Posted by: Thomas Drinkard | March 12, 2011

Poem for Early March: “Jonquil”


“The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
drives my green age…”
Dylan Thomas

The crust of old earth hardly remembers
where some green thing once grew.
Slow cold and long darkness
sealed off the place–

slowed watery veins,
numbed tendriling nerves
and draped a white sheet,
like a last respect,
sheltering the face of the dead.

But something beneath never forgets
that despairing ritual
and keening wintersongs,
like grasping with bare hands
at sparks struck from flint,
catches no warmth.

the centrifugal thrust
that shoves up first green stems
like primed fuses
sparked by closer suns
driving slow, yellow explosions.



  1. Thomas, dramatic and wonderous; bravo!

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