nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
A Response to Nature
Are we a nation of poets? humans with an eye for detail and the words to describe, compare and contrast a life so desperate to show us something. We see it everyday, but it sometimes passes us by as we become stuck in the mundane routines that never subside. Like the birds flying south, this one directional mayhem seems to be the only thing to persist. Can we fight it? Can we leave it? Or can we only appreciate it? I don’t want this to be a preaching piece of writing, when what do I really know? Am I so much better? I feel this when I write, like I’m trying to be profound.
By MaxwellJBanks5 years ago in Poets
The tree seen in relative macroscopic solidity
If I could touch the inside I'd feel the grain in rings perpendicular to its sagittal. On a rainy day the rain droplets would rush over and off the leaves, slowing their decent before they make their way to a puddle on the ground. The earth accelerating them towards its center before showing the apparently solid nature of the objects at its surface. Like a clock that scales as you move towards it... drawing you in.... then slowing your motion relative to another observer, as the waves from you and the clock interfere and expand past said observer. From the uniformity of a point the smooth expansion of signals, the oscillations of any apparent fields holds these things together... tracing their paths... showing themselves in the overlaying patterns of a slowly changing grain. In transverse, the proximal, the distal appendages, and at a scale in their fractal like extensions.
By Nicholas Powers5 years ago in Poets
A View from a Height
A place of intrigue and organic mystique; I picture myself perched atop a tree. I dare not look down for the fear of falling would poison the beauty before me. A blanket of evergreens sweeps the landscape from the high hills in the west to the white rapids in the east. A hazy blue sky hugs the tree-line, before it filters and expands out into a magnificent open air space.
By Kayleigh Turner5 years ago in Poets
Gold
Unknowingly, she sighed; a gentle sound, as the wet, almost weightless, sparkling liquid coated her fingertips. The momentary tingling sensation it infused, surprised her. She slowly raised her hand, fingers now clear of the liquid’s dazzling surface. Gripped delicately in her grasp, a previously white rose hangs its head. Silky scales spiraling out from somewhere deep within the flower itself. The flaring petals drip metallic droplets onto the harsh concrete floor on which she stands. A clumsy pattern of golden shades, somehow resembling stardust, encircle her bare feet.
By Kayleigh Turner5 years ago in Poets
Autumn’s leaves
Autumn’s leaves: “Come out and play!” You enticed us with colourful fun. The children danced and played around your waving arms as you showered them like the way they do in Nigerian parties. The next day, you invited me to sit on the bench next to you. You said you needed to express yourself. You told me an animated story. I watched you body shake with laughter in the wind. You laughed so hard that your tears started falling until you were completely naked. Then the cold shook you...I helplessly watched you empty yourself down to your last tear. It happened gradually but too fast for me to accept. I didn’t want to let you go. I was not ready. I objected :” Don’t go. I can’t breathe without you...please…” You refused to answer me. You withdrew where no one could find you. When I came closer to hug your cold body, I noticed the note you left me: “See you in Spring, babe. I’ve left Evergreen in charge. Nimeenda (I’ve gone) South, B…”
By HammingBird Photopoetry & Narrated Stories5 years ago in Poets
