Outcasts

I know a poet called Mark Ward.
We have worked together in the past and i asked if he might consider writing something about dandelions when i saw him during the Curate the Campus project last week (he's studying for an MA in creative writing at the uni). I was really chuffed when he said yes and am delighted with the result:

Outcasts
Prolific: profligate,
they emulate the stars in their boldness
and intensity.
Unsung by poets, persecuted by gardeners,
the wrong type of flower
they stand defiant on the lawns and pathways
mid-Spring.
Outcasts, banished to the edgelands of our
towns and cities; flourishing on the sidings
and embankments: the mean backstreets
and the decaying monoliths of our industrial past.
Bouquets for the homeless.
In time the brash garish flowers transform
into opaque globular seed heads: light, delicate
they await the breeze to stir.
Dandelion clocks.
Pluck one; take a breath and blow.
Count the hours – spread the joy.
Come Spring there’ll be another star-burst on the lawn.

Mark Ward, 2011