Dandelion clock

Stitchwort stars thread through overgrown grass and shine amongst the bluebells. Dandelion clocks; orbs of perfect engineering, sit waiting for a gentle breeze, the brush of a heathland butterfly’s wing or a child’s delight at trying to tell the time by blowing the seeds away; one o’clock, two o’clock, three. I don’t know if children still play this game.

Sometimes my life seems to speed like a dandelion clock in the wind, another time I would like to be one of those dainty umbrellas, detached from mooring and off to start new adventures.

Dandelion clock




My broken head,
across the opaque glass of existence.
I saw my life,
disappearing on the wind,
in scattered seeds
of thought to be abandoned.
Although it only takes one,
a single grain from yesterday
to justify existence.
Extend roots
into the sands of time.
Stabilise the future.


About jaytale

My name's Jill but I'm Jack of all trades and master of none. I've been writing, mainly poetry and short pieces for a long time and decided to concentrate a little harder to see if I can master this at least. I paint both the house and pictures when inspiration strikes. I am a country bumpkin who loves to be outdoors and enjoy meeting interesting people.
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2 Responses to Dandelion clock

  1. SallyJ says:

    and inundate the veg patch! lovely – wouldn’t it be good just to float off sometimes?

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