An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
In the beginning there were three brothers Each one followed the shadow of a father who had painted the world with his legacy
By Miles Rafael Bairley-Ujueta5 years ago in Poets
Leaves fall off the trees as the wind blows in, fall is in the air The small of apply crisp in the air Big piles of leaves laying around
By MICHELLE SMITH5 years ago in Poets
The landscape is devoid of any color, save mostly black and white. The trees are adorned with a fresh snowfall.
By Katie 5 years ago in Poets
As I have gone alone in there And with my treasures bold, I can keep my secret where, And hint of new riches and old.
By Khatam Amin5 years ago in Poets
Summer feels like the first day of school as kid. Spring taste like a bite of fresh ripe fruit. Fall sounds like raindrops on the window.
By Davone Cosey 5 years ago in Poets
Feeling like getting lost Drifting in the wind Riding off towards sunset Places I have never been Following the moonlight
By Mary creighton5 years ago in Poets
I remember, I remember it all too well… The dawns rays piercing through the eastern horizon, The light bursting the shadows veil that ruled over the night.
By Jordan Zuniga5 years ago in Poets
When I lift my face up to the wind Breathing the Night and taking it in, The wind teases me with something new: The clean winter starlight scent of You.
By Kyle Hulbert5 years ago in Poets
Mythology, fiction, fantasy and nonsense they claim! Trapped within a narrow wall, drive a man insane! Limited in its vision, only there to dwell,
Her relationship with nature is uniquely sacred. Her voice is purposefully harvested from coups of abundant baskets full of streaming consciousness.
By Tony Messina5 years ago in Poets
It’s cold here in Maine today. 13 degrees with 34 mile an hour winds. That’s cold. My body can’t function in this. It hurts too much.
By Erica Jordan5 years ago in Poets
I wake up in the Spring when there is no more snow When the birds start to sing and the flowers start to grow I eat in the Summer when the harvest is finally reaped
By Floyd Doolittle5 years ago in Poets
