Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

tall grass sways
 beside the serene river
  one warm Fall day.

a fallen leaf
 rides the river downstream, 
  twisting lazily.

beyond the buildings
 lies pure blackness; night
  blankets the city.

the lion looks cross,
 but, perhaps, it’s just a mask.
  who knows the lion’s mind?

the pumpkin patch 
 has been harvested:
  orange orbs galore.

sometimes placid as
 a lake; sometimes churning
  like the ocean.

goldenrod field, 
 now subdued, will soon blaze
  in the morning sun.

if your mushroom has
 an eye, it’s time to stop
  eating mushrooms.

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

wildflowers 
 own the glade
  for a few days.