THE BABY WHO CRIED WAY TOO LOUD
There was a baby in Kochi town,
In a cradle of wood, lying down,
Who wailed “oh shi!” with endless might
, And won the medal for loudest cry!
His voice rang out both far and near,
Through Gujarat streets, Jaipur clear,
It echoed in Delhi’s bustling bazaar,
Like thunder booming from afar.
He cried and cried, the people prayed,
For silence, peace, a calm cascade.
His mother stuffed her ears with care,
Cotton buds to save her hearing there.
Crowds arrived from far and wide,
To see the baby’s sonic tide.
Windows cracked, bangles broke,
As if the earth itself had spoke!
James the tourist came to see,
His ears bled from the baby’s plea.
Aunt poured oil to soothe the pain,
But still the cries began again.
At last, on day six, came the cat,
Catter the clever, catty cat.
She leapt inside the cradle bed,
And massaged the baby’s neck instead.
The baby paused, began to purr,
It loved the gentle paws on fur.
And after a decade, peace was found,
returned to the village ground.
her sulked head hangs
pupils turn to serpent shape
she's a mad catter
The force is catter-balled inside of it's own redemption,
you are not meandering without,
or even tempered to non-survive the site-
they told us in many more trials that we don't travel in far as much as we can keep being more than what was told is for...
So many wines and gatherings of the eclipse,
so many new tides you might wonder how they all fly when really it's nothing to attack.
"So fly like a G-6"
"Never guide the high it's all alike and its..."
No ask why,
no internment bite,
just the waltz of the mountain goats and whites..
The flutter around after strong size,
weathered mime and together light.
Autumn arrives astride a chilly breeze
Urged to paint the leaves before Winter's freeze.
The forest faires are all set to go
Under Luna's metallic golden glow.
Magnificent gilded moonbeams unfold,
Natural beauty that's strikingly bold.
Caramel amber, copper, and yellow,
Offset a reddish-orange tangelo.
Like a shimmering swarm of honey bees
Ochers harmonize in the tops of trees.
Rustling mosaics cerise and brindled brown,
Scatter, as brisk breezes blow them around.
(Acrostic)
9/19/2017
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