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i reach out and touch golden
- golden, not blonde -
locks of hair,
spiralled into ringlets
with small dewdrops
(the size of baby mouse eyes)
scattered atop
and it kind of resembles
honeysuckle after
the lightest drizzle
Norman Crane Sep 2020
The game is old
The tokens made of ice
From under folds of hooded cloaks
Flash the eyes of mice
But every thousand years
A human player appears
And in his hands
Our fate
               hangs
Like drops of blood
               on yellowed murine fangs
For it is said
By those long dead
That on the day he loses
We all melt away
We all melt away
Pockets Aug 2020
The cat licks it's ***
While the mice run free
The menu music plays
For ratatouille on DVD
I’m to lazy to press play
I'd rather listen to django
And watch the cat lick it's ***
I wonder if any of the mice know how to cook if that's a
skill that can only be learned by rats

The menu loops again
Cardboard-Jones May 2020
What if a mouse
Had the power of a human?
Would it do as a human does?
Or would it continue as a mouse?
What if a human
Had the power of a god?

We yearn for something greater,
Something that gives meaning
To our flesh and bone.
Answers to questions we desperately seek,
Only to find our ambition
Outweighs our ability.

We want something we don’t understand
With the hope that we will.
Should a man possess the power of a god,
That man will not be godly.
That man would still be a man,
But seen as a god to other men.
Who would teach that man to be a god
If no other man has been a god?

We shun the notion of a mouse
Being human,
Yet laugh at the challenge
Of being a god.
But what’s the difference?
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
To a Mouse
by Robert Burns
translation/modernization/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sleek, tiny, timorous, cowering beast,
Why’s such panic in your breast?
Why dash away, so quick, so rash,
In a frenzied flash
When I would be loath to run after you
With a murderous plowstaff!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
And justifies that bad opinion
Which makes you startle,
When I’m your poor, earth-bound companion
And fellow mortal!

I have no doubt you sometimes thieve;
What of it, friend? You too must live!
A random corn-ear in a shock's
A small behest; it-
‘ll give me a blessing to know such a loss;
I’ll never miss it!

Your tiny house lies in a ruin,
Its fragile walls wind-rent and strewn!
Now nothing’s left to construct you a new one
Of mosses green
Since bleak December’s winds, ensuing,
Blow fast and keen!

You saw your fields laid bare and waste
With weary winter closing fast,
And cozy here, beneath the blast,
You thought to dwell,
Till crash! The cruel iron ploughshare passed
Straight through your cell!

That flimsy heap of leaves and stubble
Had cost you many a weary nibble!
Now you’re turned out, for all your trouble,
Less house and hold,
To endure the winter’s icy dribble
And hoarfrosts cold!

But mouse-friend, you are not alone
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes of Mice and Men
Go oft awry,
And leave us only grief and pain,
For promised joy!

Still, friend, you’re blessed compared with me!
Only present dangers make you flee:
But, ouch!, behind me I can see
Grim prospects drear!
While forward-looking seers, we
Humans guess and fear!

Published by the English department of St. John’s College High School. Excerpted in an essay by Galkina Karolina, Institute of Humanities, Borys Grinchenko Kyiv University, Ukraine, and published on the university’s website. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, mouse, translation, modernization, update, interpretation, schemes, mice, men, agley, awry, nature, field, plow, den, home, modern English
Jake Welsh Jan 2020
no wonder
it was obvious really,

we’re two mice, waving our tails
ears perched, scampering across the kitchen floor

and then, finally, out the door
Mark Toney Nov 2019
Harvest is over,
Crops are in, and
Falls's first killing frost
Stirs feelings of melancholy
Sustained by winter's cold,
With its bare trees,
Migration, hibernation,
Wisdom of fallow fields and
Mice attempting entry
During long, cold nights.
Yet farmers are never idle,
Caring for their animals,
Cleaning and fixing equipment,
Checking their fences,
Cleaning fields and
Clearing tree lines.
11/20/2019 - Poetry form: Idyll - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Fire sprites
Slowly through
Winds far and wide
Blow through
The flames spread
The raging dance the
Proud glance
You rage forward through
The nights roar blowing out
The light, Hiding
Waiting in the darkest
Blackest of night
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