Tyrannosaurus Regina

"Tyrannosaurus Regina"

(c) 2011 by Yael R. Dragwyla

Underneath the Moon she stands,
Upon a plain of silvered moss
And ink-black pools of rocky earth,
Gazing wistfully up at the Milky Way.
Two more females and a male of her kind
Lie sprawled upon the warm, weedy ground,
Dreaming strange dreams beneath the Summer Moon
Or twitching in a sentient sleep,
Working out strategies,
Preparing for the coming day,
Chasing and catching,
Clutching and killing,
Engaging in battles
Of rough-skinned display
And contests of dance
And bellowing song,
Exchanging current gossip
And catechized history,
Weaving sleep’s hot webs
Of vast, vital being.

The dawn will pick out
On her pebbled skin
Bars of maroon
On a background of jet,
And patches of pink
At throat, chest, and wrist:
Her nation’s flag
And her genealogy.
But now she is midnight
And pale gray cloud,
The Moon’s star-flecked mucus
Covering her
With a wet, shiny glow
Soft and damp as a pearl,
Mutely lustrous
As new-sown sperm.
She sighs softly skyward
And lifts her hands slightly,
A prayer to a God
And for what, she knows not;
Then slowly she sinks
To the Summer-warmed earth,
To dream in more knowledge
From professorial stars.

The Star-Rover

"The Star-Rover"

By Yael R. Dragwyla©

1984, 1997 by Yael R. Dragwyla

Across a world too free and wide
For me, I see him stride;
The plains of ice lie white beneath the sun,
And when the day's course is run
They turn to flame and cobalt,
Then to diamonds on black silk.
The tumbled giant's blocks
Of basalt rocks
Moraine across the glaring land,
Dropped there by a careless angel's hand
After Creation's work was done,
To wait for Weather,
Nature's contract-salvager,
To cart them off for making other worlds.
In this world of blowing rock
And adamant ice he stands,
Shielding glare from his questing eyes
With impatient hands,
Searching the skies
For a bridge to other worlds
And other plains
And savannas green and golden
Under yellow suns,
Maroon mountains
Under Tyrian moons
And violet stars,
Topaz rivers
Under rainbow skies,
And the sight of another
Human face.
He paces, all alone,
Relentlessly, then stops
And once again looks out into space,
Remembering green gravity wells
And golden suns,
Remembering blue time,
Hurtling down amethyst canyons of extension,
Measured by dimensions not of mass, but music.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And then, down from firedeeps
Of emptiness, there sweeps
A saffron buttress of flame;
He calls her name,
Raging with joy,
And runs to meet her!
And now he will go home again -
Hah! Don't believe it!
Cradles comfort and feed -
But glory nourishes the soul.
And so, back into the black hole
Of uncertainty he'll go again;
Each time may be his last
(This one almost was -
Remember that fragile,
Silver, crumpled thing
Lying broken on the plain behind,
With seventeen smashed eternities
Stillborn in the charred womb
Of its cindered guts,
And only you survived?) . . .
But then, a man can die of fear
In a nightmare in his own bed.
Better, at least, to die awake,
Knowing what it is that kills you.
And who knows? On the other hand,
You may yet find El Dorado
Or the Fountain of Youth -
At least, there's the hope
Of one more binge and one more woman!
- All right, all right, admit it:
Who knows why?
The stars, my friend, have got you by the guts,
And the only way to stop the pain
Is to draw close to all of them again -
Out there where the Phoenix nests
And the Lords of Chaos reign . . .
And where you see, now and again,
The uncertain ghosts of angels' footprints
And hear moaning whispers of joy
From behind the gates of the Lord of Hosts
And out of the silken green glades of Pan.

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Comments:  This poem is from a fine Northwestern lady who is a lifelong science fiction, fantasy and horror fan, and one of the simultaneously most logical and mystical people I know.  I welcome her to Fantastic Worlds, and hope to see more of her here. :-)

Yael Dragwyla is Polaris93 on Livejournal; many more of her writings can be found here.