An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Southern gothic I can’t tell you if life is better elsewhere, I couldn’t tell you that the grass is greener or that the air is cleaner;
By W. J. Bradford III5 years ago in Poets
My soul loves the sun I am in awe of its beauty Aligned and in sync with the horizon Giving illumination and hope for the new day
By Ashana Brown 5 years ago in Poets
Sunlight spilled through the trees where I lay, my skin drying from the swim in the lake earlier. This was where I wanted to be, alone and undisturbed, letting my thoughts wander like the clouds.
By Amethyst Champagne5 years ago in Poets
Its the dark purples blues and reds they are violet indigo and crimson they make me bold and stand tall they make me move in a way that demand
By P.E.Easter5 years ago in Poets
C O L O R P I E C E S Green: Oh mother, sweet sweet mother, oh how we have forsaken thee. Oh how we have tarnished the earth beneath our toes.
By Starr Celestin5 years ago in Poets
THE GEOMETRY OF DUSK by Helene Bowen Triangles of lavender, purples, indigo and green rise up on the verticals of rectangles and squares of the city
By Helene Bowen5 years ago in Poets
Still quite young I have a map for sunday afternoons Going nowhere, just the roar of mountains The whisper of wet tyres leaves a wake
By C S Hughes5 years ago in Poets
We live in a world with fellow humans each with our unique hues, tones, shades. We Have many colours, with many flaws and embracing traits
By Sonia Strong5 years ago in Poets
Thick clear liquid From the earth’s womb bubbles up to the surface from an opening submerged between the legs of two river rocks
By Natalie Yazmin5 years ago in Poets
A fire burns in me wanting you to see every colour I see It’s never just one, it’s everything on the spectrum! Overwhelming at times, I pour the energy into rhymes
By Jemma Pigott5 years ago in Poets
It is egg undone, bending to shape like salt of shells on a withering cape a yolk of sun that drips to blue a breath in December
By Arthur Galstian5 years ago in Poets
We’re all born a blank canvas. When I was a baby mine was tinged with the lightest touch of yellow. I was delicate, pure, and sweet.
By Katey Taylor5 years ago in Poets
