Cherubs Poem by Grahame Lockey

Cherubs



Apple-cheeked, golden-haired
infants, all bare
podgy, ballooning
piously unleash the air -
the breath we all get -
from their tiny pink
ocean-deep lungs.

Typhoons and tall twisters
turn on the maps,
sucking in, cherub's cheeks,
a hurricane blew
through the gaps
in the weatherman’s guess
the tidal tsunami waves hi.


Cloud curls, the beating air
whisks in collapse,
the dizzy tornado
brings home how hush
can relapse -
the way of their wavy hair -
the kink in the glaze of the sun.

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