An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
A line of verse abruptly stops, The author rubs his brow, A word to rhyme with “solemnize”, He hears a lowing cow.
By Bryan R..5 years ago in Poets
Men will never get money chasing women, but will always have women when you chasing money. Facts. Happiness is such a lovely thing, especially upon a face,
By Sean Noble5 years ago in Poets
Fog softens the bare branches and sits heavy on the forest floor. The trees fade layer by layer into the distance. The billowing, shifting haze uproots the land—creating imaginary islands that float in a soft dream world.
By E. McAuley5 years ago in Poets
As I walked along the stone paths, somehow they seemed to glow brighter than the moon. But I could not keep my eyes from wandering to the trees, who were rustling on the breeze hoping for some midnight delight to settle upon their leaves.
By Tamar Biamonte5 years ago in Poets
Listen my peeps, no secret to keep. what is the difference between a wise & a fool when all live & die, penny wise & pound foolish.
I went outside this afternoon to get intoxicated - intoxicated from the smell of spring and the sound of birds that gently beckoned me into their welcoming,
By Susan Lee5 years ago in Poets
The texture takes shape In every place With colour and light And in every space Perfectly imperfect In every way In death and in life
By Mary Jo Hanly5 years ago in Poets
Come to hills & find me as I rather be alone, This place I call my Home, Sometimes I feel so Alone. Do I really have a freedom of speech?
Poetry along the summit path. Light through the canopy flickers along the trail. Flakes of crushed stone glitter under step.
By Matthew Ferrill5 years ago in Poets
Prologue The mourn was brightening with the dawn of a new day, As the small group slowly made their way, They had been running or walking through most of the night,
By K.C. Keats5 years ago in Poets
Salty Bagels - are salted by my tears. A little fluffy friend who knows all my dreams and fears. A big chinned tiger who escapes the zoo,
By Ashley C5 years ago in Poets
The river is a mirror in the grey dawn. I dip my paddles and glide, white ripples on a reflected sky. The fresh, loamy scent of the water beckons me along its lazy bends and curves as I chase the first flickers of light.
