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!

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!

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:

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)

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)

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.

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)

"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)

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)

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)

Ratzilla!

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....

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)

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

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)