The Tale of the Unhappy Mouse

PAD Challenge 22: For today’s prompt, write a fable poem. 

A fable is a story that conveys a moral, usually told with animal characters.

Once upon a time a mouse

Unhappy where he sat

Thought life would be much easier

If he could be a cat

So he put on a coat of fur

And yowled his best meow

But all that answered him was gr-r-r-r

Woof-woof and bow-wow-wow

Into his little hole he fled

“I wish to be a dog” he said

He wagged his tail and tried to yelp

And beg and shake a paw

The other dogs thought he cried ‘help!’

And yipped and woofed ‘hurrah’

From every corner of the earth

 (Oh, what a sight for eyes)

With sundry speed and breed and girth

Came dogs in every size

Oh no, wee mouse squeaked in despair

I wish I was a great big bear

Then all that I would do is eat

And grow so round and fat

No dog would dare to snare my treat

No sly, old pussy cat

And I, footloose and fancy free

Would loaf in the warm sun

Nothing to fright or worry me

Hey, say?! Was that a gun?

To be a big, black bear I shan’t

I’d like to be an elephant

The children would laugh with delight

To ride way, way up high

No other creature would be quite

As big and broad as I

...but wait; what runs beneath my feet
A mouse! my greatest fear
They are so small, they peek and squeak
And then they disappear
A mouse you say....how can that be?!
 My, but I'm proud to just be me

Who, If Not For Poets?

It’s one a.m.; traffic is muffled on black velvet streets

Where want of slumber and the taunt of poetry competes

As soundless warriors of hunger and hope dredge the deep

To find amongst the masses, poets not yet fast asleep

The night is like an inkwell full of words waiting to be

They rankle in recesses vexed with ‘almost poetry’

Then let the dreamers dream their dreams in lands of sweet repose

No one can tame the Muse’s will as every poet knows

The rose is void of form or beauty until it breaks free

And word is like a storm of duty without poetry

For who, if not for poets, will potential poem find?

And who, if not for poets, can paint pictures on the wind?

Hark, hark, the dark is deeper after one a.m., my dear

The Quiet like a keeper of the poet’s smile and tear

Where words beguile in spite of common senses such as sleep

For who, if not for poets, will snare whispers from the deep?

© Janet Martin

Lest Honesty Becomes Us...

It's the splashes of perfect happiness that keep us dancing in the rain!

In time we learn there’s no such thing as perfect happiness

Its paradise is full of holes and hunger’s emptiness

And so we count our blessings and find reasons to be glad

Lest honesty unbridled lets love’s longing drive us mad

The soul is never fully satisfied, but oh, we try

Though hands and pockets cannot hold delight’s constant supply

For, even in the best of times, in time we come to grips

That perfect happiness is like a kiss upon the lips

Youth pursues pretty pictures dangling like a silhouette

Their happiness a safe hold in a house not broken yet

Where love in all its loveliness holds a lifetime to teach

...that perfect happiness is always almost within reach

In time we learn that life, in spite of love yields loneliness

Its paradise a treasure trove of kind forgetfulness

Where oft we name our blessings, humbled by the joys we’ve had

Lest honesty becomes us and love’s longing drives us mad

© Janet Martin

Life Goes On...

Sorrow swings its sickle, reaps...

We who yet remain, pause, weep

Then return to learn, yearn, trod

Living's way to faithful God 

A week ago my friend said good-bye to her mother.

We gathered to 'weep with those who weep'

 ...then life hurried us back to 'promises to keep'

Thoughts and prayers remain to sustain...

Life goes on

And so does death

Live life well

With every breath

Soon its dust-to-dust will lie

In God’s trust beneath the sky

Life goes on

And death does too

No one knows

When life is through

Thus for life’s swift gift of days

We should give God all the praise

© Janet Martin

The Garden...

PAD Challenge 21: For today’s prompt, pick an object (any object), make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.

Soon, soon we can begin making this year's garden-memories!
 a few fond flash-backs

It favors mouth with flavor and the hand with work to do

It lets us greet our neighbors with an extra gourd or two

It teaches perseverance in a classroom flower-strewed

And at the first appearance of fresh shoots, faith is renewed

It turns the common labourer into an artist, oh,

And Tommy learns to name the weeds and vegetables that grow

A patience-testing paradise; this heaven-whispered sod

Where, after we have done our best, the rest is up to God

A turnip-tater temple, walls of sunshine, floors of dirt

A sanctuary where bees, breezes and butterflies flirt

A let’s-go-to-the-garden for a little getaway

A quiet place to work and worship, plant, prune, pluck and pray

A never-quite-like-we-saw-it in dreamland’s oracles

But always awed amazement, where seed-grace grants miracles

A sweat-inducing glory-land where hand and heart re-learn

How fruit of humble labor is love and life’s best return

© Janet Martin