Schrödinger's Mouse

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Your love of my raspberries has resulted

in this late evening walk in headtorch,


to hedges of hazel and blackthorn,

far enough from home to foil ideas of return.


Aware of owls ripping through moonlight,

I kneel in damp fescue and sedge,


clutching this tilt trap of quantum uncertainty;

mouse or no mouse? that is the question.


The trap gate opens. You see me for the first time,

holding the moment in beads of black polished glass,


small body wedged, feet splayed, heart racing,

a quiver of tense, anticipating whiskers.


And in that instant, in that brief connection,

my doubts bubble. This is a good deed isn’t it?


This forced relocation; got to be a better solution

than back breaking death or slow poisoning.


Although I try to convince myself,

I believe you remain sceptical.


I am your nightmare; the one interrupting

your nightly midnight feasting,


the one separating you from all your

blind, deaf and hairless babies,


the one from which you must flee in terror

the second the black plastic touches the ground.


But, unlike Mr. McGregor, as I stumble one mile

back through darkling woods, soft clart that I am,


I’m hoping the owls have an off day

and secretly, despite your fruit plundering,


I’d quite like to see you again.






◄ Then It Rains

Death On A Pavement ►


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Jonathan Humble

Sat 23rd Feb 2019 12:01

Thank you Frances and Ray. It's all true. My greenhouse has become Morrisons for mice around our way … : /

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Frances Macaulay Forde

Sat 23rd Feb 2019 01:08

I agree with all said in comments above.
A gentle, surprising poem.
Thank you, Jonathan.

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Fri 22nd Feb 2019 19:52

A heightened awareness and an open mind work hand in hand In this nocturnal delight Jonathan. So much inner conversation that it compels us, and details like black polished glass are perfect.


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Jonathan Humble

Fri 22nd Feb 2019 17:01

Cheers Rachel : )

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Fri 22nd Feb 2019 16:40

There's a certain delicate quality to your writing that's authentic and never overdone. I don't remember ever getting through one of your pieces and thinking that I didn't enjoy it.

Good stuff, Jonathan.


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Jonathan Humble

Fri 22nd Feb 2019 15:32

I'm glad you like it, Dorothy.
: )

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Dorothy Webb

Fri 22nd Feb 2019 11:34

"I kneel in damp fescue and sedge"

" despite your fruit plundering,
I'd quite like to see you again"

I love this poem so much - love the gentle attitude and the imagery -
just beautiful.

Sometimes woodmice creep into the feeding ports of my seed feeders.
Once in they eat too much, can't get out, and have to be rescued.
They are exquisite - they too expect death but get freedom.

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