Wild And Free Poem by Ben Gieske

Come and visit my back yard.
A bit on the wild side.
Linger and goggle long and hard.
Snatch a bit of nature’s side.

I am not its master.
It follow the seasons
as it gives me many reasons
how to wonder and stir my awe.

Freedom reigns, seeds sprouting
.....wherever they fall;
A veritable quilt of multicolored leaves
.....in the fall.

All God’s creatures are invited to come and go,
find amnesty, daily bread and put on a show
in this place of mystery and unknowns.
Not a haven of Eden but no tree of good or evil.

All God’s creatures are welcome here,
that goes for the rain, wind, and sleet as well,
to visit, roam, and even make a home.
Whatever it takes I wish them well.

No tigers, lions, or wolverines here.
Squirrels, bird, and cats appear.

Wild flowers, plants, and vines tango free
lending colors, shades, and blades in nature’s blend
canvassing many a picture as pretty as any glen.
A curious woodpecker seeking bugs around the elm tree.

Once a pair of buzzards flew this way
from where I wondered but they gave no clue.
On the third day off they flew skyward,
scolding and cawing and I wondered why.

The Japanese maple and dogwood snuggle in the corner.
The grapevines and honeysuckles tussle in the breeze.
Sometimes the breezes tickle the fingers of the trees;
Oft times the winds play roughly with the twigs and branches
casting such toys to the ground.

Ground worms there are, the robins have a feast.
Their March arrival numbers forty to forty five.
All at once upon this hunting ground they homogenize
diminishing in size to hunt a mate and stake a claim.
Much too early for a June bride,
all of whom seem not ready to appear or just hide.

Late in the fall they have a reunion.
The same or others I can’t claim
but for sure they are all males
which makes me wonder about the females.

But all are welcome in this home
to wander in, out, and about,
or seek a place to hide.
Many critters I surely never see yet here abide.

The Gothic oak has ringed many seasons,
balding at the bottom and stubborn as a mule,
towering high as any medieval cathedral,
showering the squirrels with its harvest of the season.
Its roots have catacombed much claimed territory,
networking their way under ground and gravity.

A lonely pine stands as seasoned as the oak,
still haunted by a ghostly storm of hail,
scar-faced now with crocodile-eaten limbs.
Its pine-sap quickening, yet not quite broke.

Like the oak it has seen the seasons come and go
and like the oak there is much it cannot hide
with its cones when snowy puts on quite a show
and still from year to year its conifers abide.

The sun passes gently on one side
as if not wanting to invade,
kisses the peaches until they blush
quite content to fade in the day.

Gravity here as no stranger dwells
clipping the umbilical chords of ripening pears
creating a ground swell
of sweetness for the bees to spear,
a treat no doubt for any bear
..............................but lo — none will ever show.

The bees now have a hard season
finding honey for their honey combs.
Patches of clover are sorely seasoned.
The summers too hot and dry and long.

A solitary bumblebee makes its rounds bye and bye
as do the wasp and the fly.
The ants are busy as bees building their sandy fort.
So many creepers never come forth

except a certain kitty prancing grandly,
stopping for a daily treat, our guest,
then taking its leisure hunting and stalking a spell,
with archaic patience haunching
straight as a cat-gut violin string
tuned a bit sharp
his sinews
ready to be cut
in a split second
cheetah-bound
to a deadly end.

A squirrel being too leery and quick
whistles its tail,
a warning puddling its way through the air.
The birds seem to know its tricks.
Beyond that I really can’t say.
Even I don’t know all its tricks,

Many seeds sprout wherever they fall
parachuting from the maple tree as they fall.
Thanks to other’s help, the birds and the wind and rain,
many others lay down their roots
part of the mystery of their sprung-up shoots.

Teams of color throughout the seasons abound
The blue of the jay, the cardinal red,
................the blackish-purplish sheen of the grackle,
................peach and purple grape,
................white winter’s frock all around.

Spring has its own sweet songs.
Summer can be a tiring story long.
Lots of heat and little rain
leaving the dogwoods begging in vain.
The Japanese maple dropping early leaves;
Fall gathering its colors as the trees shed their sheaves.

Many seasons have made their rounds
and left reminders of their coming behind.
Some wild but always changing faces like the winds that sound.
Some with their usual fare in mind,
tolling the pears to take a dive,
Frosty nipping peach blossoms newly alive.

The lawn has crescented into a moonscape board
like a giant slab of Swiss cheese.
The squirrels claiming it for their storage needs,
pocketing here and there their winter hoard.

One must look to find the treasures
surely there are lessons to be learned: .
................A garden snake surprised in its chosen pot
................and I leapt from the spot.
................Treetops tangling with the telephone strings all bare.
................Orphan irises fending in the fair.
................Squirrels hoola-hooping trees up and down and around
................playing catch me, catch me if you dare.
................Sky-diving leaves not knowing the season.
................Even the water flowing in gulleys in the know
................putting on a show.

A jay on a branch cocking his head this way and that
questioning and seeking an answer for that.

If I were to pick a theme
I think this message fits the theme.
We are wild and free
That’s the way it ought to be.