Ways of Looking at a Dandelion

Ways of Looking at a Dandelion

by Isabella Taylor

I. Teeth of the heraldic lion
Trying to consume the sky
Above the clouds

II. Little tawny suns
Brighten my day
On gray

III. Lemon rinded cowards
Spreading like butter
On the burnt toast

IV. Posing as a golden rod
Deceit beneath you lies
Roots weaving into loam

V. So yellow
You plan your sneak attacks
On innocent acres

VI. Gatherer of the rays
Flashlight in hand
Searching for Adam’s ale

VII. Yield signs
Arresting growth from innocents by standers
In the bustling garden street

VIII. Spreading your yolks
Of military genius
To hatch

IX. Sun squeezed lemon drops
Placed strategically
In the candy jar

X. Flecks of saffron
Mother nature’s spice jar
Adding flavor

XI. Florets of bright golden yellow
Sewn
With white thread

XII. Internally white
Your milky juice
Leaves a bitter taste

XIII. Fire seeds snap and crackle
Shedding generations
Of golden opportunities

XIV. Dispenser of wishes
In one forceful breath
Your dreams come true

XV. Delicate white fluff
Prolifically dispersing its seeds
Throughout the year

XVI. A parachute sailing the wind
Searching for a landing
To drop its brown cargo

XVII. Fairy brooms billowing in the breeze
Delivering wishes
For hopeful little souls

XVIII. Oh, Grandmother
Your hair has turned to white
Revealing your bald head

XIX. Fields of cotton balls
Harvested for whims
Death in one blow

XX. Sentenced for trespassing
On innocent pastures
Executed for this crime

XXI. Smeared like mustard
On the bottom of my boot
Leaving a golden stain

XXII. Settlers pioneering the land
Hungry for more space
To lay their blonde heads

XXIII. Infuse an ounce of me
Decant, sweeten with honey
Dandelion tea

XXIV. Formed in rustic fermentation
Now a beer to drink
From yellow sacrifices

XXV. Little yellow chicks
Peeping in the grass
Crying out to mother sun

XXVI. Covered in white veils
Vacant stares
As you are stripped away

XXVII. Beneath your honey hair
Pumps ivory milk in your veins
Encased in an emerald gown

Wordsworth & Stevens Walking Through the Snowy Woods

Wordsworth & Stevens Walking Through the Snowy Woods

By Isabella Taylor

I believe I know the thoughts of trees that are robes in majestic green emeralds. They speak to me of winds past and their leafy children that blew away. (Wordsworth)

The trees loom over me like a burden on my shoulders that takes the warmth out of me as they deprive me of sun. (Stevens)

These shadows of trees embrace me and caress me like the arms of my mother. These trees line a path, they are the veins of mother nature. (Wordsworth)

My mule shakes its head ringing these blasted bells and questioning my journey in the middle of these woods. (S)

My beautiful midnight black steed shakes his head in a melodic euphony of sound reminding me to continue on this delightful way.

The woods are dark, damp, smelling of rotting leaves and musty lichen. (S)

I would be frightened if it were not for the lovely scent of pine, this carpet of fine leaves for my horse’s foot, and the blessings of nature surrounding me. This sleepy dark wood is like being wrapped in my favorite blanket.

I must go on as duty calls for I have days to endure before I can sleep. (S)

I relish in this lively path, enjoying each breath I am filled with gratitude to God above. He has set this treasure all around me to delight in. I devour each step of my steed as we inch our way along destiny.

Flower Seed

Flower seed

i wanted to grow

to touch the sky

i couldn’t reach for clouds

so high

i persisted with alacrity and might

all day and into night

i consumed dew and bathed in loam

until at last

i felt the vault of heaven

salute me in all God’s command

another creation completed

fully embracing me

as I am

Witchgrass

Witchgrass

Rose bodice strung with fates
Waterfall frothing greed
Sucking clear gifts
To choke the pretty pink petals
Of grass spilling
Dried open beaks

Clover

Clover

I come in hearts of three
Purple flushed
Pods gathering to dagger point
Bursting brown lifeboats
Of perfect moons

Dispersed throughout
Creeping cobwebs
Heart under root
Root under heart

Forget -Me- Not

Forget-Me-Not

Little voices chiming
Dressed in azure
White knot holding together silken petals
Coated in frost thick
Wind blowing the chatter
Of eyes never blinking
Cut cold placed in porcelain vase
Circle view of a dining table
Abating eye to eye
And wailing
Forget-me-not, forget-me-not, forget-me-not

Dreaming Free

I saw a wolf on a cliff, once. He had ruffled fur, and cold blue eyes.

He looked at me, and I stared back.

I picked up a rock and threw it into the abyss, watching it

f

a

l

l

…

The wolf just looked at me, and blinked when there was a sharp CLACK! from the rocks below.

He said, “Wake up, you’re dreaming.”

I opened my eyes.

There he was again, standing there. I thought I was hallucinating. He walked closer to the edge of the cliff, and howled at the moon.

I opened my eyes again. “Now you’re awake. Good,” said the wolf, looking down at the rocks. He jumped.

I looked down, and he was standing on a ledge a good four feet below the cliff surface. He impatiently gestured for me to follow. “You’re mad!” I said to the wolf. “I can’t jump that!”

Suddenly I jumped on an impulse. I missed, and fell towards a bed that was mine…

And woke up.

Foxes

Here’s a poem I’ve been working on. Still not sure if it’s finished. It’s long, so I’m going to attach it as a Word file:

Foxes

Can You Hear Me? revised and still thinking!!!

Can you hear me?
Does it matter anyway?
I’m just a nine year old
What important things would I have to say
Just a kid looking up at all the adults around me
All my mentors to be

I just sit and watch what you do
Showing me a good example or two
Oh yes I see what you mean
I am taking it in
Believe it or not
Your snide remarks and bigoted talks
Furtively planted in me on the sly
OH just sitting here, a little kid
And I don’t dare ask why

Here I am the soil of the next generation
Your legacy to plant
So pay attention
Water the seedlings that are me and my peers
Don’t watch reruns on tv and drink up your beers
Then turn , look at me and say CHEERS
Oh, you shouldn’t do this because its bad for you
Well thanks I glad you showed me
WHAT NOT TO DO

Instead just trust me and give me a chance
To plow side by side with you
Don’t give me more “can’t”s
Sow grains in me, nourish me
With fruitful examples
Give me an education
Like when our forefathers built this nation
ON dreams, hopes
Firmly rooted in their dedication
This Thomas Jefferson creation
Mentoring and building this seed of a nation

So when its Harvest time and I take care of you
I am ripe with knowledge, self sufficient and know what to do
I can handle big words, big ideas too
Latent, yes latent are you

Rise from your roots and teach me to think
Pass the fruits of knowledge on down
Because the crop that I can give back to you
Is a progeny rooted deep and profound

This crop of me will blossom and grow
Dropping my seeds
To the generation below

SO for now I will just stand here watching and waiting
Can you hear me?
Oh well, I know , I am just 9
A kid with nothing to say
YET
I’m NEXT IN LINE

Evergreen

Isabella’s “Grandma’s Afghan” reminded me of this poem, which I wrote a few years ago. I grew up in a small town called Evergreen, which is outside of Florence, SC. This poem is about my father’s mother and my memories of being a very young child in her house.

Evergreen

my grandfather
drives
through the night
while my grandmother
cooks
soups brimming
with peas and potatoes
and fresh snap beans
biscuits spilling
butter-steam
across the walls

when my grandfather
returns
he will smell of long miles
and gasoline
and he will sit
in the kitchen
wreathed
with cigarette smoke
and talk with her

I perch
on a stool
by the counter
my legs
swinging
two feet above the tile
waiting for pecan pie
and in this time
this place
it is enough
to wait