nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Owlita
Hey Mamita Barn Owlita, Who who hoot do you see looking back from me? Do i hold the same wise eyes you keep hooting alive, the unrealized cry to release all fear from the flurry. Still the mountain is cold and the deserts are dry, this is why you have learned to cut through the sky in not even a blink of an eye. Your razor sharp silence couldn't be heard if I try, unless I make room for my inborn middle eye.
By Amber Brovelli5 years ago in Poets
Bird's-eye View
Again, I lay restlessly pressed against the chafe of synthetic polyester, grasping for slumber with a desperation which grows more abortive with each passing tick. My repugnance towards the clock face thickens with every glance, its visage twisting into a menace of unprecedented mockery. The brassy echo of its ticks bellow and I recoil deeper into my linen until the heat of my breath prompts my surrender. I raise a weary frame, hunched in sulking defeat by my enemy and shift my feet indolently to the floor, its contact chilly and overtly offensive.
By Michael Lamarche5 years ago in Poets
Taking Flight
Cold! My first memory of life was the faded grey of light, perhaps twilight, lack of warmth; the stark, crisp air. I could feel the snow falling gently, each flake carefully making its way through the holes in the broken wood above, further cooling the air it touched on its slow, deliberate descent toward where I lay.
By C. Jon Sawyer5 years ago in Poets
