An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
The rain smelled like cinnamon tea like the sky had lit a candle and each droplet was a wisp carrying flavor into the night
By Fleur4 years ago in Poets
To tip the scales suggests that they Are right now equal, as they weigh A greed with which we think we fight Though it becomes us in the night
By Insinq Datum4 years ago in Poets
I was a baby juniper as green as green could be. I once had healthy branches that everyone could see. Unfortunately, this past year, I stated seeing a new me.
By Nicole Crowned4 years ago in Poets
ten years of smoke on the hands ashes buried deep in the cold, dark ground a bonfire burnished with bursts of laughter
By Timothy James Lane5 years ago in Poets
Iron stained stones Steps to steamy peaks Jagged memories, old and smooth Much longer than all the weeks Carved crevices with crumbling cracks
By James Spencer-Briggs5 years ago in Poets
On a charming morning, I sat beneath a maple tree flower is dancing one two three. A fireflies fall in the green grass.
By Chitrak5 years ago in Poets
The crows start to caw as they fly back and forth between the field behind us and the farm across the hill, then to our stand of maple trees to roost before the sun sets.
By J. Delaney-Howe5 years ago in Poets
Hypnotized by the rolling ocean waves, the dancing fluid invokes me, then soaks me. The warm progressive breeze wraps around me, wispering
By Holly D5 years ago in Poets
wandering through the forest there’s a gentle, calming breeze the scent of cool, damp earth drifts its way to your nose rays of sunlight peek through the trees
By An Unlocked Key5 years ago in Poets
The rain. It rains. It pours. It splatters against the windows, against the doors. The droplets bounce. The droplets splash.
By A. B.5 years ago in Poets
A poem is not made of glass Like a man, transparent As tropic reefs Where bone-bare coral waits To tear unwary steps Distorting time and light
By C S Hughes5 years ago in Poets
I crave the cold wind in my lungs. I invoke it and call upon it. The icy chill is like solace from the raging fire inside me.
By M. Johnson5 years ago in Poets
