Biting baby blues

We’re rocking teeth
More shocking news
Our shoes won’t fit
Our socks we lose

We climb as high
As we can reach
And make the most
Unholy screech

We don’t sit still
May throw our food
And roll around
When in a mood

With grabby hands
And strong-willed walk
The vulnerable
We now stalk

That thing you smell…
Our butt don’t lie
Some nose-to-mattress
Lullaby

If you want sleep
You’d best be dead
Small half-moons mark
The path ahead

And will we tire
Or do as told?
Hell no! We’re just
As good as gold!

Hey diddle diddle

My very own brand of silliness I patent here and now
For who else with a moon to jump would choose to be the cow?
Such effort here I do expend as mooing cosmonaut,
You’d think even a cat might care to spare me a retort?
But owls, though wise, and cats not shy pass by without a thought.
They no more do acknowledge me, than algebra, a nought.
So in my childish wisdom, spaghetti-o’s I buy,
And look to build a telescope with which to view the sky.