"pterodactyls" poems
LET SLEEPING PTERODACTYLS LIE
Rusted scythe
perched on a nail
high up on a wall
a sleeping pterodactyl.
I can't stop myself touching
it to see if it is - real.
Smacks its lips
laps up my blood
from my foolish fingertip
deceived by shadows.
It's grin glinting
the smile come alive.
The ghost of a horse
whinnies in the stable
that's gone long gone
the then merging into the now.
Or maybe Mr. Death
too tired to go on
hangs up the instrument of his trade
time to retire the old bones.
“No way to make a living!”
I back slowly away
blinded by the sunlight
that screams. . ."Run!"
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
Come every morning you're up with the sun
with hundreds of questions before breakfasts done
like what is a rainbow and where is the dark?
what's that? and why's? can we go to the park?
the beach? the woods? as I sit here and dream
must we have cereal? I want ice cream!
You sit at the table, eyes wide, mine half shut
and chat to the cat about dinosaur stuff
how you like pterodactyls but school, not so much
you rummage through cereal in hope of a toy
one way to amuse such a curious boy
the cat swipes the box, makes it fall to the floor
"there goes our breakfast!" as sweet laughter roars
you slurp at your juice as I sip at my tea
so it's ice cream for breakfast for you and for me.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Since the day I met You I knew You were no ordinary girl. It's not because your hair was more colourful than the northern lights or because your smile was so dorkishly adourable.
You see I would never really get nervous around girls, and I already knew you for a couple of years so the thought of there ever being something died a long time ago.
so I still cannot understand why when our hands interlocked that Wednesday morning, in that empty feild with nothing but us and the crickets, You managed to transform the butterflies in my stomach to pterodactyls, the frog that was once in my throat has been swallowed by a tyrannosaurus.
You made the feelings of a first crush come back to life, I relived it over and over until first crush was changed to first love.
But when you kissed me, when you kiss me the creatures in me became prehistoric. Their bodies burnt away with nothing but remains left behind, And their bones were used to build the foundation of the feeling that I still have today.
You know most people say when they have a special kiss they see fireworks, but girl when I first kissed you I saw a meteor shower.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 8:11 AM UTC
recollecting collections projecting selections injecting protection infection dejection
dyslexic narcoleptic rejecting dejections ******** complexion complicating interjections
perplexed inspectors intercept pterodactyls relaxing in backpacks extracting disillusion
contortionist philanthropist dejected transgression implementing eradications of moss buying patrons
eclectic perfectionist rests limp-wristed whispering disparaging remarks to the wait staff
trombone percussionist impressed and impoverished gravelling wistfully mimicking Rickles
I sit half disheveled grinding my wisdom teeth feeling the fleeting muse sitting in disbelief –
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
The ideosyncrasies of the cities are not
found in the small towns,
the dirt poor brown towns,
the twitching of curtains and dressing gown towns,
but the **** pulls us out of the towns and into the city where the
sewers are home to the rats and the mountains built up on
the streets are a home for the cats,the fat cats,the purring cats, the sharing caring who am I kidding cats,
they are the leeches
weekdays in suits and the weekends in knickerbockers,breech loaders,the feeding free loaders,the gum boot brigade,tea,toast and marmalade,raid the pension accounts and they get an accolade brigade.
The small town mentality will be the death of me,I can see this is wrong but go along with it,up to my neck in it,with paddles I row in it,
the city is full of ****
The cranes,
new age pterodactyls, chomping their way through the last of the daffodils,sending them downstream to a landfill in East Cheam,sometimes if I dream,I dream in black and white and the city then looks alright but in my heart I know it's crumbling,falling apart at the seams,held together by nightmares and more dreams from the townies,cub scouts and brownies,I don't dream a lot anymore.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
Look me in the eyes
Look deep into my soul
because underneath the new plaster where all the cracks used to be
that where your fingerprints lie
Tell me what is keeping us together
because when walk in the door
the butterflies of excitement turn into pterodactyls of anger
Because your unwillingness to pull your soul out into the light
So that we can re-plaster the walls
And harness the power of what you hold within
It's lonely on this side of the fence
Look me in the eyes
Look deep into my soul
Do you see all the work I've put in
The clutter is gone now
The power is in my hands now
you can do it to if you just try
we can harness your pterodactyls too
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC
he gives me butterflies the size of pterodactyls.
he makes me feel as if my name is safe within his lungs.
I don't know how to explain it, but there's something about him.
how cliche, I know.
but I love the way he breathes.
the way he holds his cigarette.
it didn't scare me when he told me he loved me after barely 3 weeks.
he was 16 drinks in, babbling, slurring.
but when he said it, he spoke so clearly.
sober thoughts.
I've never seen someone look at me like they've been waiting for me their whole life.
but his eyes have a certain innocence in them, and he can't hide from it.
his laughter whispers love letters.
the wind picks up his scent.
just how crazy young love can be.
somehow, I wish he were my first.
I wish I had never had feelings for anyone else,
because I have wasted feelings on other men when he deserves all of it.
all of me.
when I die, I want them I dust off my heart.
and only find his fingerprints.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
Sea shell, sea shell,
By the stegosaur,
Millions of years prior to dinos
So often pictured together.
Why must it be so easy to
Break.
Pterosaurs are not all
Pterodactyls,
******
And they are less bird
Than the monster you call T. rex,
Which was actually a scavenger.
Velociraptors don't exist as you think they do,
The closest thing you speak of are turkey sized
pack runners from Mongolia and China.
Or the Utah Raptor, over 6 meters long, from my native home land,
Utah.
You can't comprehend how much time
This Earth has been through.
We are less than the one percent.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
I returned to where i fit like a puzzle piece into the transparent rock and the crystalline water,
where the trees grew prehistoric palm fronds, wild grass with a view over islands and shades of blue
where the sand felt like silk
birds flashed by the water, visions of grey bodies, yellow legs and wings shaped like pterodactyls,
the waters reflective surface barely alludes to the cosmos beneath
a teeming reef with blue starfish, red starfish, all manners of little fish, parrot fish, shiny squid in hues of blue purple iridescent as I snorkel I see eye to eye with fishies
the coral how they move or don’t ,
their shapely curves in brain wave formations or flowers in perpetual bloom, perhaps akin to a large mushroom
So I breathe and let my fear go.
This is where showers are outside and doors open all night for the breeze to wash me as I sleep.
Where the sky is shifting all in sight,
miles away rain falls and I delight in the visual ecstasy
of the creative flow
the ease of the wind and the lap lap lap of waves
at tidal flows bubbling in, sloshing out -
No skyline disturbing “skyscrapers” but horizons are in vision and further further
inside and out as
I watched a stacked Cumulus mediocris cloud rain onto the ocean, progressively getting smaller and smaller top down,
I saw a lightning storm illuminate the rising sun behind as moon slice smiles
I saw the reason why the heavens are called heavens
the stars almost close enough to touch, an expansiveness of space
when I breathed
it came inside me and filled me
with the vibrancy of billions upon billions of alchemical workshops, working in conjunction with each other, some element created here, some element come together there.
I paused at the highest point of the rock hill a shooter slings on by
past condensed galaxy middles.
When I breathed the expansiveness of ocean and rocks, reefs and prehistoric vegetation I was filled with expansiveness
It was there that I felt the shadows held friends too
my heart beat slowly , quickly, round up down
until one morning I woke up, transparent too
vibrating so highly becoming nothing
even just for a moment
I felt in unison with the rocks and the waves and the sand
the being I currently am
made up of the same stuff and in there
Oneness
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:51 AM UTC
In my dream a wise man told me
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
Glass pterodactyls are falling
Like raindrops from the sky.
The answer is in a caravan,
Should judges ever lie.
Beware of turning into them,
Lest the angels realign,
Leave us fighting
A war we don't understand.
Turn to wayward follies
Should specters cease to be.
Skeletons sleep in closets,
Dreaming to break free.
Mar 29, 2011
Mar 29, 2011 at 8:02 AM UTC
Hypotheses abound, regarding the extinction
of the reptilian hordes, those base or of distinction.
Some aver, and others vow, things must have gone this way
and when I hear such lofty speech, I clear my throat and say:
“It seems to me that when we speak with such calm certitude
we miss the possibility of death by attitude.
For when I look upon these bones of prehistoric herds
I catch a glimpse of simpler times, and then I see the “birds”
For while the stegosaurus trod with stoic steps so slow
I perceive he may have been arraigned as one below
the wild heights of soaring things, with pointed, cackling heads
who mocked him at his every turn (which stegosauri dread)
And so as this terrestrial life was bound to suffer so
The pterodactyls found great fun to drive them all to woe
They drove them off, by day and night, until they were defunct,
the primal victims of a craft; the first to e’er be punk’d”
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
The loneliness gets to me every once and a while. I actually do fine without anyone, but of course taking the time to think about it changes everything, scrolling through my dash on Tumblr, or just feeling the floating aura that radiates off of someone who’s in love…makes you feel the empty pit right below your sternum. And you wonder what it’s like to feel butterflies there…true butterflies. For me, they’d be pterodactyls; I don’t know what it’s like to truly feel for someone on that level and for the feeling to be returned in the same magnitude. This makes me wonder how people rush things. A touch should be cherished, and one should pull every bit of tingle from it that they can before ***** takes her hands away. I long for that, but I've done a fantastic job at convincing myself that I don’t. I can’t see myself being loved that way, so much that he would slow down, be serene and stoic with me, share all his thoughts and vibrations, and not be a total **** that falls into the stereotype of an attractive guy who can’t keep up a conversation. I feel no attachments to the people I've dated. None. Their faces and voices do not phase me like I once pretended they did. I’m drawn in by their ability to intrigue me and stimulate my mind, and then they stop doing it because they don’t understand how it satisfies me.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
* There the poet lives *
Sunk in his own blissful depression and sorrow
Protesting sobriety with gallons of liquor and hallucinogens
* There the poet sleeps*
Dreams are made of reality beginning to fade
A beautiful cacophony of syncopated Technicolor
* There the poet sits*
Writing and stringing together subjugated thoughts
For someone to decipher and find further meanings for funding
* There the poet listens*
Screeching birds like pterodactyls drilling his mind
Piercing the silent observations he desires
* There the poet laments*
Perched on the edge of the world
Waiting for oblivion to come and save us all
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 3:41 PM UTC
we both liked pterodactyls.
that much we knew for sure.
in between the what's your favorite band
and how long can you hold your breath
i fell in love with him.
we fit together like two puzzle pieces, he told me,
carefully crafted by somebody somewhere,
overlapping,
maintaining the symmetry we so beautifully created.
never have i seen another so clearly as when i looked in his eyes.
the paw prints tattooed on his back were from where an angel landed,
he said.
he asked to take a picture of my lips, he wanted to remember them.
every morning he wakes up and prays.
he loves god more than he loves man, and he believes in tibet and monks and the wu tang clan,
and a whole lot of other things i know nothing about.
he understands the world.
i only met him once,
but i havent stopped thinking about him since.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
The pterodactyls are screeching,
Flying circles at tree line level
The devil took yet another apprentice
To his obsidian lair, the core of
The earth has gained a new
Resident.
The sky is falling down,
There are shards of the glass
Ceiling embedded in the roof
Of my mouth, and I am screaming
A guttural sound
But only tattered feathers
Come flying out.
Meanwhile, the cars are screeching
Gridlocked, teeth bared for
Hundreds upon hundreds of miles
A variety of cigarettes are
Puffing out clouds,
A sea of brake lights are
Swimming around, shining brighter
Than the almighty sun
Glaring through the half
Cracked windows, blasting
Through the tinted lens covering
Half of every blank face
In town.
We are gridlocked, of course,
In more than just interstate traffic
The state of our economy is
Nothing short of tragic
Right and left look
More wrong
And wrong
Everyday, cannot
Keep up with the flip flopped
Politicians, a planet
Built on indecision
And blame, blame, blame
Still nothing has changed
The devil took yet another devoted
Student today.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
My springtime's never ending suns
I carry sunglow from window to bed,
planning, when the next day has come,
just as soon as the pets are fed,
and I've tidied up my empty head,
walked the dog, give cat the cream,
to run and jump and skip and play
not laze around and sleep and dream...
Too late! my pet's wet chomping jaws
send my dreams to damp moist earthy days
of screaming pterodactyls & dinosaurs...
My summer sun's they always shone
so brightly that they hurt my eyes,
and I hid and wished it, Begone!
with my false exasperated sighs...
I lazed around and fantasied,
conjured darkness for my needs,
and willed self toy for troglodytes
so dreamily these beasts use my hands on me
on dark cave floor's breed in me, such dreams...
Of Hekate's hounds entering... in my mind
behind the private door's of my eyes.
Now my Autumn comes crashing down
there's earlier settings of darker suns,
troglodytes and hell's hounds keep me bound
on stiff stalking legs ***** one-eyed proud
as creeping winters begin to run...
My pale face mirrored as I count my sum,
of my omniverse to find it finally means,
of my dreams this whole world wide,
dream leads to this... Whereof? I cannot dream...
Nov 11, 2022
Nov 11, 2022 at 7:05 AM UTC
The ocean spills
on a Thursday night
congested in between these four
skinned-down, off-white walls.
You're veering into retrograde,
obsidian and spiraling,
heavy and unsettling --
a plethora of pterodactyls gnawing their way
out of you
except on days like this,
they've grown too comfortable inside
and that is worse.
Here is to nights when pain screams your name
and misses your body
too much.
Pain,
whose unmapped origins,
make you loathe yourself
and everyone else.
Pain,
like maps to places
you don't want to revisit.
Pain,
like an abandoned amusement park
consumed by tall grass,
infested with pests
and memories
the past was never too kind
to make you forget.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 5:07 AM UTC
The sun had not even risen when
Delaney opened his eyes,
To colours, bent through a prism, and
Rotating there in the skies.
He thought it might be the Northern Lights
But they’re not seen that far south,
And with them came a crackling sound
To sow the first seeds of doubt.
He rose and walked to the window,
To stand by the sliding door
That led to his private balcony
On the hundred and twentieth floor,
The world below was in darkness and
In shock, he began to shout:
‘Hey Mary, get up and look at this,
The lights of the city are out!’
The lights of the city were out, all right,
There wasn’t a glimmer of light,
In all the teeming metropolis
Not even a car’s headlight.
Mary sleepily rose from bed
And joined him there by the door,
‘It isn’t the dark that does my head,
What’s that on the balcony floor?’
And there in the shade of the balcony
Was standing a monstrous beast,
Its talons several inches long,
Its beak was a foot, at least,
It suddenly opened enormous wings
Then steadily folded them back,
With eyes that promised a thousand things
And one, the threat of attack.
It saw them there through the plated glass
And rushed across for its prey,
Hit the glass and it looked surprised
The two were backing away.
‘Call the firemen, call the police,
That thing will need to be shot.’
‘The signal seems to have gone astray,
And the cell phone’s all we’ve got!’
The sun came up through the morning mist
And it lit the city square,
Delaney got his binoculars,
Nothing was moving there.
The power was out, so there was no doubt
They were locked in their flat, for sure,
The door to the stairwell wouldn’t budge
On the hundred and twentieth floor.
No light, no heat, and down in the street
No cars that streamed that day,
It was just as if electricity
Had suddenly gone away.
Their door had a pin, and powered lock
As did every door below,
A hundred and twenty floors locked in
With nowhere they could go.
The day wore on in the morning sun
And the birds had multiplied,
Looking like pterodactyls they
Swooped over the countryside,
And five came down on the balcony
Of Delaney and Mary’s flat,
The food in the fridge was spoiling as
The ice dripped out on the mat.
They couldn’t cook, they couldn’t eat,
They couldn’t open a can,
The electric opener wouldn’t work
Nor the cleverer works of man,
And the pterodactyls sat in a row
Out on the balcony floor,
With eyes of hate they would sit and wait
Til someone slid open the door!
David Lewis Paget
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
I see dinosaurs down below
on the valley floor where
in the faunasphere
eggs are lain and
strange things grow.
It's easy in the aeroplane
to sit back with a gin and
explain it all away
with a,
'it's been a hard day, a funny week'
but I
take another peek
and they're still there
plus
four pterodactyls in the air.
This holiday
is home from home
my body and my mind will
roam.
Oh a Stegosaurus
pour us out another gin
one more and I'll
fit right in
to
the straitjacket.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
In dreams we are
to become by far
a better version.
a state of bliss?
what update can this be.
certainly not Windows 93.
Through the shattered pane
again
outside in and strain my eyes
to see the same old view
nothing's new nor second hand
nothing's nothing
and that's a brand.
The intro's been and gone
to the end of time and
then
so long
Marianne
a song by Leonard Cohen
now why mention him?
Sorry 'bout that, but
the name cropped up
so I slipped it in.
I see fractures in the fractals
candelabras on the ironing board
creases in which these words are stored
and pterodactyls overhead
the only thing certain is a prediction
and I have yet to believe in those.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
Lost inside my mind
There is no self to find
So I fragment into fractals
And I fly with pterodactyls
The colors overtake me
As the chemicals unmake me
Inside my mind’s eye, the mind’s sky is a firefly
No rhyme nor reason
No time or season
There is only here and now
There is no where or how
There is an untouched galaxy
There is no air or gravity
There is only cosmic unity
And perhaps a rainbow manatee
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC