Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

passing hazy hills,
i sway with the train,
mulling reality

fields of ripe rice
as far as the eye can see -
sickle harvested

momma langur
looks like she’s saying,
“lean into your hammy!”

hollowed out boulder:
home to a meditating monk;
keeps rain out… most days

through bleary eyes,
i look out to see the moon,
then fall back to sleep

banyan roots
intertwine like snakes
writhing in a pile

clouds, pulled & rolled
like fine webbing, glow in the
conch-orange sunlight

water lilies 
align in a window
in the foliage

the desert sun
sets over the lake, 
and all is gold

staggering
through a black cave, & then
a shaft of light