Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

summer river:
dragonflies dart at the edge,
around thirsty shrubs

well-trodden snow
is checked with long shadows
from the afternoon sun

moss grows on steel.
machine on the forest’s edge,
swallowed by life

soft, round hills
under cottony clouds, yet
the hike is so hard

clouds top the green hills
and threaten to spill over,
but never do

a flying fox
circles in mid-day light:
its prey, diurnal fruits

the lake is glassy;
half rippled / half frosted,
and yet one lake

giant stag beetle
with broken antler and limp
still freaks me out

the bungalow’s round
angles & odd proportions
make fairytale look

i see a horse,
and hear a banjo tune,
but don’t imagine…