Category Archives: poem, poetry

JURASSIC

we grasp
we create

imaginary worlds
in abundance

hold up mirrors to
our nature than little
old Hamlet could never
have foreseen

would have
fallen off the stage
in pure
stupefaction
(and his author too,
for that matter)

and yet
for all this gnosis

we remain in essence
still prehensile

machine-like, true,
but prone to self-
subvert

and so, like the entire planet,
I was spellbound watching
Mr Spielberg’s tale cautionary

wondrous meditation
upon Mary Shelley’s theme

still
some of that ancient T-Rex,
velociraptor inside of us

the monstrous beauty of
these creatures
blazed across the screen

huge thrill
massive awe

but ultimately, big money,

every cent of which
drained out in sequel after
mindless sequel

these creatures
so passe, defunct,
dead
and threadbare

a different fable
here

about art
and story

and the death of
our species

to be
dragged out kicking
and screaming
into
the light of day.