Dandelion eyes

High on saccharin, placebo sugar-rushed
she’s dancing close to paper-
she’s burning
cold from ink-washed stares.
Her hands are skies and kites,
she calls
for crows on naked boughs.
Bloodstreams: oily rivers (parasitic veins)
sucking life from townships out of tune.
Hopscotch backyards, sins and tousled fringes
glued to skin,
She’s the princess of dandelion eyes,
broken glass and velvet.
She was old the day she left the womb.


A girl with the Dandelion by Toyen

Just a little poem written from sketches I’ve had in the cloud.

January 9, 2017

27 responses to “Dandelion eyes

  1. You couldn’t have written a more perfect poem, straight to my whimsy-spot soul-center giddy-box, if you tried.

    That is the most magical title. Every phrase just drips and oozes of you-make-me-happy raspberry yum. Thank you for writing this; I love it. ♥

  2. Delicious word combos. The last line deeply resonates with me. And yes! I have sketches on the cloud but duh, never thought to a poem.

  3. I hope she’s a patient in a mental ward and not a drug addict, but I think it could go either way.

  4. Goodness gracious! Such strong and vivid imagery ❤️ especially love “She’s the princess of dandelion eyes, broken glass and velvet. She was old the day she left the womb.” Beautifully executed!

  5. I just can’t get enough of this poem, Bjorn!

    “she’s dancing close to paper-” … Today, this line makes her a sketch/cartoon drawing that has come to life. She wants to come off the page completely, but she lingers around her paper, just dancing up on it instead of lying down flat and being still. That’s about as brave as she’ll get. But she is “mooning” whoever looks at her storybook. And then she burns her page up. The burning makes me think of yearning, lust, a fiery personality, passion, art and expression, but also of a phoenix. So I think she burns her page/self, but then reincarnates on a new page. (Can you tell I read a lot of children’s books?!)

    She could really just be any character in a book, though. “cold from ink-washed stares” … But this line makes me think she feels lonely. She’s looked at, and people read about her. But do they really connect with her? Do they ever really become her friend? Someone she can count on? It doesn’t seem so.

    Nevertheless, she’s a high-reacher: “Her hands are skies and kites” … And she’s playful, despite having to play alone. Or maybe this is your way of saying she’s an angel or a dead person. Now I’m picturing her a child who has died, but she’s up in the sky with Jesus. He’s just so busy. So I think maybe she’s calling to living people, or even lower, demons, the lost, etc. to play with her.

    The last line makes me think she was a stillborn baby.

  6. A dreamy write that shot straight to my heart, she is mysterious, melancholy – yet with those dancing eyes & flying hands she is also very alive. Such beauty in freedom & also light. Love the sketch as much as the words. Thanks for sharing her.

  7. That first line – wow! I love how it feels slightly manic and somewhat like a facade because of the implication of artificiality. And then it got better from there.

  8. I’ve matured rubbing elbows with this kind. Perhaps you have too. My fondest crush sat beside me in differential equations class, on the back row. She wore raggedy cutoffs, was barefoot, and washed her hair I don’t know when. She was super-smart, studied her history lesson while our prof poured D.E. proofs on the board. Her big yellow dog waited outside at the bottom of the stairs for her.
    When I close my eyes today I see her, Judy Collins (Someday Soon), and Janis Jopplin (Me and Bobby McGee).

  9. ” She’s the princess of dandelion eyes”. How I LOVE this line, Bjorn. It makes me think of soul-windows full of wishes, of mirrors that know what the looker wants… and if said looker asks, just in the right way, then the wishes will be.

  10. This one I felt really deep. I don’t have dandelion eyes, but the last 2 lines really strike a cord with me. Loved this to imagine as well :”Bloodstreams: oily rivers (parasitic veins)
    sucking life from townships out of tune.”

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