Category Archives: Moose

“There’s a Moose Loose Aboot This Hoose!”

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Other Mooses are also available

“There’s a moose loose aboot this hoose!”

The cat brought it in;
Well, that’s my excuse
And it is hiding in the bathroom
Is this moose of which I speak
And I’ve learned something new today…
Who knew a moose could squeak.

It’s a Sunday, so I have the time I need
To capture the hairy visitor – one more mouth to feed;
But, Rosie wants to eat the moose
As Rosies often do
I think she likes the chase before:
A little case of Cat and moose! Who ever knew?

Now cowering in the corner
Afraid of coming out
Not a squeak for a while’s been heard
Nor any ‘Help me!’ Shout
That is from the moose
Not me or Rosie Cat;
We are made of stronger stuff
As I move the bathroom mat;
To uncover the moose?
No. So I cover my toes
I don’t want to be eaten today;
They start at the toes
And end at the nose
All in one sitting
They say.

I wonder if this moose is poetical
And has come to mock me again
I probably shouldn’t be thinking so theoretical
But, now, while I only have half a brain,
Seems like the right time to think so
Perhaps when I’ve woken some more
I shall be brave
Take the moose by the horns
And show the intruder the door
(Although I think the moose entered via the window not intruder door!)

All is quiet aboot the huis
Nothing was stirring
Nae e’en a moose…


“What do ‘you’ do when your moose goes on strike?”

The Poetic Moose

The Poetic Moose

Further to

What do ‘you’ do when your moose goes on strike?
Do you bathe in past glories;
Go out for a hike?
Catch up on your reading;
Pay off all the bills?
Polish the furniture;
Mantles ‘and’ sills?’
Alphabetise your CDs;
Or chronologise them in years?
Phone up all your friends;
Invite them for beers?
Catch up on your sleep;
Those four million winks?
Or phone up some ‘other’ friends;
Invite ‘them’ for drinks?
Or tune up your harp;
Rehearse all your tunes?
Go off to the beach,
And lay amongst the dunes?

What do ‘you’ do
When your muse goes on strike?

I do this.

The Poetic Moose dot com


You ‘can’ occasionally find me at the mercy of waiting for the said moose to strike again.

You may, at these times, observe (you may) that my ability to create rhymes to order has deserted me; that the flow of my creative juices seems to have dried up; and, that my literary output has reduced to zilch – or slightly lower.

Please, do not be alarmed – this happens.