An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Mama has a garden and she can grow most anything She puts her heart and soul in it And ties it up with string * She marks it with a color
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden5 years ago in Poets
Sunrise greets my soul, its golden rays warming the depths of my being. Actively present, I am alert to the energy
By Susan L. Marshall5 years ago in Poets
The Green Witch I surround myself with nature in every form, clothing my soul in the seasonal changes of this land around me. Immersing myself and insulating against the discordant buzz of humanity.
By kylie bright5 years ago in Poets
I am not aware of colour here, Deep beneath the waves. For if light touches anything, It swiftly meets its grave. “Colourless?” they ask me,
By Lara Elizabeth5 years ago in Poets
A flower grows where it is planted Never questioning it’s place Never comparing its beauty to whomever she’s beside Admiring the purples, reds, and pinks all around her
By Becky5 years ago in Poets
To be alive is to experience colour, A gift so given from our mother. Born into a bed of red, Her love enveloping us as she bled.
By Lucy Blore5 years ago in Poets
In my dream I'm in my heaven, heaven is my dream, a world so serine, fields of grass so green, as far as you can see.
By Krissy Romero5 years ago in Poets
Between The world begins a clearfield rose an oyster shell, a white abode a dazzling empty plane of thought Explodes Explodes Explodes Explodes!
By Christian Ruiz Berman5 years ago in Poets
The colour purple is rare, maybe it is by design Other colours can't compare, to that of royal bloodline We can see it crystal clear, when we look upon the sky
By Dwayne Chapman5 years ago in Poets
Life is Beautiful: When all the leaves, Suddenly, Spun around you and me Tell me that Life is Beautiful She’d say it’s thrilling and all things are silly life is beautiful
By Teejay McKinley5 years ago in Poets
We met where the grasses meet the water. You said that your language has no distinction between green and blue. It’s all just optics,
By Pol5 years ago in Poets
I am the kiss of creation. My curves are supple hills, my edges jagged tree lines. I am the sky that begins to taste hail, sour on my tongue, violent even before it falls; the weeds growing between concrete cracks, determined to live, to defy.
By Mackenzie Lee5 years ago in Poets
