An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
The silence lingers though the night has turned, I walk the fields where shadows keep their song. The flame once given cannot be unburned.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales5 months ago in Poets
Drifting falling leaf Harbinger of life and death With time comes rebirth
By JBaz5 months ago in Poets
Come, child, to prayer; the busy day is done. A golden star gleams through the dusk of night; The hills are trembling in the rising mist.
By Asif956835 months ago in Poets
"Not all words must be said to be remembered." I sit at the edge of the field at night, listening. The frost has already begun its hymn,
"Every ending leaves roots in the soil." The fire has gone out, yet ash clings to my hands. I gather it into a clay bowl,
"The earth keeps what we leave, and gives it back in season." I walk the stubbled fields after the sickle’s song has faded.
“Frost is the hand that teaches the body its boundaries.” The chill reaches me before the snow. It settles into the marrow of my hands,
“The wind remembers both silence and song.” A wind moves through the branches, not the chatter of autumn sparrows, but the hollow cry of spaces left behind.
“Every current dreams of the sea, even as frost binds its mouth.” The river exhales fog, a low lament, its sorrow heavy on the air:
“The heavens are a lantern, and winter trims the flame.” Above me the sky gathers its cloak, clouds knotting thick as wool,
“Even the roots know what silence foretells.” The maples whisper as their blood retreats, sap slipping into roots like secrets carried below,
Moon, I know your song rides with her— the lady on the white horse, her hair flowing like rivers of milk, her voice like silver rain.
