Poem of the Day

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Ultrasonic Singers

 

Mice are nice

to keep as pets.

They’re quiet little things.

But when they’re happy

you can bet

your pet mice like to sing.

 

Their complex songs

both short and long

make each mouse quite unique.

So other mice

know in a trice

who made that special squeak.

 

Our ears can’t hear

their high-pitched trill.

Mice sing in ultra-sound.

But sneaky cats

will get a thrill

to hear that food’s around!

 

Celia Berrell
  • Celia writes poems about science topics, aimed at upper primary-age students.  The CSIRO’s Double Helix children’s science magazine has been publishing her science poems since 2010.

Poem of the Day

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Old Fred and Kazinsky

by Mike Lucas

 

Old Fred never knew where Kazinsky went to every night when he opened the door.

That cat would run free and he’d sprint up the tree to the roof, then away to explore.

He’d hear a faint howl and then sometimes a growl and then nothing until the next day

When Kazinsky returned, but Old Fred never learned where he went till he looked far away.

 

Now Old Fred had no job (he was old), but a hobby he had was to gaze at the stars

And the planets and moon (with its seas and its dunes). He would spend all night gazing afar.

One night as he gazed out his window and raised his old telescope up to a crater

He had to look twice when he saw several mice running round with a mouse sized cheese grater.

 

‘Mice on the moon!’ shouted Fred in a swoon. ‘Mice on the moon! It can’t be!’

It can’t be moon mice! It can’t be, I say twice. But I see moon mice! That’s what I see!’

He rubbed at his eyes, looked again at the skies, at the moon, at the…what on Earth’s that?

Then out from a dune on the moon mice’s moon sprang a moon…m…m…moon c…c…cat!

 

‘Kazinsky!’ yelled Fred, as the moon mice all fled, leaving clouds of cheese dust in their wake.

‘Kazinsky!’ yelled Fred. ‘It’s Kazinky!’ yelled Fred. ‘It’s Kazinsky and make no mistake!’

In and out the moon’s holes, up and down the moon’s knolls, the wee moon mice ran eeking and squeaking.

They poked out their tongues and they wobbled their bums while Kazinsky chased after them, shrieking.

 

At times the moon wobbled while moon mice were gobbled and moon cheese flew this way and that.

Some leapt for the stars, but they didn’t get far for Kazinsky the cat chased them back.

At one point there landed a spaceship commanded by aliens from far away,

And Kazinsky sold mice to them for twice the price of what Earthlings would normally pay.

 

This madness went on more than half the night long as the moon swam away from the east.

And let it be said that the cat of Old Fred had a handsome and heavenly feast.

As the sun started rising on the eastern horizon the moon met the Earth in the west,

And Kazinsky stepped down to the new morning’s ground to prowl home for a well deserved rest.

 

Kazinsky arrived at just gone half past five as Old Fred nodded off where he sat.

Through the window he crept as Old Fred soundly slept, dreaming  dreams of an astronaut cat.

He strolled to the chair and at Fred sleeping there and he settled down onto his lap,

And Kazinsky the cat and Old Fred, just like that, spent the whole day enjoying a nap.

 

Poem of the Day

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Sorry Notes

by Helen Hagemann

In the morning when I walked outside

it was like stepping back into a previous

spring, one year ago, and counting on ten

fingers the number of mice our male cat

had dropped at the back door. So I wasn’t

surprised this year to see another mouse,

already in rigor mortis, forepaws together

as if in prayer; exhaustion showing on its

face, as if flung from a far universe

and the intensity of a cat’s playful tease.

So now, with notebook and pen, I’m writing

sorry notes to all the dead mice whose souls

must have lifted up that day from their small

graveyard of parsley, basil or mint. And a

final “sorry” to the latest offering, its tiny

grey coat pasted on terracotta; held there for

the author’s pen to record, either from pity or

sympathy, one word the mouse would never hear.