An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Yesterday is gone, and thank thee God it is Can't see tomorrow cuz today I'm gonna live I'm gonna be the bird I always wanted to be
By Sandra Anglade5 years ago in Poets
It’s caramel. The dot in my iris Otherwise green as Chinatown jade. We were surfing in spring, Together but alone in the black sea.
By Kat5 years ago in Poets
The light reflects flashes of the rainbow beyond. Colors rest on surfaces or are carried on dust particles in the air— They dance around curiously.
By Sarah Lynn Jones5 years ago in Poets
A golden disc makes its way under the fading scarlet, Above the jagged edges of the shadow giants, While down below winding veins flow their way through the darkness,
By Fernando Moguel5 years ago in Poets
It is spring time and the sun is hiding She’s walking and walking and walking People pass her by, nodding An old man with a mask, waving
By icyflows5 years ago in Poets
Some days say: There is no way that The pinks will ever yield back The sky to bright blues. That the grays could
By Kevin Kolankowski5 years ago in Poets
The colour of jade for imperial Queens My favourite shade is celadon green A ceramic glaze both austere and serene The centuries viewed through celadon green
By Tracy Puklowski5 years ago in Poets
The ocean is a cathedral, the Southern Cross moving gently across the wall of night. The tide a sermon unto itself, the ceiling a renaissance of stars.
By Paul Ruszel5 years ago in Poets
Beige. My world is varying degrees of beige, an arid landscape, burnt under an endless and empty sky. The air crackles with heat,
By Rose Kress5 years ago in Poets
I’ve often wondered upon blissful lives and from what fountain their joy derives. Colour, so far, is what I surmise: Lilac morning skies
By S.L. Maguire5 years ago in Poets
chamomile tea tastes like nothing, but looks like honey, amber, warm creaky wood, melting sunshine, blonde hair. i used to stand outside my grandma’s door clutching my towel-cape with
By Mara Marques 5 years ago in Poets
I have felt the hatred for the colour of my skin. They praise soil that grows green yet I’m treated like sin. Maybe they characterized brown as the symbolism of dirt,
By S.A 3ssay5 years ago in Poets
