nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
The Deceiving Moon
A midnight cloud hides her silhouette. Edged in iridescent light, she threatens to flood the starless sky. Alone, you stroll into the night. Where the late harvest moon ought be. Her shadow’s settle, among the leafless elm, enough light lingers to hunt. Little remains to hide.
By Ondi Laure5 years ago in Poets
The Lovely Fall
The undeplorable actions we take to make an undesirable thing to be normal. Away the chains of comfortable life. Reduced is the living things down to desecrated husks. Why do I so desperately crave to see these passing days? The chill thwarts other ideals of happiness with an indoor punishment. However, it draws out the simple recluse in me. Shedding of clothes feels wretched in the heat opposed to the bliss of warm garments in the cold. Vivid colors flutter around the ever-silent air as the living become the deceased. The once perky greenery now droop low, awaiting its demise of joining its brethren onto the freezing soil. Do not fret, for this is the nature running its ever winding course. What other people find depressing, I find as true beauty. Spring may be it’s warmer twin, but Fall is the true preserver. Spring rebirths the world in vibrant colors, while Fall prepares the annuals for the coming of winter. In many ways, it does warns the wildlife into hibernation for many months, but it also gives haste for birds to fly to a warmer climate to keep prosperous. The evening sky begins to take hues of orange to solidify the beginning of Fall is here. Fall is the most beautiful eve of winter, or the still nothingness. All things become barren and desolate. Not even a pin drop could be heard through the silent winter. Why is Fall the most beautiful to me? Pumpkins and gourds are grown in this weather. Schools begin to instruct students for future development. Pants and long sleeve shirts are finally uncovered. Outside isn’t unbearably hot. Even the coming of my birth date is in the Fall. I love the Fall the most.
By Lacey Stovall5 years ago in Poets
From a distant land
A place of solitude. A distant place. Far away. Too far for my creator and I. The distance couldn’t be barred. Have you ever felt so alone in your house, in the store (where there are crowds of people) or maybe just inside of yourself? What do you hear? Have you ever even leaned in? Have you had that holy curiosity inside of yourself to lean in- it is that very still small light inside, even a voice- speaking. Really, it is loud, there are thunders raging inside, and this isn’t noticed until you leaned in, until you have heard. The gentle voice of someone.
By Susie Ann Gomez5 years ago in Poets
The Webbed Garden
A webbed magnolia garden by the old country house. Tiny plum seeds are turning into large thistle purple magnolias. As I enter the floral jungle gym, I smell the scent of perfumed raisin mist and hear the monster purple bees buzzing- roaming around the prickly lilac cactuses. Unexpected, the sight of the electric pink lake made me want to float- a large puddle in the middle of the hidden maze.
By Talia Devora5 years ago in Poets
A Moment In The Sun
Laying in the grass, the blinding light of the sun makes me feel at home. The green blades prod softly against my skin and support my body hovering just above the cold dirt. Warmth that is almost indescribable engulfs me, peace and comfort overwhelm me as my skin grows warmer and warmer. Through my closed eyelids I can see only the beautiful red and yellow of the sun’s rays. Slowly shifting and turning in the grass, I find myself sprawled out thinking about how much I missed the sensation of summer. I lift one of my arms above my head to stretch and let it drift up the side of my stomach, causing goosebumps to appear. My skin feels as if it could start on fire if I let it. Caressing my other arm gently, I feel like I am made of gold. Eventually I let my arm fall down onto the ground, cold to the touch.
By Marie Gordon5 years ago in Poets
I dreamed of my rose in the garden
Darkness acquiesce to the waking of the morning as light gains the first moments of the day. In anticipation of the day’s arrival, consciousness awakens, eyes open, and hearts beats. Daily rituals of prayers, exercise, medicine and then, there is the smell of fresh bread, the aroma of hazelnut flavors in coffee and, the sizzling sound of maple flavored bacon. The cock crow and the farmers with pail in hand dutifully address the livestock, and consider their labor in the fields.
By Godfrey Georges5 years ago in Poets
