coffee grounds.

Yet light laughs the Leah,
Horrid Kitty of my brother--
Babbles the Feline in a wee rodent's fuzzy ear,
Pipe the Wretched Cats in ignorant cadence---
Ah, what sweet ratness perished here!

---Tracinator (with a nod to Emily Dickinson)

"Four Weddings and a Funeral for a Rat Blues"
Stop all the clocks, cut off the iPhone,
Prevent the cats from miaowing with a rodent bone,
Silence the Fenders and with muffled drum
Bring out the (tiny) coffin, let the mourners come.

Let trash collectors circle round the blocks
Waiting to pick up his pizza box
Niccolo inside, beribboned neck,
Except Chris threw him out! What the heck????

He was my rodent, my Nic, my Scab, my *rat*,
'Til he was nipped at by my brother's evil cat,
My pest, my vermin, fleas around his head,
I thought that love would last forever. He is dead.

The pizza box is empty. There's no coffin
Just the bag the trash collect'rs'll carry him off in (groan)
Pour another beer, sweep up the wood,
For now he'll no more nibble at my food.

--Nicodemus (with a nod to W.H. Auden)


"Rat, be not dead"
Rat, be not dead, though some have mauled thee,
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
No longer, no; thou stink'st, that smell could make me throw,
Die not, poore rat, nor yet canst thou bestill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou enslave with fleabite, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, plague, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, no more to wake betide,
And rat shall be no more; rat, thou hast died.

--Nicodemus (with a nod to John Donne)


"Rat Graveyard"
rat art
love vole
Niccolo coolin' c (yick)
asleep please
death hated

--Tracinator (with a nod to Robert Morgan)


"N(i"
N(i
cc
olo.
be
au
ti
ful
rat)
o
lo
ng
er
wi
th
us.

--Tracinator (with a nod to e.e. cummings)