Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

Posted on March 9, 2026 by B Gourley

some swear guardians
 come to life -- dancing through
  the temple yard...
 but only Autumn nights, and
 after a calabash of wine.

Posted on March 5, 2026 by B Gourley

early Spring seed pods
 of Red Maple hold tight 
  - patiently —
 til one day in late Spring: 
  they’ll drop, spin, and fly.

a Seagull stands 
 at a respectful distance
  from a fish stall,
 waiting for the fishmonger
 to do the right thing.

the fixed boulder
 makes great shelter;
  rolling boulders
 make monkey paste:
 how do baby monkeys know?

birdbath grows from
 fungus on a dead log;
  flitting sparrow
 is disappointed to find
 no water remains within.

city landscapers
 find year-round blooms for planters,
  but I'll await
   the wildflowers that grow 
   way up on the hillside.

Gator rests on stump.
 but my mind cannot rest.
  it's not "gator"
 and "stump" in the same place,
 but in the same sentence.

Even in the 
 pristine palace garden,
  gardeners refuse
 to chase one stray, wind-blown leaf
  that tumblers over pavers.

the memory
 of an outdoor cafe
  at city center
 comes to me out of the blue,
 on a frigid Winter day.

climbing grasshopper
 clings to gently bouncing branch;
  sure to fall
 before the next crunchy leaf
 succumbs to Autumn breezes.