If I keep this up, I'll be really surprised. I have a habit a starting things and not finishing them.
In the Valley of the Moon, Alberta
Wind-weathered mounds of
what used to be Archaeopteryx,
gravel formed from eroded Pteranodons,
blasted by elements for millions
of eons before we arrived,
so long before we took our first steps.
Grasses bend in breezes
melded for centuries fossils of
Apatosaurus, Raptor, and Stegosaurs.
All that is left
of such stately specimens
is dust,
curiously raw.
[(c) 1998]
A collection of words that might mean something to someone, might bring tears to a few, might open a few eyes, might cause heads to shake, but I see them as poetry. And I'm the one who matters most.
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For shame. I've forgotten to post.
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