(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)

(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)

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....

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.

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!

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)