DANDELION WISHES
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The moon, a silver coin tossed high,
hangs in the velvet sky.
Dandelions, ghosts in the grass,
glow faintly, catching borrowed light.
Each puff is a soft, silent prayer
carried on the breeze, destination unknown.
“Do they reach the moon,
these tiny seeds of longing?
Or do they tangle in the stardust,
blooming anew on some distant world?
The moon offers no answers, only the quiet solace
of its unwavering gaze.
I look upward, hearing only the soft, persistent murmurs
of the evening breeze blowing across the grass
If I could I would buy that dandelion field for you
I saw in a village overseas,
Where the blossoms are bright yellow like the sun
and grows up to your knees,
You could bestow millions of wishes on the seeds and
let the wind carry them away,
If I could I would buy that dandelion field for you
as a gift for your birthday.
A dandelion seed.
Starts at the end of a small stem.
Floating all over.
Little seeds leaving airy footprints.
And I am leaving things behind too.
Mud all over.
Hurting.
If seeds could grow into something maybe she would be here.
Seeds.
Vacuuming it all up.
I think seeds are like particles except that they can-
Pinch you awake,
Mud slapped onto my boots.
A dandelion.
Leaves a horrid, dead stem behind.
Leaves the stem hooked into the ground.
And the seeds are dead too.
Some of them are, I know it.
They are still floating like dead bodies.
Haunted and stunning deadliness.
Leaving airy footprints of the accident.
I walked away from it.
Not everyone does.
So like a lucky surviving dandelion seed, I lived.
Leaving behind the stem.
And her too.
have you ever tried to eat dandelion leaves?
someone told me how delicious they are in a tea.
I did not have a recipe, but I tried it several ways.
I am pretty sure they were lying.
In a sliver of
a crack in
the sidewalk
up thrusts a hearty
dandelion
it asks for no quarter
nor gives a
hoot about
equality
or democracy
Watch it survive
~ even thrive
yesterday I was a dandelion
someone smashed me into the mud
my whisps flew off and I turned into a butterfly
I soared above a rose bush, a bridge and an oak tree
where I heard squirrels giggling
All that has been, out-grows itself,
becomes monstrous in a mouse hole.
Thoughts pinned to carnival garbs
hang under night’s pitch-dark tent
to chew over minds missing links.
The silence of wordless clowns
mimes the shrill music of bats.
In a dusty room, the hammer-struck face
of a wall clock is a parody of my age
for it is younger than the hands that hung it there.
What great teaching unpacks this emptiness,
is it ancient, or as young
as the sleepless pad of my feet?
Perhaps as in dandelion seeds,
that act of their dispersal
has planted yet more muted revelations.
The dry rustle of mothwings --- a whispering
of some yet other enormity
one emerging now
within a threadbare soul's
deep-set pockets.
A cool damp spring day
Jonquils shivered
Dandelions danced dizzily
Swaying slowly in a chill wind
Sensually strutting their stuff
Unashamedly celebrating their weedness
Bowing to the jeering crowd
The glow of their sunshine faces
Savoring freedom
While dreaming of a flower vase
I gave her a dandelion
... It wept
dandelion seeds
p i r o u e t t e over puddles ~
nature's s
k
i
p
p
i
n
g stones
Dandelion inspiration.
What do you see when you look at a Dandelion? Do you see a wish or do you see a weed?
Remember that anything is possible - especially when we're flexible and reconsider our perceptions and beliefs.
Spread Hope. Be Hope. Blessings..
I am a Dandelion
By Michelle Morris
25/03/2025
I am a Dandelion
I am the Inspiration that you seek
I am a Wish or a Weed
It merely depends on how you think
But if you thought about it a little more
And reconsidered your position
You might change your perception and beliefs
You might see with greater vision
Look beyond the obvious
Look beyond Reality and the Veil
Feel the Magic and the Miracles
The Energy of Light that prevails
I am a Dandelion
But maybe so are you
For it doesn't matter how we spread Hope
It's in the Love and Light of all we do
© Michelle Morris, 2025
A spectrum of colors
adorned the garden of love
Heavenly beauty,
the rose has a timeless allure
Tiny petals whispered
romance in the garden
A yellow flower,
not from a noble family
He focuses on
a newly sprouted beauty
She didn't misread the signals
He was attractive,
different from the others
Humble and simple,
symbol of the sun
The other roses turned away their heads,
gave him a sense of insufficiency
Love is much stronger than fear,
sometimes you must lose to understand
Regardless of the outcome,
the flirtation itself was a golden moment
Walk with me where wildflowers grow
among weeds and thistle in the meadow.
We'll share memories from years gone by.
Then, hold hands beneath a lavender sky,
and make a wish on dandelion wings of gold.
That's how they come true, so I've been told.
‘Most of the dandelions had changed from suns into moons.’ – Vladimir Nabokov
The humble dandelion Earth bequeaths.
Oh, golden bloom which ancient lore bequeaths
that fortune ‘s woven into bridal wreaths.
The dandelion turns from sun to moon.
A dandelion morphs from sun to moon
for wishes cast so young and old may swoon.
The Shepherd’s Clocks are pacing march of time.
My Shepherd’s Clock is marking march of time
as day would turn to night with stars sublime.
The moonlight whispers capture early twilight
of moonlit scenes betwixt erstwhile twilights—
a transformation silence cloak the night.
The fairy clocks now spent, they dream of sheen
of mornings when they shone, showily preened.
My pen rights my sins
I can admit my faults
Time and time again
Writing finds me when lost
That’s the fun of it
To lose myself in my pages
If dark then find me lit
By the enchanting words and phrases
I’m embarrassed to admit
Often I don’t think at all
Pink pen seems to vomit
And journal catches it raw
You can read my mahogany mind
Running rabid in the nighttime
Perhaps the best time to create
And escape the world and fate
Music is poetry with sound
Universal is it language like love
Turning smiles from frowns
Perhaps creating turquoise trust
So when I’m at a loss
At my wits end as they say
Music or poetry a toss
To come whisk me to safe place
tiny hands grasp stems
blow natural parachutes,
conveying wishes
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