Pocket
People like to
Put things in their
Pockets
Perhaps it is because they are collectors or they are
Paleoanthropologists who
Pick up anything to
Prove theories about
Pterodactyls who might have existed in the
Permian age while working on their
Postdoctoral theses. Then again, they may be having
Pseudohallucinations from all of the
Phenylpropanolamine they are taking to
Prevent
Post nasal drip from occurring when
Postulating on the latest
Patella that was found in
Patagonia when the dust from the dig kicked up all the
Pyrazinecarboxaimde. Or maybe it is due to a
Psychophysiological reaction to
Propionibacterium generated by oil
Paintings in the gallery next door from untreated
Pallets used by
Postimpressionists. Well, I am sure you have seen enough of my
Psychosomatic ramblings. Here comes my
Psychologist with a dose of
Phenobarbital to help calm me down before tomorrow
Prompts me to write another alphabetic
Pronunciation.
The dinosaurs had died
And pterodactyls too
The explanations why
Are many, more than two
Most scientists agree
It was a climate change
Some say they died from heat
Some point to the ice age
Respecting what they say
I see a different reason
That puts a less acclaim
To the extremes of seasons
When they began to think
They didn’t know it was
A sign they’ll be extinct
I guess that was the cause
And so they stopped to kill
Their instincts start to fade
They had no other will
But just to lie in shades
The tiredness prevailed
The dinos came to peace
They couldn’t see they failed
It was a link they missed
Then human species came
The extinct reptiles dna
Was there within them, for the same
Pernicious killing game
They fight for peace that means the war
They kill for being killed
The dinos gene knows well the score
But it can’t be revealed
They can postpone the end, although
They feel the end is near
I see these little signs you know
Upfront and from the rear.
“October 2020”
In 2020 darkest days,
When all I loved had slipped away,
A child was born—a light, a flame,
And life would never be the same.
October winds were sharp and cold,
My soul felt tired, my bones felt old.
But then he came—so small, so new,
And suddenly, the sky turned blue.
He didn’t know the pain I bore,
The battles lost, the slamming doors.
He only knew my steady hand,
My voice, my love, my promised land.
He called me Gabi—pure and true,
And joy returned in shades I knew.
Each giggle, kiss, and bedtime song
Made broken days feel soft and strong.
He held my finger—tiny fist—
And life no longer felt like risk.
We played, we danced, we flew so high,
like pterodactyls crossing the sky.
I lost a world, but gained a soul,
A bond that made the shattered whole.
And though the storm still pounds my door,
He makes me fight, and dream, and more.
October 2020 came—
And with his birth, he changed my name.
From broken, tired, and full of strife,
To Gabi, full of love and life
written by mj/2025
The dinosaurs had died
And pterodactyls too
A lot of reasons why
Are listed, more than two
Most scientists agree
It was a climate change
Some say they died from heat
Some point to the ice age
Respecting what they say
I see another reason
That puts a less acclaim
To the extremes of season
The lack of will to live
The tiredness of all
That means to take and give
That force to fly or crawl
While all you think about
Is just to find some peace
When you can’t live without
The rest from all of this.
Longshanks drainpipe and whistle through the day.
pterodactyls got it easy in this wide-open sky,
they glide too far up to be real anymore.
The beady-eyed slinkers that wriggle under our plodding boots,
they also avoid the earthshaking heaviness of light sleepers.
Beyond the curtains, a plastic pelican
has got its bill and belly stuck on a satellite dish,
now we can only receive small-minded thoughts in a soup bowl.
Strong winds are disrupting sleep patterns,
static pictures can only take baby steps or crawly shuffles.
Leggy winds go out to play in front of green screens,
illusions, made to promote the good-looking and perky.
If you follow an oxycontin mule into the woods
it may lead you nowhere,
and that is where you may stumble upon
a flying beast so rare
that it exists only on the edge of itself.
The Cherokee name them Thunder Birds,
pterodactyls for sure,
their large leathery hides loop and swoop.
Rarely are they found nesting,
but are said to be everlasting.
O West Virginia, land of the hoped for
and the hopeless,
we honor your ginseng farms,
your fields of pot, but forget you not
the beasts that seek your moonshine
by the light of ancient eyes,
they often surprise us –
quite a lot actually.
Here we go again -
another crazy form to try - this time
a 'Yabba Dabba Do' or so it's called.
The jury's out; I can't say I'm enthralled.
I've not made a connection to the rhyme
or figured out how best with such a silly form to dabble.
I guess it truly is no more absurd
than having wooly mammoths pumping gas,
or dinosaurs and humans there en masse,
or roasting pterodactyls like they're birds.
Wilma, Fred, Barney and Betty, relegated to the past;
methinks this jab will do the same, and will be my first and last.
----------
Probably ought to give it a better shot, but this one is a 'Yabba Dabba Do'
12 lines: xabba xcddc ee, with 5/10/10/10/10 15/10/10/10/10 15/15
The form description at poet's collective was not that clear -
repeated the abba in the pattern, but then the example did not
He does not notice the grimaces on his classmates' faces.
Or hear their deep sighs, or realize he is fixated on dinosaurs.
His discussions are one-sided, he does not need peers at all.
He does not know that his constant blathering is bothering them.
It is not what they want to hear over the teacher.
He lives in a world within their world, a natural, loving place.
A place where pterodactyls, T-rex, and stegosauruses roam.
He cares not for social cues or for annoyed looks or for classmates.
He speaks in a monotone and expects no response.
Living in his own nature bowl of a classroom within a classroom.
A loud noise brings his face up, but he quickly looks back down.
He is interested in the noise about as long as he is interested in others.
A second; two seconds at tops.
He returns to his preferred world.
Where dinosaurs help him cope with the rest of his life.
The Decimals Point
David J Walker
Therefore
He put forth
Before
the court
Of public opinion could
Possibly adjourn
Claiming to be friends
With the man in the moon
Claiming to be the father of
The color purple
Claiming to have taught
Pterodactyls to fly
Claiming to be a
Grandson of Methuselah
Claiming to have inspired
The theory of relativity
Claiming his image was the first to be
Carried into deep space by television
Claiming he turns wine
Back into water all the time
Therefore
He proposed
The only question is about
The placement of the decimal point
A steaming forest:
pterodactyls soar,
and tall dinosaurs
eat leaves from high trees
as huge predators
prepare to attack.
describing a picture in a book I remember loving as a child
written 15th March for Joseph's Tableau contest
SILENT WATCHER
Oh the things she's seen,
Pterodactyls swooping low,
Nagasaki all aglow,
Iceage creeping over land,
Maradonna's cheating hand,
Armstrong making one giant leap,
Humpbacks singing in the deep,
Tutankhamen's golden face,
Unbeaten Frankl's final race,
Titanic's iceberg breaking free,
Anne Boleyn on bended knee,
Stonehenge rising from the plain,
Halley's comet passing again,
Nelson falling, duty done,
Oswald and that fateful gun,
Orbit fixed, she glides on by,
Silent watcher in the sky,
None can match her constant stare,
And to her beauty none compare.
TRACKS THROUGH TIME
The Sand and pebbles of this stoney
way
Once made a shore on warm Jurassic sea
High dunes in desert, by great ocean bay
Now heathland slopes and barrows that we see
These tracks between the heather fronds
touch light
Cross pine tree hurst with gorse in blossom gold
Once paced by tiger, brazen eyes burned bright
And swarthy hunters skilled in ways of old
O’er neat home gardens - flowers bloom in line
Where thrush and warbler each a sweet air sings
Within a span of geologic time
Great pterodactyls soared on scaly wings
Our world, perceived by some: in dire decline
Goes on with little care for our brief lives
Yet we may play a part in its design
At least as wardens - lest it be our shrine
Pterodactyls in my living room?
or ordinary cranes? I love their colorful language
Some might not see them
But luckily I do
Surely the non-seers can hear them though.
The squawking continues
getting louder every second
I am okay with that and others do not seem to hear anyway
Having dog ears is a gift of the few
They surrounded the house and we were terrified
Because they looked different, magnified.
Some wore smiles, others mean as a rusty nail.
What are they? Our children whispered in their ale.
Pterodactyls I told them. No worries at all.
But their mouths are enormously long, creepy and tall.
Let’s go out and see why they are here. Do not be afraid.
Their demands were easy. Chocolate cake and pink lemonade.
I made them their cake but the only drink I had was tea.
That is okay their leader said, nice as he could be.
They look odd my children said. How can we be friends?
Every day chances for life’s lesson simply never ends.
Within a week each one of my children had a best friend bird.
Pterodactyls in the house no longer seemed absurd.
They stayed ten years and became family members we love.
In the spring we get excited when we see giant wing shadows above.
The iguana is certainly a popular lizard
To figure out why doesn't take a wizard
With that spiky mane curving down its back
It looks like a stegosaurus who went off track
I myself prefer pterodactyls to lizards
To guide me home when lost in a blizzard
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