The wild

I have seen flowers come in stony places,
Their fine roots crumbling concrete;
I have seen gulls nesting on sky scraping cliffs
And watched grass quietly creeping out over the lane.
I have held the gaze of a fox on a garden wall,
Heard a blackbird calling from a broken gutter,
Seen a tree growing from a long cold chimney
And ivy reaching blindly through a paneless window.

Who are we kidding? With our taming mesh of roads
And bridges, our glyphosates, our planned piazzas?
One day, this will fall,
In an orgy of vegetation – and daisies will sprout
Between our sanded floor boards, and bindweed
Climb helter skelter up the lamp posts,
And deer will browse among the rusted frames
Of our bark chipped playgrounds.

The wild is always there,
Waiting to return.

 

It’s open link night at dVerse, and Grace is in charge. This is one of the first poems I ever blogged, in April 2016 – for NaPoWriMo. The prompt was “a borrowed first line” and I chose one from John Masefield. In fact the whole poem is only 4 lines long, so it’s one I can remember…

I have seen flowers come in stony places
And kind things done by men with ugly faces
And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races,
So I trust too.

 

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17 thoughts on “The wild

  1. The words of this poem remind me of a documentary I used to show 9th grade science students, called, Life After People. It scared them to think humans may go away… but they were happy about the plants and animals. I told them the ways I know to make it happen together. Only a few kids, but one never knows…. Beautiful poem.

    “One day, this will fall,
    In an orgy of vegetation – and daisies will sprout
    Between our sanded floor boards….”

    Like

  2. Wonderful, Sarah! The wild is always there,Waiting to return. David cut the grass on Saturday and by the time I got back from Cardiff, the wild was on its way back! You have painted such a tender picture of nature in the first stanza, it made my heart sing. I love that:
    ‘…orgy of vegetation – and daisies will sprout
    Between our sanded floor boards, and bindweed
    Climb helter skelter up the lamp posts,
    And deer will browse among the rusted frames
    Of our bark chipped playgrounds’ –
    they do in my garden already!

    Like

  3. Herman Hesse wrote a novel on this theme. Forgive me, I don’t remember the title. I can’t help thinking of Glenn Buttkuss’s poem about the slaughtering of the buffaloes back at the time. I also can’t help wishing the wild taking everything back will happen soon. The way things are going it may happen sooner than we think.

    Like

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