"mouser" poems
In our world technological,
Here's how to talk to gadgets digital,
"Now, listen up, keyboard and router,
Not to mention dysfunctional mouser...
Are you listening to me carefully?
(I am talking to them, but silently),
I do have replacements for each of thee,
I see a future ahead of you three,
Tossed into the gaping jaws of a bin,
off to the council tip, repository of sin,
Did you hear that? Listening in,
Stop trying to do my head in!"
Now they're behaving dutifully,
Technology responding beautifully,
"I'm warning each one of thee,
No more messing around with me!"
Yes, how to talk to technology!
(But make sure you do it silently!)
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
Silken assassin, pharaoh of swift,
serrated deaths— you look so cute
with milk in your whiskers.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 12:31 PM UTC
I have a cat called Mouse.
A silly name, I know,
But it suits her perfectly
and so that is so.
I know it may sound silly,
But she is always there,
When I am sad and lonely
or when I am in despair.
I love her very much
and I think she loves me too.
If she could speak human,
I'm sure she would tell you.
She's sometimes very lazy
and sleeps all day long
But I still love her dearly,
Which is why I write this song.
My Mouser is funny
But now she is getting fat.
I don't care though,
For she is still MY cat!
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC
Templeton was privy to this poets inner sanctum , the soft voice
of reason in the black hallways of the minds 'Netherworld' .. The keeper
of the latchkey for a castle better left undisturbed , the feline equivalent
to Sandburg , Freud and Nietzsche .. The ear for many a spoken word awarded the benefit of paper and latter day reflection .. A noble 'Mouser of the Highest Order ... RIP Sir Templeton !
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
She was an old barn cat, around the place for
a dozen years or more. Superb mouser and
yard hunter. Came from feral parents, aloof
by nature, and breeding, a little wild at heart
I suppose. In time she developed some slight
affection for some of my family, me included,
eventually a regular welcomed visitor to my
porch, even crawling upon my lap for pat and
scratch under her chin but always declining to
be held by any human being.
She would come when I called her, running
full tilt and jumping fences, ignoring the food
just wanting companionship and attention.
Over the years she and I became good friends.
She came every day, morning and evening to say
hello and oh yes, get an offered meal. Rubbing
her sleek cat body on my feet and legs, offering
up her affection with an audible purring for
everyone to hear even from some distance.
Her age was starting to show, thinner, slower, she
was getting on just as I am, perhaps we both knew
it. Last night she came to the glass door and looked
so forlorn. Though cold outside I put on a coat and
brought her out some food, and I sat in my chair.
She sniffed the food with disinterest then came
over to flop upon my feet softly meowing, I could
feel her little purr motor vibrating on my shoes.
I reached down and gave her a tummy scratch,
she always loved that.
We resided like that for a while, her upon my feet,
me in my chair. Becoming too cold I started to rise
to go back inside, but she did not move, I reached
down and felt no purr vibration, she was unmoving
and silent. In that moment I knew that she had passed
from this earth. I picked up her now limp unresisting
body and placed her on my lap, my eyes teared knowing
that she was gone.
So sudden, one minute there and then just gone.
Not a bad way to go, rather than some long-drawn
-out affair, with doctors, useless operations, hospice
and lingering formidable pain. Just lay down and
go to sleep.
We should all be that lucky when our time comes.
Feb 5, 2025
Feb 5, 2025 at 4:10 PM UTC
He was on a training mission down south,
There, his landlady told him to get married.
He hesitantly agreed to flash a matrimonial,
He anyway did so in a local newspaper.
She responded to his call in the newspaper,
She was attracted by his description.
They got married in a minimalist manner,
Saving money for a combined future.
The first demand she had surprised him,
She asked him to maintain a moustache.
With time, when he grew that mouser,
She was impressed with his manliness,
"I've seen denser moustaches,
None looks as elegant as yours."
Then they went to his home in North,
For the honeymoon, they went to Kashmir.
Sep 22, 2024
Sep 22, 2024 at 12:44 PM UTC
Orange fur now creamy beige
bleached by hours spent sunbathing.
Dark stripes now faint shadows on your scarred face.
In your old age you’ve started to drool
when I rub your sweet head,
and tattered ears.
-
I stroke your fur, and find my hands dusty.
You wear your years like a suit made of earth.
Now I find myself looking
for the thin veil of dirt on a chair,
that tells me you’ve just enjoyed a good nap.
-
Our home is your personal menagerie.
Despite our best efforts,
you add to your collection.
Birds, mice, lizards, opossums.
Like the man in Australia
who so wished to hunt rabbits,
he released some in his backyard.
The opposite of a very good mouser.
-
As I write this, you’re asleep in my arms,
your nose, with one torn nostril,
leaving a wet spot on my sweater,
and as I write, I pray
I never have to look
at the hole you’ve dug in our garden,
and not see you sleeping in it.
Jun 22, 2020
Jun 22, 2020 at 9:14 PM UTC
Whiskers twitching, sharp and keen,
prowling silently, slinking, unseen.
With curious eyes, so alert and bright,
investigating all within their sight.
So lithe and nimble, quick to pounce,
on playful paws as they bat and bounce.
A skilful mouser, stealthy predator,
a beast of surprise and graceful wonder.
Yet gentle too,
when snuggled up having a nap,
curled up and content in my cosy lap.
As comforting purrs soothe my weary soul,
making me feel loved, at peace and whole.
My treasured companion and loyal friend,
Aloof yet loving, wild yet tamed,
my mysterious moggy a master of might,
endlessly captivating me with pure delight.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 1:42 AM UTC
Mouser Messiah,
Came to save all of cat kind,
Had to die nine times.
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 11:04 AM UTC
There is little notice
of the eddies of leaves,
trapped and circling
in the corners
of
chain-link.
Stepped on slices
of white bread;
blackened
banana peels
litter the walkways.
Someone has fed
the prison mascot,
a vagrant cat,
a volunteer mouser
for the state
of
Missouri.
A sergeant kicks
the little mound
of dry food,
sending it skittering
into the dewy grass,
wasted.
There is a pale pink
to the sky.
Leftover sunrise.
Hopefully, other eyes see it too.
“Single file lines into the chow-hall, gentlemen!”
There is little gentleness here.
It’s contraband.
Chewed to pulp,
spat where needed.
A poultice.
An ointment.
Made from the last of the marigolds,
The Susans who’s black-eyes
have healed to a bruised yellow.
Pockets full of pink sky,
cool air,
sober hopefulness.
Stepping gently
into the
caged morning.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications 2020
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 10:46 AM UTC
Peter used to offer birds
he is no longer a mouser
Has he tamed himself?
Now he sleeps
on his Masters bed
Has this answered a pray?
Wrapped around his own tranquility
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 12:31 PM UTC
Looking toward the rim of his saucer,
The cat decided to be,
a fearless mighty mouser,
and set his dreamies free.
And so the walls began to ripple,
With a milky veil to drown his woes,
As he bound over the armchair,
To escape his imaginary foes.
Then a wild low growl decreed,
While the humans stirred in dismay,
His claws spoke of an ancient prophecy
As catnip led his mind astray.
The wide-eyed and wild, blur of fur,
Ricocheted off the walls with ease.
He is a feline ninja on a mission,
Defying every law of gravity.
His battle cry shook the room to its core,
As he zoomed without a care,
Through the fog of his catnip high,
Sending dreamies flying everywhere.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Dec 12, 2024
Dec 12, 2024 at 7:55 PM UTC