An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
In the fragile quiet of an iced morn he sang; a melody of shaded notes that shuddered hoar from an abnormal branch,
By Jessica4 years ago in Poets
Have you heard of me yet? The night asked, it hissed. Yes, and as spiteful as the end of the day. Has the moon shone yet? The night asked, it howled.
By Sami Zayat4 years ago in Poets
The shadows of hares and creeks, Are traced along the artificial grass The rays of sun past passed the rubber leaves Of multiple clones, of faux Everglade trees
By Octovo Libra 4 years ago in Poets
The hungered hawk his claws he’s honing At the hill top his wing’s drop—homing, The sun in the backdrop is groaning, Not a flick of night, will last of its prey;
the quiet solitude embalmed in his stare navigates to the lips in a thunderous roar, I am, I am and so much more. the flawless advance of his fluent stride,
By Moe Radosevich4 years ago in Poets
Spring is here all of the deer oh Dear so near I feel a cheer coming on 🌺 we will soon see the lawn big, big yawn such a long winter, I jeer
By Denise E Lindquist4 years ago in Poets
The Fairy's murmur stirs the exhausted meanders; the melodic breeze slackens their sensitive backs. Venturing, on the vagabond street,
By Llaquc4 years ago in Poets
A hap hazardous Conglomeration Existing in bits and pieces Of broken memory. One in particular
By Abigail Sire 4 years ago in Poets
Is the Earth reborn each year? In many ways, it certainly feels that way. We witness the ground coming alive, burgeoning underfoot.
By Danielle Elizabeth Andrews4 years ago in Poets
Silent inhale me, Peace prevails me, Everything on perfect, Everything is on time, Nature can feel me. Although I am so busy,
By Kamran Mehmood 4 years ago in Poets
Hail, Mother Nature she Weeps without sadness. For martyrdom does Not become her. • Water-falls born from Single drops, drips
By Nicole Oliver4 years ago in Poets
Who can use green bamboo as a bow and arrow, shoot into the sky, and never fall? My imagination is like a long arrow that shoots towards the clouds and sky, and it never returns. The long arrow points, in the vast void that is blue and bright.
By JASON PETERSON4 years ago in Poets
