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Mark Toney Dec 2021
winter solstice comes
bare trees, long hibernation
~ don’t risk bleeding lips

gardens lie fallow
field mice attempting entry
~ long dark frigid nights

Mark Toney © 2021
Poetry form: Haiku (for you) - Winter solstice—Tuesday, December 21, 2021
The December solstice marks the start of winter, when the South Pole is tilted closest to the Sun, and the Sun’s rays are directly overhead at the Tropic of Capricorn. (The seasons are reversed in the Southern Hemisphere.) The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year.
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
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

Hugh MacDiarmid wrote "The Watergaw" in a Scots dialect. I have translated the poem into modern English to make it easier to read and understand. A watergaw is a fragmentary rainbow.

The Watergaw
by Hugh MacDiarmid
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

One wet forenight in the sheep-shearing season
I saw the uncanniest thing—
a watergaw with its wavering light
shining beyond the wild downpour of rain ...
and I thought of the last wild look that you gave
when you knew you were destined for the grave.

There was no light in the skylark's nest
that night—no—nor any in mine;
but now often I've thought of that foolish light
and of these more foolish hearts of men ...
and I think that maybe at last I ken
what your look meant then.

Keywords/Tags: Scotland, Scot, Scottish, Scots dialect, night, nightfall, rain, grave, death, death of a friend, light, lights, watergaw, heart, heartache, broken heart, heart song
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
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