Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

river reflections
 tell a tale of still water.
  They lie!

at twilight,
 the glassy river
  pretends stillness.

In the wee hours,
 The city becomes a blur
   Of color and motion,
     But the moon
         Is the moon
             Is the moon.

clouds drift upon
 mirror clear waters;
  dead tree stillness.

Posted on July 2, 2024 by B Gourley

empty boats
 bump gunwales
  in still air.

the flower bobs
 on its long, stiff stem.
 the sage is unmoved.

the flowing river
 looks still as glass, until
  fallen leaf ripples.

with taut anchor line,
 the fisherman's boat looks still
  in flowing waters.

With lazy mazy motion
  the fish slips through
   its watery world.

With no apparent purpose
  but to trace out a route
   through dreamland.

the fish drifts - barely:
 then, with a snap of its tail,
  it darts to the depths.