‘Dandelions’ and Other Poetry by Kathryn Jacobs The Society November 4, 2014 Beauty, Humor, Poetry 2 Comments Dandelions She touched their gray-haired afros tenderly: an urban six year old with kinky hair who pounced on dandelions (bud-vases were full of yellow stubby). Telling me: “This is the way that dandelions age” – then blew upon them (instant baldness), sad that “no one liked them but the wind and me.” And though the asphalt caught them generally, I promised fields of babies (lyingly) and she indulged me, not quite giving up although I saw she doubted. Six yrs old, and yet she knew already that the world was full of glowing faces nobody not six would ever notice – Look Again An overcoat of melted copper dripped on rust-green undergarments. If you’ve seen what antique buildings look like, oxidyzed, then you can probably imagine it: the outer leaves like sunlit pennies mixed with daubs of burnt sienna, on a cone so used to drizzled shadow that the change is wobbly and confusing. And by now you think you’ve got it: “Autumn,” but you don’t; and it’s been lifetimes since you’ve scrutinized except to plug in answers. We’re machines who print up labels where appropriate like “colors; leaf-fall.” Or we pick through poems and guess at them like riddles, parlor games. But what does burnt sienna look like? Think – Brief Biography: I am the Editor of The Road Not Taken: A Journal of Formal Poetry.” My latest book of poetry, Wedged Elephant, has been accepted by Kelsey Books. I also have another book of poetry, In Transit, published by David Roberts Books, and three chapbooks. My poems have been published by Measure, Pennsylvania Review, The New Formalist, Lucid Rhythms, Raintown Review, and numerous other formal journals. In my spare time I am professor at Texas A & M – C. Featured Image: “Infinite dandelion field with wildflower, painted on back wall of jewelry store. 43 by 77 inches” by Silvere Boureau Related Post ‘Sing Me Not’ by Oliver Mort Goddess, sing me not, that barbaric yawp of man’s puny sorrows. He wants to swap his countless ills, not go down to Hades. The dogs and vultures wa... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail 2 Responses Gary Whitby April 25, 2016 I love these poems and the sheer mastery of form they exhibit. Reply Kathryn Jacobs July 1, 2016 Thank you, Gary! 🙂 Reply Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.