An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
the sky was fire the land the food cooked and roasted the sweat kept the food alive the floor kept as slow the ground was lava
By ASHLEY SMITH5 years ago in Poets
Through fields of wildflowers I wander The blossoms with passions unbridled bloom Before their joy and beauty I ponder If I will have the cheerfulness they do
By Lucia B.5 years ago in Poets
Upon amber hills her heart births the days Thrusting heat into shadows cooled by night Green brushes reach up welcoming her rays
By Charleen Richey5 years ago in Poets
Start writing...We'd love invite ypu to our summer dancing party. Pease wear barely nothimg at all. For clothes scare the ducls who are hosting the ball.
By Yvette Louise Melech5 years ago in Poets
My summer memories inspire me to write. I remember being on the boat Having fun and us swimming, These memories invade my mind throughout the day and night,
By Amanda Mosteller5 years ago in Poets
Without remorse, but a plea to survive, My throat parched, now raw to your element. Yearn for possibilities to revive;
By Ali SP5 years ago in Poets
Shall we sing tales of how the hours were spent, Alone with nought to keep us safe, but fears? For Summer’s wonder must we now repent,
By Aisla Houghton-Foster5 years ago in Poets
How does thy sun sparkle with fierce fire rays? Diamonds compare nothing, thou art ever bright Touching down from above flowers she lays
By Amanda Smith5 years ago in Poets
A summer day brings its rays, of illuminating light, Touching down on my skin, like the tiny pixels of a digital photo...
By ~Denyse Marie~5 years ago in Poets
Summer nineteen-sixty-six veterinarian assistant setting on the countertop small box a lady brought three tiny bodies inside
By A. Keith Clement5 years ago in Poets
Those days were sounds Still present, fresh wounds I tell myself they’ve healed But here they lie unsealed: Wind whistling through burdened trees
By Magriet Cruywagen5 years ago in Poets
We ate the watermelon on the porch, on splintered steps that threatened our bare feet, when we had finished lunch - the sun, a scorch
By Dane BH5 years ago in Poets
