Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

sunrise paints the haze
 the color of campfire flames,
  and nothing looks real,
 but rather like a painting
 by an artist, skilled & lazy.

incense tracks
 meander skyward --
 erratically;
 as they rise, they diffuse
 to become nothingness.

bougainvilleas
 beside the grand temple steps
 have dropped petals,
 but it seems the gardners
 never let them hit the ground.

in a city park,
 muscular baobabs & 
  wiry strangler figs
 provide residences
 for the fierce squirrels.

cat on a porch rail
 preens between naps
 to look good
 for the twenty waking 
 minutes of its day.

in the morning,
 a fresh blanket of snow
  makes the world look new.
 by day's end, it's well-trodden:
  a car driven off the lot.

in a thriving wood,
 sits a barren patch of 
  understory.
 oh what tales locals tell
  about the patch that can't grow!

the floating leaf
 chooses its path around 
  the island
 by not choosing a path
  around the island.

the old church stands:
 proud, tall, and hollowed.
  when it’s rebuilt, 
 will it be another church?
  or will it be a shopping mall?

Posted on August 4, 2023 by B Gourley

towering temples
 poke clear of the canopy:
  to be seen
 by god above, or not to
 be seen by people below?