Tiger poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best tiger poems ever written. Read all poems about tiger.
A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink—
I hunted all the Sand—
The tiger, on the other hand,
Is kittenish and mild,
And makes a pretty playfellow
For any little child.
Royal bengal tiger!
When swim to pass across river
Target is determined.
Just straight forward move on
What of the hunting, hunter bold?
Brother, the watch was long and cold.
What of the quarry ye went to kill?
Brother, he crops in the jungle still.
Her dead lady's joy and comfort,
Who departed this life
The last day of March, 1727:
To the great joy of Bryan
Tiger with coat of dissimilar stripes,
When he’s angry, tiger swipes,
Tiger cautious, guarding his lair,
Danger lurking, tiger aware.
the hunt begins after sunset
under cracked moon, blindfolded clouds
start visiting volitionlessly:
A Fantasy, dedicated to the little poet Alice Oliver Henderson, ten years old.
The Fantasy shows how tiger-hearts are the cause of war in all ages. It shows how the mammoth forces may be either friends or enemies of the struggle for peace. It shows how the dream of peace is unconquerable and eternal.
(Stage Opens) .
Leopard is Searching For Food.
Tiger King, Tiger King
Where are you now weird thing?
Your story is incredible
Not like cat
But like tiger.
And I do admit
Tiger is a large
The name itself is ferocious
But imagine a tiger
Without teeth and
(Man Said to Himselves.)
What a Pleasant Sight it has been and my Desire is to Plant Trees and Make this a Beautiful Scene.
I want tiger
And I think
A fitness icon.
Grandfather hunted tigers.
Father sold tiger skins.
Before being sold,
Those tiger skins were hung before the house.
And as pregnant ewes crossed the courtyard one by one
Their lambs were lost.
Hung behind the house, those skins,
And the pears and peach trees withered one by one.
On the prairie of my dreams Father
Strode among the crowds
Clothed in a tiger skin.
As shouts of, "A tiger's coming" rang throughout
The stone walls of the village,
And rocks rolled like scrambling goats.
The last was Mother, chased by the tiger to wood's end;
There she died, yet was brought to life again.
Before being sold, the tiger skins
Were the skins of sky
The skins of earth
The skins of water
The skins of rock.
When turned into windows on the wall
Those tiger skins would reveal my person.
Should I be seen it would be seen with
Hunting gun on shoulder.
When deciding to make a sacred drum of tiger skin,
One fears only those beats that deliver
Withering plagues through the endless forest.
On making a harness of tiger skin for the ox
The one fear is no more land to plow.
When making a banner of tiger skin
The one fear is that of finding no one to raise it.
I have never seen a tiger skin, nor indeed a tiger.
"'A man leaves behind only his name at death;
A tiger leaves only its skin.'"
In this life of yours, why not be a tiger?"
And why were the children taught this way?
Whatever the reason, all those tiger skins
Were sold by my father.
On New Year's Eve pine needles covered the sitting room floor.
Not one of Grandfather's footprints could be found.
Did he die again in the sky? Let it be just a dream.
I carried my cold heart to lay it upon
the pine needles piled there in the sitting room.
I did not feel the needle pricks as their tattoos
Covered my body.
It was again the midnight of that day
The midnight of that day.
Tiger, Tiger burning bright;
Hits a golf ball out of sight!
What precise hand & eye contact;
What sublime symmetry!
I am a professional hunter by tradition
Managed a hunting program of a tiger.
To ensure historic glory of my hidden ability.