Recent Poetry

The Little Guys*

Seed heads give

chase, play

tag on wide

pavements,

then take

off

on the

wind.

Bristles gather

forces; swirl,

tumble

forth,

interlocking

spokes, jolted

by the early

Autumn breeze.

I’m racing

across streets

for a taxi, but

I want to

crouch

down

like my

three-year old,

caress the ‘little guys:
white florets

so fine, yet

tautly robust,

to volley

silky clusters

upward

to the skies.

© Emily Cullen

* flowerhead of the acacia melanoxylon (Blackwood wattle tree)