"rodents" poems
Seriously?!
I'm a ****
Wait. No you're not. Hold on.
I can't find...
I can't find my ******* Help me look.
blankets flung.
nothing.
You're...
you're laughing right now?
How could you not?
Can you see that
we're standing in a
giant pond of
ridiculosity.
a glasses lense
popped out.
hair a nest
of invisible
rodents.
his belt
all askew worried
face pursed
lips.
shirt tails- a crumpled
facade of the pressed
summer evening shadows
outlined behind
the lawn sprinklers from
the night before.
and in the cab
to work
phone almost
dies. 37 degree damp
heat pressing
against the car
like a monroe-type
kitten from the
50s.
the morning world
bustling awake
the driver asks
'you work this
afternoon?'
shake my head 'no'
slowly working the
knots out of my
hair
brace for the last
day.
And I'm
still missing
my underwear.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
The walls screamed poetry disease & ***
an inner whine like a mad machine -
dropped in a
cave of roaches
or rodents
The Computer
faces of the men
The wall collage
reading matter
The Traders (dealers)
~~~
I am a guide to the labyrinth
Come & see me
in the green hotel
Rm. 32
I will be there after 9:30 p.m.
I will show you the girl of the ghetto
I will show you the burning well
I will show you strange people
haunted, beast-like, on the
verge of evolution
-Fear The Lords who are
secret among us
~~~
Leaving the phone-booth, I was
Struck by a whiff of
the weird.
Insane old country woman
come to nag the haunts
of town
Hairy legs w/open sores.
From what swamp or under-rock
did you crawl to remind
us what we choose
to leave
13.8k
These streets
are home to countless
rodents
emerging for a moment
to feed
or breed
or just to breathe the sun
One by one line up
for the chance to
make something
out of nothing
Who are they and
where do they go
while the city refuses to
sleep
___
Doors to endless lands
line the avenue
each its own portal to the
unimagined
A family of four
with the yapping mutt
or a lonely cat lady
whose entryway wreaks of *****
a drug dealer
door slamming
every hour on the hour
or an empty snowbird's nest
On the surface
everyone pretends
they don't have a hole to
crawl back to
or walls that know
every night
But below the sewer grate
a world filled with
the stench
of what could have been a
good day
Many a barkeep can
shed some life
on these drunkards'
rat king
or at least a story of those who
made it out
Once or twice it'd be grand
to see the bottom of a martini glass
left with a sip or two
instead of the casually tipped
lipstick-clad cocktail,
drained of doubt and despair
until morning warms the
frozen dreams
of those retired to
a paradise unknown
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
when you looked in to my eyes,
i had the strangest feeling,
flying rodents in my tummy,
retro waves came rolling in,
witches and their brooms,
soldiers at war , fighting and weaponry,
car crashes into the lake, with fire and debris,
clowns making entertainment amusing at the circus,
make you happy with one kiss unless its worth it,
stuck in a dream wave,
retro waves that came rolling in.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
The air is a mill of hooks --
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up
Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagration, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?
The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside still water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones
Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable --
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.
The heart has not stopped.
5.2k
The inadequate bookshelf that sat near the door
that my sister used to call her own was
mostly made up of adolescent reads,
books better suited for preteen girls rather than
intellectually budding young ladies—
juvenile vocabularies and simple, non-complex
plot lines do little to craft and create
worldly, knowledgeable women.
I thought I must spring clean the
naiveté away and replace it with
the works of great authors like
Sylvia Plath
Simone de Beauvoir
Virginia Woolf
Margaret Atwood
Betty Friedan;
ingenious femme fatales that cut down
to the brittled bones of the misogynists
and burned their marrow along with the
ashes of bras and aprons and 350 degree oven heat.
Growing up, to me, seemed like a wonderful epiphany
chock-full of ideas and opinions and
clever, ironic remarks that chased satirical witticisms
like felines to rodents and wolves to deer—
being an adult would guarantee me a say,
a vote
prior 1920’s America
play dress up as a suffragette
women’s rights
femininity personified by dolls in plastic houses.
To be eighteen-years-old,
the goal, the legality, the bright light at the end of the tunnel;
the official womanhood it would bestow upon me
seemed like something almost tangible
with the way that it loomed over my head.
Get good marks
graduate high school
travel back in time sixty years
meet a nice boy
become a “good wife”
have dinner ready by five
bear two beautiful heirs
clean up the messes left in the kitchen
fast-forward to the twenty-first century
go to a good college
find a stable career
settle down if the fancy strikes you
live non-docile and full of passion—
the parallelism of times are severely
di
lap
i
dat
ed.
1950’s America would never be a home for me
because I am much too wild to be contained.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
There is nothing here
Not the façade of a façade
Can’t you see our idea fading?
We thought we were Hobbes’ Leviathan
The modern alchemists of state
We’re nothing more than rodents!
Scurrilous, maladapted membranes
Spewing from democracy forth
Ought they to encapsulate us?
They must needs encapsulate the naïve!
Whiling away at the trough as though livestock
I’m to be ground on the wheel regardless;
Nay, stretched on the rack of modernity!
By the comforts of progress and superficiality
Sought after as if vital
By the people, “We the people!”
Rallying cry for throngs, imprisoning themselves
With society, a subtle hocus pocus
The trite, aged argument
Of those who’d force you build your very tenement
Paying rent to breathe,
Countless yet believe
Tripartite consumer, greed and slavery
Surrounding you and me
Separating ignorance from squalor
In a ghetto of the mind
You're right, we're alright
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
Everyday there are moles
Lifeless rodents
Strewn about like some cat massacre
Sheba! Sheba is who brings theses gifts
Hunting at night
Leaving presents to be admired
What does she think about while in this pursuit of mole families?
Does she think?
Once, I saw a mouse being killed…
Today there were two
Yesterday one
Last week there were five on the patio
I wonder if there are warnings out in the mole community?
“Serial mole killings” they might say
Do they fear the dark now?
Dead moles, dead mice
Just death
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
Winter, winter how we feel your icy touch
The earth is now under your freezing clutch
All that falls in our ears is the howl of gales from far
The night sky is covered in grayness without a single star
In the dawn, nowhere can one spot the buzzing bees
Icicles hang from boughs of leafless trees
Birds sit with drooping wings in their woody nests
Within eye shot, no trace of any roaming beasts
Trees stand sleeping in the biting cold
And the sun has lost its bright sheen of gold
From nowhere comes the song of a single bird
On the slopes, one cannot sight the grazing herd
Roof tops are crusted with flakes of snow
Which the sun with sharp beams alone can thaw
Piles of snow lie heaped on the barren ground
And the entire Earth lies in a sea of ice drowned
Busy streets and pavements are now lying bare
People stay indoors and to be out, they hardly dare
The rodents have gone into hibernation in their ditch
And life altogether has gone out of pitch
In the smiting chill of a dreadful wintry night
When through every fiber n’ nerve is the cold bite
How we like to sit cocooned beside the hearth
Sipping a cup of steaming tea in rising mirth
In such quiet hours, one can peruse into the pages of tomes
That will transport one to enchanting magical zones
Or engage in a hearty chat with friends and family
Thus turning even the bleakest hours sweet and lively
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 5:59 AM UTC
I’m full of
mice and men
of this world.
Rats thrive in the sewers
of men who are mice
and soon mice in a trap.
But I wiggle myself free
and head up the darkened stairs
with the vermin.
I’m not afraid, maybe a little nervous
it’s getting darker
and those footsteps above
keep sounding
like they may be descending.
I wonder what will happen
in the dark of my back stairs tonight?
My senses tingle
like a mouse.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
I wanna have lunch with Poe,
at Burger King,
because I'm sure he would appreciate how ghoulish that King in their commercial is
I don't want him to recite verse
while we fill our medium cups with corn syrup nectar--a giant leap
down from laudanum
I do want to ask about the Cask of Amontillado and being walled in slowly, for eternity
for to me that is creepier than all the crimson cream in the Masque of the Red Death
I want to know if he likes the fries--will he dare to dip them in scarlet paste we call catsup
mostly I want to know if he remembers the alley where he was found,
not yet a legend, consumed by consumption and delirium in equal measure
and if there were rodents privileged to hear his last whispered words--or even a gasp
I am buying, Ed, so grab that Whopper with both bony paws and tell me terrible tales, evermore
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 7:40 PM UTC
A is for anthill which I have in my drive
B is for buzzing from a hidden bee hive
C is for cockroach that run all round the house
D is for droppings, that have been left by a mouse
E is for egg sack that hangs in my trees
F is for flying which the bugs do with ease
G is is for gophers which inhabit my yard
H is for hillocks with which my yard is marred
I is for insects which are all I can see
J is for june bugs, they're as big as my knee
K is for killing which I try to do
L is for lugworms that are shaped like a *****
M is for Mickey and his mousey like friends
N is for never...this infestation won't end
O is for Oscar, my scared orange cat
P is for well...pee...and he's good at that
Q is for quinine which I leave out to treat
R is for rodents, which I want Oscar to eat
S is for slugs which are killing my grass
T is for totalled, just give me a match and some gas
U is for underwriter who has insured my place
V is for vermin, that now own all my space
W is for water with which I started a flood
X is for poison, which will thin out their blood
Y is for Yertle, a turtle by suess
Z is me sleeping...to bugs and vermin on the loose
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
you are the light at the end of a tendril. a spindle of dread, woven in caustic guile of argyle
parallelograms...phantom realms of solid waste. you are the pin in the subject. gating satan through a thimble
of crocodile tears, the new symbol.
the rude glyph in black bibles and strong drink, en-kindling the dead. rodents ponzi the scheme
of hell’s maze, with lies...your lies...
you have eyes that lead aside from your heart’s plot
you are saboteur. banal.
unrestrained waste. you are the fin in the barracuda puppet, grazing the wrist of Dim Henson
huffing crystal gorillas in the congo of your foyer
you are
the black chandelier.
teach me your cheap trick
striking off ‘ iron-on’ pinkie swears
your praline heresies... your ‘ no remorse’ code
lay bare to me.
better my better angels, to fathom the loathsome ****
of your actual mind. keep me abreast of your wretched games...
apply the rod of your wrong love, above all.... you must betray.
you must know in your fetid rot
of a third eye... the phlegm genius of **** blindness.... teach me the rictus of
cold hearted. a false god in my lotus !
spare me the chaste suzette
flip me the ***** that spits fables.
learn me the savage puns
to pummel you sustaining your worst done.
grant me the lethal beans for my sacred cow
trade me the idylls of your forked heart
for your crushed null
and crossed
bones.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
Between the din of dusk and dawn
Runs Sleepy Pillow Lane,
Where gators guard the Gates of Thorn
And cryptid creatures reign.
They glide across the midnight sky
Like grime in sanguine sewers;
White canines long and talons drawn
Spike rodents on a skewer.
Gray giants glare from full-moon eyes,
A ghastly ghoulish spell;
Sweet sleepers swell the wells of Nile
While centaurs swing the bell.
Horned vipers writhe into your fears
Like scythes through strangled weeds;
And severed heads of angel hair
From shouldered stumps relieved.
A putrid pile of newly-deads
Awaits the devil's scorn;
And legless maggots gorge in beds
From which the fly is born.
Hungry hyenas howl in packs
While circling carrions crow;
And chunks of flesh are torn from backs
Cracking bones bare below.
Scavengers feast on man and beast,
No rotting limb is spared;
From hanging tongues to napping feet
Blood splatters everywhere.
Brimstone and thunder fill the air
With hail presaging doom;
Ten toothless witches shriek and cheer
As zombies creep from tombs.
Masked mummies stalk with stakes and stones
In search of sleeping heads;
They crave the skulls and living bones
Of bodies slumped in bed.
Through R.E.M. you toss and turn
And roll on restless wheels;
Alas Red Rooster blows his horn
To end your grim ordeal....
~ P
(January, 2013)
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
Darkness, shadows,
Twisted thorns,
Twisted trunks,
Like hunched hags,
Crooked trolls,
Thorns and vines,
Twisted,
Intertwining,
Like a maze,
A thicket,
All around,
Casting shadows,
Darkness,
Creepy,
Thorns piercing,
Blood black in the moonlight,
Shining through the branches,
Tree trunks,
Vines and thorns,
Stillness,
But movement,
Half seen,
Small,
Creeping,
Spiders,
Mice,
Rodents,
Lizards,
Life hidden,
Forgotten,
Unknown,
Where only barrenness was known,
A creature,
Sitting,
Watching,
Looking up,
Through slitted eyes,
Like a frog,
But grey,
Something from deep within,
Clinging to the thorns,
To the branches,
Spirit or animal,
Phantom or subconscious image,
In this forest,
This warren,
This thicket,
Dark beauty,
Life within the lifeless,
The depths of a soul.
May 17, 2011
May 17, 2011 at 10:39 PM UTC
I was going to bring my pet hamster tonight.
Anyone met my pet hamster - Picasso?
He is an impressionist.
No, honestly he does all the other rodents :-
Mice, rats, capybara, Donald Trump, Prince Andrew, all of them.
Unfortunately I couldn't bring him,
because he died this afternoon.
He fell asleep at the wheel.
Aug 25, 2023
Aug 25, 2023 at 10:24 AM UTC
I have wide hips, a wide waist.
chubby cheeks and
short legs
given to me
by my mother.
she is not a witch.
she has wrinkles, yes
but they do not define her
nor would she let them.
I have no interest in making friends with fish,
small birds,
candlesticks or clocks,
or rodents.
I need human contact to survive.
If you put me alone in a house in a forest,
I will not clean.
I will not wait to be saved.
I will not ask for your permission to go outside.
I will leave.
I do not need a prince to live happily ever after.
I have short bushy hair
and a ******
yes, it's there.
underneath my cotton underwear and long lace skirts
that no one is telling me to wear.
I have a sister.
I go to her for advice.
I look up to her and I talk to her about
Everything anything everything
I do not need a prince.
I look up to my mother.
She is not a source of fear,
she is a source of comfort
and relief.
what are We teaching our daughters?
these imaginary princesses
teach our babygirls
to have long eyelashes
to have two inch waists
long luscious hair
*** appeal
and if they don't,
they will never live happily ever after.
If I need all that to get one,
I do not want a prince.
I do not want to be anyone's
cinderella.
I will not chase after anyone
if they choose to leave.
I will weep into my sister and mother's shoulders
But that poor,
poor
princess
will always be chasing
squirrels
to talk to
and men
to be saved by.
When will we teach them to save themselves?
When will they teach themselves
that there is no such thing as perfect
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 9:38 PM UTC
We shall wipe you OUT
We will ERASE you
We are the children's of Cain and that is what we do
I come from the lands of the Baobab tree and Cocoa Tree
Steep in the tradition of revering life and nature all free
By my wits and honest endeavours toiled and earned my fee
Never harmed nor injured never stole even a penny wee
Paid my dues and gave when I could always busy as a bee
Now YOU the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
I come from a land that knows parched earth and hunger
Where great rivers flow yet clean water comes in little beaker
Proud animals run free and only the rodents are for hunter
Trees are fertile with fruits aplenty and vegetables are litter
In gleeful kin and merry we share harvest with each other
Now you the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
What is my crime pray tell me when in honest endeavour
I gave and shared my wages and food to an errant neighbour
Who repaid my kindness by robbing mine with cruel vigour
And whilst I remorsed such vileness with fervent pained ardor
They riposted, a trip back to your jungle is what we will conjure
Now YOU the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
Children's of Cain know nothing but death and destruction
You came to ours and plundered all you could with ruction
You stole, fornicated, ruined and destroyed with glib seduction
Modern times has merely refined your vainglorious disposition
Distinguished misrulers, liars and evil masters of misappropations
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
Children's of Cain OTHERS know all YOU do is ****
Like your FATHER killed his BROTHER
Like your FATHER killed his guiltless BROTHER
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
Here lies my dog, motionless in his kennel
unable to wag his tail as he always did.
Yesterday when I saw him, curling helpless on his mat
he still wagged his tail and from him arose
a faint tremolo of love
punctuated by gutturals of pain.
At some bleak hour of the night,
the last ember of life died down
and his supple body turned stiff and stark.
Now he lies straight and majestic in death
leaving a track record of love
far difficult to break,
- a love no vessel can hold
or equated with what we humans feel.
Speechless as I stand, memories churn within.
He came to us - too young to be weaned,
a glossy black puppy with tawny gleaming eyes.
His short, sturdy limbs, large drooping ears,
slender waist and elongated frame
well proclaimed his pedigree aloud
So full of mischief, he capered and hopped,
like a new born calf, always up on his heels.
Sniffing with moist nose, he dug and dug
as if unearthing a treasure trove
buried deep beneath the soil.
With alert vigil, he guarded our home,
barking at strangers and driving rodents away
He expected nothing in turn but love.
His loyalty as we deem was never servile.
Never was he on chains to be hauled like cattle.
He enjoyed sauntering through the courtyard
giving company as we took our evening rounds.
He gloated rubbing his body over our knee
and sat content as our stroking fingers ran all around
Licking our feet and arms,
what he conveyed in inarticulate words
could be deciphered thus -
‘I love you, love you true’
Like the bouncing ball, he often played with
our hearts made to bounce up in love
and our hands fold in benison
for a comrade who departs,
valiant in life and loyal to the core
hoping to meet him anon
on the far green meadows of bliss,
still wagging his tail, avowing a bond
too strong to be snapped or splintered.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC
this is the season
of the winged rodents
singing corrosively.
eating crows' feet
& bringing
lulling, rolling
waves of heat
heavy humidity
this is irony
for days & days
& daze.
we'll be floating
in an ethereal sea
of humor & stupidity.
the street is sweltering.
but those waters are
still pretty cold.
man.
have some humility.
I hear they give it out free,
it even comes with extra soul.
wanna
start a cult
with me?
cmon.
we can
tell em we
talk to god
& then
everything
we touch
turns to gold.
burning ora.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
Let’s dig deep into that topic no one wants to speak of.
At the end of this discussion let’s see who will show me love.
Here comes the blacks, the hoodlums, and the thugs.
The scums of this earth the rodents, and the bugs.
Always on the street corner selling them drugs.
They look at me like I’m a criminal lower than the minimum.
Keeping me stuck in my ways for days to years.
I go to work and come home look at my wage with tears.
There’s no way i’m getting out of here.
I’m not going to fall, I stand tall and never fear.
Even in my darkest days i’m never scared.
So, let them stare, I’ll shrug my shoulders like I don’t care.
I can face any battles I’m well prepared.
But why must I explain myself!
I am a citizen, with a good behavior, and well disciplined.
I went school and graduated, education is my insulin.
Things happen in life back when I had a mission then.
Now, I’m just one out of many men.
Who gets abused, misused, by my own American rules.
Where is this freedom? Let Me Be!
Like there’s no one else left but me.
We are the same, the skin is where you don’t agree.
My complexion is the only way you notice me.
So I don’t need a name, your target is aimed.
The feeling is mutual but it wasn’t always the same.
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 1:13 PM UTC
Strangers on the subway
Who I never met and never will
Say, "hey, martha", like they're hailing a taxi
And I say, "hey" back, because, I am martha.
The lights go out in the tunnels, because, the conductor thinks it's funny and,
Three murders happened in that time but, that never stopped him.
That train after 1 am
The grey and green one that smokes and used to have a future,
That was, good at writing or something in high school, but, never made it to college, you know the one.
That train rolls up and its five minutes late, but it's always five minutes late so no one complains,
And I stub my toe on the way in, I forgot to, mind the gap, and
A strange stranger bumps into me,
They say, "watch where you're going sean"
And I say
"Sorry"
Because, I'm sean,
And we all get on and no one says a word, and most of the passengers are rodents
But maybe some are marsupials
I dont know the difference.
And we sit in there for ten minutes maybe, avoiding eye contact like it's the plague,
Excepting, of course, those few that make eye contact the whole ride, like you're interesting or, appetising, or, they're blind and those are actually glass eyes that just happen to be looking your way.
And, when the train starts it lurches, it belches down the cars, because it, doesnt think anyone can hear it five meters underground.
And as we sit and we ride the silence turns to tune, like the lack of even rustling, or bustling, or conversation to a friend, becomes the sound of collective recognition, often purposefully ignored, that no one on that train is going.
The train moves, but they dont, except to stops around the corner, with no corner piece, without landing that gig, or getting the girl, or saving the day
Because in the looming washed out morning,
We're all, nothing more than, strangers, on the subway.
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 7:11 PM UTC
1. Owl Of Night
Hoot cracks the night air,
Rustling rodents stands frozen,
Shock, swoop, attack prey.
2. Bat Of Night
Clear sight of blindness,
Sonar sounds rebound; its wings
cut fog; vampire.
3. To The Eagle
Giant golden flight,
Endless grace and smoothly glides,
Strong; its nation falls.
4. To The Graceful Swan
Elegant swimmer,
Pure white like virginal snow,
Paired to bitter end.
5. The Butterfly
Multicoloured gift,
Taken by the gusts to blend
like petal to plant.
6. The Butterfly Effect
Toxic explosion,
Hong Kong is destroyed; travels,
Condemns London air.
7. King Of The Jungle
Magnificent beast,
Ruler of his skilful pride,
Stalks African plains.
8. Roar Of A Tiger
Powerful calling,
Echoes ‘cross the heated land,
Mighty animal.
9. A Proud Cat
Sits in the garden,
Ears pricked, curled tail, statuesque,
Pride clear in her purr.
10. A Dog
…is a mans best friend,
…brightens the darkest of days,
…guarantees friendship.
11. The Wolf
A midnight howler,
Ghostly happenings occur,
Silhouetted; still.
12. The Polar Bear
Camouflaged in white,
Against the snow he hides out,
Tough, sturdy and pure.
13. God and the Devil
One high in the clouds,
Symbol of goodness; he’s blessed,
One below the ground.
14. To The Heavens
Are you really there?
Floating land of peaceful rest,
Will I be let in?
15. To Hell
Overwhelming flames,
Dead with red burns, smoke filled lungs,
Worse than hell on Earth.
16. To Mother
You granted me life,
Cared, and still do, for my health,
Made happiness real.
17. To Father
Encouraged and led,
Guided me with your being,
Created this man.
18. To My Siblings
Sister and brother,
On my shoulder no my back,
Love, care, lend and steer.
19. To A Child
Tiny newborn boy,
Asleep in his mothers arms,
The storks’ joyful gift.
20. To A Friend
A supporting hand,
To turn to, cry with and trust,
To laugh with and love.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC