An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Wild Sky Run The horizon bursts open in flame as the herd breaks across the light each hoof striking the dawn like a drum that wakes the soul.
By Marie381Uk 4 months ago in Poets
The Sky Witch She flies through the silver air the moon her endless mirror the broom her stubborn friend old laughter curls behind her
Oh, where are you, dear Mr. Moon. You’ve hidden yourself, way too soon. Your light is filtered behind a gray cloud, Like a forgotten memory behind a dark shroud.
By Margaret Brennan4 months ago in Poets
Shadows, darkness form, as dusk cradles the dawn <> Red flags — the buzzword of our age. Only slight glimmers of light ever seen,
By Paul Stewart4 months ago in Poets
It started in Oregon in my 7th year. Talking walks with Grammie on the outskirts of Portland. Little baskets, hand in hand, smiles plastered,
By Hope Martin4 months ago in Poets
The Star Tiger Snow folds under his steps the night hums with power his eyes are two blue storms holding the secret of silence.
By night, you shine for all to see Places where they should not be. By day, you shape an eerie form Pale and looking quite forlorn.
By Calvin London4 months ago in Poets
The Garden at the Edge of Sleep There is a garden at the edge of sleep. It grows only when I close my eyes. Flowers hum songs I once knew.
Every year, for years, we made the journey Out to that cabin, nestled in grandpa’s back woods I can still hear his gravely voice reassuring, “don’t worry “
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden4 months ago in Poets
The Girl with the Umbrella of Stars She walked through the square at peace, an umbrella made of stars above her head. People turned but said nothing,
The twinkling tune of raindrops, freezing, forming on the limbs The breathy flute like songs, as breezes blow The rattling of the snare drums tapping, resting on the sill, the start of winter waiting to come in
Every night I dream of an exile to Arcadia: That land untainted. There no serpents lie, bidding me to take their fruit. There is no box of temptation.
By Callum Summers4 months ago in Poets
