Hunting a Tiger Without a Gun

by Cornelia Rohde

The jungle splits open.
Two hundred kilos of steel
shoots out snarling.
My knees grip
the hide of the elephant.
His scream slices the air.
Fearful of fangs and claws
hurtling at his heart,
he swings sideways.
I fight for balance on his back,
grasp at strands of his hair,
blood thundering in my ears.
He surges back,
tusks set to gore.
He lunges forward bellowing.
The tiger menaces, rumbles,
melts in retreat.
My teeth unlock.
My breath explodes.



by Angela Prew

Hunger is a tiger, gnawing
at the intestines of the mind,
rarely satisfied.
It crouches, waiting
for the unwary, the greedy, the corrupt,
those in love with money, power or fame.
It creeps up, ever-watchful,
as still hungry, always hungry, always tempted,
they grab for more and more and yet more.
Claws unsheathed, canines bared
the tiger pounces, ready
to rip them apart