An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
The masks fall softly, one by one, like petals loosed when bloom is done. No thunder breaks, no lightning rends, just quiet air where silence bends.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales5 months ago in Poets
Sitting in the sun. Air that moves and brings the calm. Slow, take the moment.
By Rachael Anra5 months ago in Poets
The orchard wears a crown of bloom, each branch a veil, each flower a plume. White petals drift like falling snow, but what they hide, the roots still know.
Beneath the soil, the chamber breathes, a silent choir of buried leaves. Roots entwine like hidden hands, veins of shadow beneath the land.
The river wears a mirror’s face, a shifting mask, a silver trace. It shows the sky, it shows the trees, it shows the wind that bends the reeds.
The forest lifts its mask of green and gold, layer upon layer, fold over fold. Each leaf a shimmer, each shadow a seam, a shifting face in a half-lit dream.
The forest listens, rooted in its song, each bough a witness to the lives it keeps. Its shadows cradle whispers that belong
The sun’s embrace is broken by the moon, a fleeting crown of fire frames the sky. The world is dimmed, yet promises its boon:
The roses bloom with equal flame and thorn, their petals bright, their fragrance edged with pain. The morning gold reveals what night has worn,
Your face returns in flame against the night, a warmth that lingers though the shadows grow. The candle bends its glow to keep you bright,
"Every path leans forward, waiting to see if you will follow." Invocation Every element waits at its own gate— earth in patience,
All sound folds inward, a bird’s cry cut short, the leaves stilled mid-rumor. Silence is not absence— it is pressure,
