PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The mother picks the day-old dandelion

From where it so long decayed

Hair that's deepened grey

And makes a wish for many kids

Sends the pedals all aflight

WIth a broomstick sweep

Of her throbbed lungs

Sends them all to burry seeds

Deep beneath her sweaty soil

And her wooden silence in the dullened dusk

Silent as the housecat hiss

Under her spiteful breath

Under her creepy tongue

She sets the clocks for stalks to sprout

To bloom big beanstalks with giants at the top

The ether owl in the earthened tree brooding through the bark

Hums a melted tune

He stretches his great feather-haired wings

To glide forth the dimmed sky

Of a nimbus night

The seeds sleep low

In the womb of the earth

And the tear of the turf

That spit up leftover roots

To trip the travelers

For trampling the flowerbed

That the mother planted