Day: May 5, 2019

Tiger

The tiger is my favorite of all the big cats, and considering it’s part of my website name, I figured I should have a poem about the tiger. So here it is. I just finished writing it.

Tiger:

Black and orange stripes slink through the jungle,

Tail twitches,

Claws feel the ground,

Yellow eyes sweep the jungle blackness round,

Who am I?

You don’t see me for my shroud of black and orange,

You don’t see me for the trees and bushes that protect me,

You don’t see me for my stealthiness–my paws make no sound as I pad across the ground,

You don’t see me for the sable of the night–I blend with it–the night and I become one,

But I see you,

You do not blend with my home–the jungle,

You push through the brush–snapping twigs as you go,

Your feet on the ground are a thunder to my ears,

Your figure stands out–seen with my eyes of the dark,

Who am I?

I am the tiger and I see you.

Jaguar

The jaguar is one of my favorites of the big cats.

Jaguar:

I am stealthy and sleek,

I am dangerous,

My claws are sharp–I deal you a deadly blow,

My eyes glow with a dangerous light,

They seek you out–I find you,

I come to you in the night,

Softly–cautiously–and dangerously,

I come to you across the forest floor.

Eyes

I think this was inspired by a fantasy book that I was reading at the time.

Eyes:

Black eyes look out from the forest’s shadowy depths,

They glow like hot embers,

They stalk my dreams,

Golden eyes come forth,

Protect me,

Thick white coat warm me,

Wrap around me,

Give me a toasty fire and hold me close.

Sunrise

And yet another horse poem.

Sunrise:

The sunrise is near,

The sunrise is coming,

And with it a horse as bright and golden as the sunrise.

Paul Revere

A silly poem–who knows how I came up with this one.

Paul Revere:

Paul Revere was an auctioneer,

Who lived on the frontier,

And every leap year,

Pierced his ear,

With a cashmere racketeer,

That is crystal-clear,

When struck with a spear,

Is loud and clear,

Heard all the way up in the stratosphere.

Old King Cole

This is another one of my silly poems. Done several years ago. For awhile there I was on quite a role for crazy poems.

Old King Cole:

Old King Cole is from the North Pole,

He has no heart and soul,

But he does have a son named Joel,

Who has a tadpole,

That lives in a fishbowl,

Out of which comes a flagpole,

Who does have a heart and soul.