Smilodon: A Primal Portrait

Ancient chills cling to the earth as a heavy silence descends

Beneath gnarled branches, the very air thickens with dread

Crouched in the shadows, the Smilodon prepares its assault

Draped in pale gold, it haunts the brush with lethal grace

Eyes, intently focused, fix on an unseen prey

Fangs, curved like ivory daggers, catch the light

Grim power vibrates through the coarse grain of its mane

Hunched shoulders ripple; a tidal wave of force held in check

Imposing in shadow, it carves a dark shape through the green

Jaws, built for the kill, remain locked in a terrifying calm

Killing intent burns deep, the singular spark in its soul

Low to the earth, it creeps forward—a silent, golden threat

Muscles coil like wire, every fiber primed for the attack

Near the tree line it waits, a phantom in its domain

Outlining the distance, it measures the distance of its prey

Powerful forelegs, anchored deep, prepare to launch the strike

Raw sinew stretches as the great cat breaks into a sprint

Saber-teeth, the namesake of terror, are bared to the sky

Thick-necked and brutal, it slams into the side of its mark

Unstoppable momentum carries the hunter through the kill

Vales and frozen forests echo with the sounds of the struggle

Warrior of a lost world, a living embodiment of prehistoric power

Xenacious hunger drives its existence, a constant, primal need

Yielding its spirit to the cycle of life, the titan stands tall

Zenith of its era, it vanishes into the mists of time

Smilodon from 1903. By Charles Robert Knight.
Public Domain.

Rendezvous

Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument, Colorado

By Steven Wade Veatch
 
Returning to the massive stone stump,
among the quaking aspens and green pines
where pasque flowers floored the forest,
I counted tree rings of stone—survivors.
 
As the birds sang and squirrels chattered,
the moment bloomed into an alchemy of time—a rendezvous
of the primal past with the afternoon’s warm present.
In a blaze of thought I wondered
what mark will I leave behind?

The “Big Stump” at the
Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument.
Photo by S. W. Veatch.

Mammoth

By Steven Wade Veatch

I found a rock at the mammoth’s grave.
Inside only hidden fossils remain—
pollen grains and mossy spores
that once floated on an Ice Age breeze.

Now these tiny remnants yield
the deepest glimpse
of a world before we came
and warn of a future we must face
as the forests change, species die,
and life recedes.

An Ice Age mammoth.
The author created this AI image
with the assistance of DALL·E and MS Bing.