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After reading this small summary on this topic, check out my poem below.
Baby bones are rare in most places, even those that produce lots of dinosaur egg fossils like the southern regions of Canada, Mongolia and the U.S.A.,” says University of Calgary paleontologist Darla Zelenitsky.
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Did you know that Dinosaurs used to roam and nest in the High Arctic? Well, they did and tiny fossils were discovered suggesting that the reptiles stayed there year long without migrating. Paleontologists have slowly gathered young dinosaur bones and not just one species, but many. Moreover, finding these bones from young dinosaurs is a reason for Paleontologists to be elated because those bones are rare. The reason is, young baby Dinosaur bones were rarely preserved due to their size and susceptibility to being victims to carnivorous predators. University of Alaska paleontologist Pat Druckenmiller and his colleagues found the fragile remains of baby hadrosaurs, horned dinosaurs, raptors, and tyrannosaurs. “The discovery of these tiny bones and teeth was no small accomplishment,” Druckenmiller says. Whenever we see depictions of Dinosaurs in the media it usually shows them living in a stone age that was desolate or verdant, but never ones that lived in cold climates. In regards to that, Polar Dinosaurs acclimated to the harsh environment and didn’t find the need to migrate to a warmer region or hibernate. In closing, for more information on this topic please check out the link for this article below.
Frigid plains of the Arctic,
Where Dinosaurs roamed and ruled,
Exploring with vigilance,
‘Cause predators were not far
Massive and proud with their spiked tails,
Strong and agile they moved through the ice caps,
They were the lords of the cold north,
Forever remembered by their legacy,
Snow blanketed the land,
A pure white coating across the ground,
A powerful pack of prehistoric giants,
Each one a force to be reckoned with, profound
How does this sound?
These days baby Dino bones can still be found in the ground
Tales still whisper in the wind,
Of great creatures that once lived
Title: Break time
Location: Bedford Depot, Bedford, MA
Photo Description: After arriving at the Bedford Depot which is the last stop on the Minuteman Commuter Bikeway in Greater Boston, I grabbed lunch with a friend and took in the scenery with this photo.
Title: Depot Chillin’
Location: Bedford Depot, Bedford, MA
Photo description: This is the endpoint of the Minuteman Commuter Bikeway at Bedford MA. The old train is a monument of what was once a subway system that ran from Bedford to Boston. The bike path was converted from what were once train rails into pavement for cyclists to ride from Cambridge, MA to Bedford and back.
Title: L.H.S. (Lexington Historical Society)
Location: Lexington, MA
Photo description: As I made my journey to my destination (the Bedford Depot) I took a five-minute break from cycling to take in the Lexington Town Center and took a snapshot of this historical building.
Title: History Lesson
Location: Bedford Depot, Bedford, MA
Photo description: A history lesson on the Bedford Depot.
Bonus photo :
Location: South Boston, Seaport District Maritime Park, MA
Photo description: This was my first time attending the Boston Jazz Festival and I was glad to witness the outstanding jazz/soul musician Kandace Springs who has an enchanting voice. She was the headlining act.
Photo credit – TheRhymeRula (Me)
Summer glows perfect
Purest bliss as streams pass
Captive and lost in time
A prey to a chain link oppression
Freedom to reach everywhere and at any time was once a formality
Pain and courage silenced by cold steel
Blessings of a spring gust
Brought momentum to push forth from the adversity
Now this flightless bird has awoken now
To begin once again freely soaring and restoring balance
In what is not what once was
A freedom flight that can’t be grounded
Mother nature takes no breather
Challenges are enforced daily Rain drops shimmer
Tasting and swallowing
old earth for new
if only it was true
The rain falls hard
On bare ground,
Intoxicating the air
with new smells
But will Mother Nature continue to allow
the birds to sing with a feathery flame?
Or for frogs to dance in their pool?
I tell you the beauty of rain is gone but will soon return
The land is consumed with grief
for the loss of the African green gold,
Even the morning sun
lays on its death bed
- I’d like to dedicate my verse to the Somali and all African diaspora.
- This collaboration has been in the works since the end of last month. Due to timing constraints and busy schedules it had to be put to the side until both parties had completed their assignments.
- This is my 2nd collaboration with Aston Kamunde @AstonKamunde on WordPress.
Within me there are direct connections to the motherland in my DNA,
An American born African man whose ancestors land was the grand stage for tribal wars,
A diaspora of natives escaping from the daily torment to new nations,
Not oblivious to the conditions my people have been and are living in for decades
That’s understood well and good,
So I beg the question, can we really stop violence from manifesting?
Don’t answer, because conflict like death is inevitable,
We’re endlessly digesting daily hate
Only to excrete death,
There’s no way for osmosis to reverse and filter out the toxins
That invades our well being constantly,
One step removed from a disaster
if someone laughs or looks at you the wrong way,
From the Horn of Africa to the land where dreams are born
To urban terrains where for some reality is a staircase leading nowhere,
I write this a day before the 4th of July,
But what is there to celebrate for immigrants and black folk
who enter an unwelcoming land?
Finding no allegiance to a land that cripples them indignantly,
My soul is on fire with everlasting pain
For I’m an American born African
Wishing to retreat back to his ancestors land
That has not fully settled back to prominence,
So I’m going to leave you with this
As I give the spotlight to my African brother so he can reminisce
and let the world know that
you can’t dismiss the abundance that reaches out of this continents surface
The smell of the rain felt prominent
Drops of rain hit the African soil
My toes sought to dig deep into the loose earth
Such facade of peace was too blinding
Nothing could invade the stillness of air
This moment refined all reasonable thoughts,
My only wish; to feel glorious
To live a dream within many dreams
If only by the whim of African gods
Whose loyalty is painted against my dark skin
Darkness that hides my aching secrete desires
To experience freedom, to use and feel it
These words had been spoken before
To the African child who had been exposed
To a cruel vulnerable past that acts as a reminder
A past that has bared the African soul
Eras had changed hastily
Home had turned into prison
Sons and daughters were sniggered into the dark
Today they think of all the humiliation and pain
Instead of cutting the weeds that grew out of cracks
To paint a picture that had never been reflected before
And breathe a familiar smell of freedom and reverence
How surprised they would be if only they knew the truth
That they possess a power that gleams in the shadows