The Big Cat

On the wall, in a hunting lodge,
hangs a moth eaten tiger pelt,
once a fierce animal shot by
a red faced colonel.and now
a dismally forgotten trophy.  

There are no tigers in Bengali
except for a mad one in a zoo
wears a motorbike helmet to stop 

committing suicide by butting
its head against iron bars.  

Tigers are not sociable, 

but Each one knows where the others
Are and that's good for a tiger to know; 

there are no tigers in Bengali, the one last
hangs on a wall.

Kaoshung

A knock on my cabin's door and there
she stood the most beautiful woman in the world, 

her features so clear they
blended with sun and sky. 

Her beauty transcended sex, eyes bore no hint of sin, 

chaste hips and in her smile I saw no lewdness.
Her loveliness existed by itself, bore no malice, 

yet held no sentimental  promises. 

The transitory face of dawn on the sea of Taiwan.  

From my poetry collection  "The Cherry Tree And A Dog"

A large sea-gull, white so beautiful, that
first I thought it was and angel, circled
my cottage three times before settling on
the roof; it had nature's wisdom, its beak
aristocratic like a roman senator, but not a Brutus for he was fat and looked like Marlon
Brando. The gull only had one leg and I knew it was a pirate captain
of the reefs, where the outer sea begins, looking for a retirement home. "You are welcome
to stay here." It nobly nodded, took off and sailed back whence it came.