hellosam - Hello Poetry

I picked a dandelion on my way to the store, a perfect little orb of potential. I thought about blowing, scattering the seeds into the world, stepping through the cloud so that some of its magic might seep into me, pick up a hint of a dream and carry it out into the great blue world. But I wanted to wait for the right moment. I rambled off the main road, through the tall trees by the park to a shaded side street, past a magnolia, blooming like mad. The light was right, late afternoon sun-strings dripping through the leaves, and it was quiet, and perfect. But there was someone weeding in the yard, and a young couple walking across the street, and all of a sudden i felt ashamed, a grown man clutching a dandelion, so i put it in my bag, for later. - - - Later came, and I found it, forgotten, crushed under a week’s worth of milk and eggs, ten or twelve huddled feathers clinging to the underside. And even though it was a shadow of the strong-stemmed bulb I’d picked, and even though it had been a long, drizzly workday melting into a dull, freezer-pizza evening, and even though the light was all wrong in the supermarket parking lot, and i was tired, surrounded by shoppers but feeling lost in the world, I breathed in and blew.

0

Mar 3, 2019

Mar 3, 2019 at 12:12 PM UTC

hellosam

dandelion

I picked a dandelion on my way to the store, a perfect little orb of potential. I thought about blowing, scattering the seeds into the world, stepping through the cloud so that some of its magic might seep into me, pick up a hint of a dream and carry it out into the great blue world. But I wanted to wait for the right moment. I rambled off the main road, through the tall trees by the park to a shaded side street, past a magnolia, blooming like mad. The light was right, late afternoon sun-strings dripping through the leaves, and it was quiet, and perfect. But there was someone weeding in the yard, and a young couple walking across the street, and all of a sudden i felt ashamed, a grown man clutching a dandelion, so i put it in my bag, for later. - - - Later came, and I found it, forgotten, crushed under a week’s worth of milk and eggs, ten or twelve huddled feathers clinging to the underside. And even though it was a shadow of the strong-stemmed bulb I’d picked, and even though it had been a long, drizzly workday melting into a dull, freezer-pizza evening, and even though the light was all wrong in the supermarket parking lot, and i was tired, surrounded by shoppers but feeling lost in the world, I breathed in and blew.

35

I am the streaks of red-green light refracted and reflected in the raindrops on the window of the night bus, hurtling through the city as it sleeps. I am the lonesome hum of a generator in an empty stadium. I am the orange buzz-hiss-buzz of a streetlamp in a quiet parking lot. I am a first kiss, a last dance, a slow sway towards death, a black butterfly ****** into the engine. I am the green fields, seen by aeroplane on descent, bisected by fingers of muddy brown river. I am the pain and the joy of a young girl, the shame and regret of an old man, the flight and the howl of a stray dog. I am the brite-white ice cream clouds, the heavy, hungry ground, and the gaping, gleaming, shimmering, sideways sea.

0

Jun 24, 2017

Jun 24, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC

hellosam

Untitled

I am the streaks of red-green light refracted and reflected in the raindrops on the window of the night bus, hurtling through the city as it sleeps. I am the lonesome hum of a generator in an empty stadium. I am the orange buzz-hiss-buzz of a streetlamp in a quiet parking lot. I am a first kiss, a last dance, a slow sway towards death, a black butterfly ****** into the engine. I am the green fields, seen by aeroplane on descent, bisected by fingers of muddy brown river. I am the pain and the joy of a young girl, the shame and regret of an old man, the flight and the howl of a stray dog. I am the brite-white ice cream clouds, the heavy, hungry ground, and the gaping, gleaming, shimmering, sideways sea.

1

How strange it must be, to live in the countryside - to fall asleep to the sound of crickets under your window, and bullfrogs croaking in the creek. So far from the sirens - the Los Angeles Screamers - tearing through the floodlit nights, picking us off, one at a time, huddled in our houses, alone, together.

0

Oct 17, 2015

Oct 17, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC

hellosam

City Life

How strange it must be, to live in the countryside - to fall asleep to the sound of crickets under your window, and bullfrogs croaking in the creek. So far from the sirens - the Los Angeles Screamers - tearing through the floodlit nights, picking us off, one at a time, huddled in our houses, alone, together.

10