Each bee that’s crystalline
with spring’s golden frost
(each filament gleaming
with the idea of flowers)
carries with it the possibility of true
abundance—the hope of things not yet
seen by the manifold eyes of the wild world.
Each speck of faerie dust
clings bravely to the prospect
of falling into place, falling
amidst the dew of quiet dawn—
clings and awaits the right moment,
anxious to let go, but frozen on the wing
that beats undaunted in the morning air.
Each flower, with face wide,
lifts its gaze, with open eyes
so the fantasy can find its mark
and the earth can grow new flowers—
leaping up like cool flames blown to life
by the wind that wakens this wild world
and tells of a wilder world to come.
Dwelling deep in the forests of New England, Graham spends most of his time reading, taking walks with his dog, and learning new and interesting things (and reveling in cooler, more temperate climates). Born and raised in the Boston area, Graham was homeschooled from an early age. After high school, he proceeded to get a bachelor’s in Literature from Patrick Henry College in Northern Virginia. He currently resides in the Boston area while pursuing a master’s in Education at Gordon College, steeping in the rich history of his home turf and a continued exploration of literature from across the world. He says you should read Alan Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country and Chaim Potok’s The Chosen, because they are incredible novels. Also, read Robert Frost.
This is a pretty poem! I like the line of the dust on the wings that beat the morning air.
Scintillating!
You’re one of the few poets whose free verse I actually enjoy. Keep up the great work Mr. Jackson!