All entries for Monday 18 December 2006

December 18, 2006

Chasing Dandelion Seeds

Chasing dandelion seeds.

How easy is it to become obsessed with you?
With your crayon-blonde hair,
your eyes, painted like my first waterproof jacket
that you tore, chasing dandelion seeds with the dog –
you danced higher than she,
and later, cried harder when you lost.

How easy is to become obsessed with you?
with your square fingernails,
so like our fathers,
I consider that if I bound your hands together,
we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

It is easy to become obsessed, to love you,
as I list all the things only I can know,
and all the ways you make me feel,
as I watch you change from fifteen to sixteen,
from my brother to the teenager,
who wears too much aftershave, and too many stereotypes.

As I love you, I cannot help but question you,
to doubt your smile and your laugh,
to complicate your childish utterances;
I cannot know you wholly,
as like the moon your face changes daily.

But you take my hand, and smile,
shielding me, ever protective,
and I squeeze your fingers,
before you run off, chasing the dandelion seeds
dancing across your laughing face.



A god of Asiatic origin who was inserted into the Greek mythlogy: his name is a Semitic word ‘Adon’, meaning ‘the Lord’, and he was worshipped in many places.

Gods fight unseen battles,
creating armour out of
– gold sparks and
flints of lost nature.

Gods love in ways I cannot picture,
as, like the lazy swan who reaches up
to the skies of dreams,
months out of date,
Gods reach out to touch
the things that the dreams are made for.

They are my dreams that fall
- irrepressibly – into sink with you.

Adonis fought to be born,
Struggling against the bark that formed his
Mother’s skin.

With a brittle ferocity, he clawed
Through the endless, unmoving membrane,
That he could not destroy.

Let me out, let me out,
He cried, the imprisoned bird,
Aware of the lock but having lost the key.

She came, her hands soft and melting
The wooden crust disintegrating
At the goddesses touch.

You came spilling through,
Crying into the world,
Spluttering at the heavy air.

But your mother could only watch,
And cry her leafy tears,
Which would collect, and rot, at her feet.

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