The Squatters***Revision Options

[Luce]

The Squatters (Revision)

In the pale of day
horses pace in the meadow.
Their combed tails tossing
nervous energy to the wind.

Half hidden in the grass
the low hum of smaller lives
play out.

But all grasp for a foothold
in the twilight or a place
among the violets.

A tribe of mice invade the shed,
set up squatter’s rights with their nests
of soft pink young.

Who am I to evict them
from the warmth of the bucket?
Who appointed me the Osiris of mice?

I take the mousetraps down from the shelf.

Cringing, I set up the traps
but still strive for the perfection of death:
peanut butter for the guys,
a bit of lint for the ladies,
add one wiggly nose then

SNAP!

The hidden serial killer inside me
bleeding through.


The Squatters - Original


In the pale of the day
the horses pace in the meadow,
combed tails tossing
nervous energy to the wind.

The low hum of life
surrounds them, hidden
in the grass.

Some run, others crawl
but all grasp for a foothold
in the twilight and a place
among the violets.

A tribe of mice invade the shed,
set up squatter’s rights with their nests
filled with soft pink young.

Who am I to evict them
from the warmth of the bucket?
Who appointed me the Osiris of mice?
I take the mousetraps down from the shelf.

Cringing, I set up the traps
but still strive for the perfection of death:
peanut butter for the guys,
a bit of lint for the ladies,
add one wiggly nose, then
SNAP!

It’s the hidden serial killer inside me
bleeding out.

Luce

Notes:

Poem was from the 10 word challenge in Acropolis. Changed some words (which is allowed) if posting in a critique forum.

Preferred trap bait: peanut butter – mainly catches males who are hunting for food, a bit of lint or cotton attracts females (pregnant or not). They are usually searching for materials for their nests. Of course what breaks the cycle is killing the female mice.

[greenwich]

Death explained so eloquently and as matter of fact. Strange only last night watched Country Life on UK tv, it just brings into focus the hunters ingenuity. Your poem is contemplative at first then becomes full metal jacket. Your notes reinforce the method. The title carries thoughts of human squatters and yet daddy mouse and mother mouse does in a way humanise them, but your poem tracks back to the necessarity of the process

[Eisa]

Hi Luce,

Nicely told! A story about life that many of us have played. A few comments below.


In the pale of the day
the horses pace in the meadow,
combed tails tossing
nervous energy to the wind.

There are 3 the's in the first 2 lines. Perhaps

As the day pales
horses pace in the meadow

The low hum of life
surrounds them, hidden
in the grass.

Some run, others crawl
but all grasp for a foothold
in the twilight and a place
among the violets.

A tribe of mice invade the shed,
set up squatter’s rights with their nests
filled with soft pink young.

Perhaps keep the identity of the creatures a bit longer until nearer the end and start this stanza

A tribe invades the shed

Who am I to evict them
from the warmth of the bucket?
Who appointed me the Osiris of mice?
I take the mousetraps down from the shelf.

Cringing, I set up the traps
but still strive for the perfection of death:
peanut butter for the guys,
a bit of lint for the ladies,
add one wiggly nose, then

SNAP!

Perhaps set snap apart from the stanza

It’s the hidden serial killer inside me
bleeding out.

A good response to the challenge, Luce

Eira

[Maureen]

A nice write Luce - my only nit pick would be that in the first 2 stanzas you are talking about the horses and then reading the 3rd stanza I am thinking to myself this doesn't sound right - Some run, others crawl - horses don't crawl. Reading on of course I realize we are now talking about another animal all together ....

Perhaps just to separate the two in the readers eye you might find some other way to show the difference or consider adding the words nearby and animals and reversing the first line - eg.

Nearby, other animals crawl, some run,
but all grasp for a foothold
in the twilight and a place
among the violets.

[Luce]

Anthony, Eisa & Maureen,

Thanks for reading and providing feedback on the poem. I'm glad you all liked it.

Anthony - I like how you described the turn in the poem "contemplative to full metal jacket".

Eisa - I have an idea to eliminate one of the "the's in the first stanza. I'll also give a "deep think" about your other suggestions.

Maureen - Hhhhmmmm. I thought saying "hidden in the grass" would be enough to suggest that I wasn't talking about horses anymore. But, based on your comment, I think I need to further separate the image of the horses and the creatures in the grass. Thanks for that observation and suggestion.

I'll post a revision in a few days. I don't want to rush the revision. I always seem to regret it when I do a quick revision.

Luce

[Luce]

Revision up.

Luce

[Psyche]

Well done, Luce. One of your best!
I have some nits, but not many.

The Squatters (Revision)

In the pale of the day
horses pace in the meadow.
Their combed tails tossing
nervous energy to the wind.

Good picture in the opening stanza. I feel I'm there... Only nit is 4 'the's'. I suggest:
In the pale of day
horses pace in the meadow.

Nice inner rhyme with pale and pace (it's one of the sub-groups Larry taught us).



Half hidden in the grass
the low hum of smaller lives
play out.

But all grasp for a foothold
in the twilight or a place
among the violets.

A tribe of mice invade the shed,
set up squatter’s rights with their nests
of soft pink young.

All good stanzas, IMO. Reminds me of mice in a cold shed where we kept apples in winter. The soft pink young fascinated me! I never told my Dad about them, as I knew he'd kill them. But he used to turn the apples around to keep them from bruising, and he'd find them.


Who am I to evict them
from the warmth of the bucket?
Who appointed me the Osiris of mice?

I take the mousetraps down from the shelf.

I appreciate the unwilling 'change of mind' here.

Cringing, I set up the traps
but still strive for the perfection of death:
peanut butter for the guys,
a bit of lint for the ladies,
add one wiggly nose then

SNAP!

The hidden serial killer inside me
bleeding through.


Ugh! Good ending, but I can't help feeling repulsed. I can't even squash spiders or roaches...have to scream for help...LOL.


The Squatters - Original


In the pale of the day
the horses pace in the meadow,
combed tails tossing
nervous energy to the wind.

The low hum of life
surrounds them, hidden
in the grass.

Some run, others crawl
but all grasp for a foothold
in the twilight and a place
among the violets.

A tribe of mice invade the shed,
set up squatter’s rights with their nests
filled with soft pink young.

Who am I to evict them
from the warmth of the bucket?
Who appointed me the Osiris of mice?
I take the mousetraps down from the shelf.

Cringing, I set up the traps
but still strive for the perfection of death:
peanut butter for the guys,
a bit of lint for the ladies,
add one wiggly nose, then
SNAP!

It’s the hidden serial killer inside me
bleeding out.

Luce

Notes:

Poem was from the 10 word challenge in Acropolis. Changed some words (which is allowed) if posting in a critique forum.

Preferred trap bait: peanut butter – mainly catches males who are hunting for food, a bit of lint or cotton attracts females (pregnant or not). They are usually searching for materials for their nests. Of course what breaks the cycle is killing the female mice.

[Luce]

Syl.

it's never fun killing anything. Yet, it's a part of life.

If I can, I give the varmints a way out first. But, sometimes it's not possible.

PS - Good suggestion for eliminating one of the "the's". I'll incorporate that change.
I will just edit that extra "the" out. In this case, I'm not posting or marking it as a revision because the change is minor.