Dandelion Venus by Gráinne Quick-Humphrys

Am I the splendid yet gracious lily, a kept one
whose sensual scent hangs thick in the air of shady hallways with gilded mirrors and heirlooms?

Or am I the orchid, ornamental, a rare one
a vision of loveliness, audible gasps on sighting the elusive muse of blooms?

Or am I the house rose; manicured, monitored, hidden away
trained in walled gardens, a bouquet on display tended by expert hands?

Or am I the wild rose rambling
who cavorts with blackthorn and briar scrambling up the walls of messy, tumbledown houses with abandon?

Or am I the ragged robin, a wild roadside waif who dances on waysides with foxglove and honeysuckle and meadowsweet?

Or am I violet; delicate, fragile, shy, quivering in the grass with buttercup and being ever so timid and neat?

Or am I daisy; sunny, unassuming yet all over the place in fields with thistle, poppy, forget-me-not and cornflower blue?

Or am I magnolia, marvellous petals unfurl and azalea blazes while the exotic cherry blossom blooms?

Or am I a bluebell in a wood, with a gentle stream at my foot, fresh and new?

Or am I the wild heather who graces the mountains and moors with fern, bracken and rock, with gorse, clover and hawk?

Or am I aromatic jasmine, permeating the air with my syrupy fragrance like lupin, sweet pea and night-scented stock?

Am I a flower; admired for my beauty then plucked?
Tracked for my scent and then fucked?
Discarded when I fade and die; wilted, forlorn, thrown on the ash pile
Dreams of former glory as night’s new blossom blooms, stealing the show
Taking my place on tables, at dances, in hallways and furtive glances
Am I good for nothing but dalliances and romances?

Am I all of these flowers? Did I at least try to be a flower for every season in every region for every person? Do I hold them all within? Am I primrose, a snowdrop? Am I a daffodil, a crocus? Will I be lined up for a posie?

In that case I am the dandelion venus

A dandy lion venus!
Ignore and discard me at your own peril, treat me like a common weed
But the wind blows my creative seed
You can even eat me! I am good for your health!
I grow back year after year on waysides, in pavements
I grow in impossible places, on hostile terrain
I annoy established lawns!

I am everywhere; pissy resilient
I nourish and torment with my sense of self, my solar plexus, opus sexus
“Oh no there she is, back again! Why won’t she just die?”
I double up as a clock flower, a dandelion globe to tell the time, to gate crash life
Remind you with a bright yellow, buoyant, sunshine roar
you can’t keep a good thing down, whether you like it or not
I exist in my own right and I am here for the long haul