Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

winter clouds
hang thick and low, but -yet-
 the sun burns through

i’ve seen nettles,
& i’ve felt nettles —
better the former

silent forest.
wind chimes hang stiffly,
as leaves sway

puffy white clouds
seem no less solid 
than gray granite

conscious.
be, do, sleep, repeat…
unconscious.

from the train,
everchanging landscapes…
then i wake up

between boulders
grows a sinewy tree --
robust by ordeals

cactus & bush
harmoniously grow into
one silhouette

at the bottom,
i feel my legs work;
at the top, i see

barren trees
reveal the flooded land
to my distant eye