DAILY PHOTO: Fungoid Frog, Hydrophylax malabaricus
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Little kittens can’t get their legs.
Feet slide as legs sprawl wide.
Writhing amid a pile of siblings.
Wrangled and nudged by mama.
Tiny screams for leeway ungranted.
Bellies bulge with mama’s milk.
They don’t yet look like miniature cats.
They have neither the proportions nor the ears.
They could as well be puppies or opossums.
From any distance mama sanctions.
[National Poetry Month: Poem #19]
What’s a tiger but a bright, orange cat
who naps all day but doesn’t get fat?
How does he stay muscled and lean
when he eats and eats and sleeps between?
Sure, now and again, he’ll chase a gazelle.
Unlike my cat, who’s trained me with a bell
to deliver food to a bowl right under her nose
lest I hear the pitiful yowl of hunger throes.
But when chasing prey, tigers never run long.
He picks slow and weak over fast and strong.
And you’ll never see him run in the mid-day sun,
and he’ll always be napping when his meal is done.
[National Poetry Month: Poem #14]
Hey, there, Mr. Millipede.
Shall I judge you by word or deed?
If by word, you’re big, stinky liar.
I counted 200 feet, not one higher.
“1000 feet” is pure exaggeration.
I say with no intended defamation.
By deed, now, that’s a different story.
You deserve all the accolades and glory.
I trip and stumble on just my two feet.
With 200, I’d never make it across the street.
How can your tiny brain keep feet moving?
Does each step need pre-approving?
[National Poetry Month: Poem #13]