An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
The beach was my home, But I wasn’t homeless. The subtropics guarded me, From cold, rain, and sun.
By Grant Whitehurst5 years ago in Poets
I will sing the color grey the only way for new grace as I walk this long journey see splendor in the lined face Grey softens the searing day
By Michele Cuomo5 years ago in Poets
My body was born in icterine—so jaundiced my mother thought I’d always have sunflower skin. And, yes, my flesh soaks up sunlight, but I spread mixed
By Alyssa Cook5 years ago in Poets
The road laid steady As our minivan cascaded across it The luggage Snacks Arguments Music And laughter Leaving its imprint on the highway
By Jada Ferguson5 years ago in Poets
It looms above us rotten now Browned, maroon and beige, and sunk Gnarled weeds chewing panels A flexing frame, a sagging roof
By greg sorensen5 years ago in Poets
My body is a mammoth dam, yet weary do I feel I gaze upon a wondrous sight, a beauty from far hand My stomach fills with acid rain, and I am forced to kneel
By Zsuzsanna Beres5 years ago in Poets
Trolls are inherently rich! Exclaimed the widow who’s apparently a witch. Her husband, the late sorcerer, was once an
By Kale Sinclair5 years ago in Poets
Blooming Blue (and Shed the Dead Tooth in Winter) It was a nagging feeling like the way someone’s absence could fill a room,
By Christopher Hantman5 years ago in Poets
A gentle cold breeze gusted, across the sandy beach, Lightning bugs scattered all over the sky, The gibbous moonlight painted the space,
By Crystal5 years ago in Poets
Down upon butter-soft sand, clear sky but thoughts clouded grey, Time anxious alone they turn black, You wanted to leave, but he forced you to stay,
By Sh*t Happens - Lost Girl Travel5 years ago in Poets
Ha! How can one day everything seems so dark and the other so bright and clear? Maybe it's not about the instantaneity, It's about wanting to be happy so bad.
By Lizgonmad5 years ago in Poets
Life’s not fair. I hate that. It drives me to drink. I drink a lot. Innumerable glugs Down My Gullet. When I stir from my drunken coma,
By John H Lowther5 years ago in Poets
