nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Honolulu Tropics
As the Sun has taken its rest, I have my holidays at last. To lay back, and dream to a tropic night violet bright. She is doing fine and, independent beautiful with a serene light of total day to be still. Raining, and still dreaming, sunlight, and sipping my tea.
By Paul Noel Cimino6 years ago in Poets
Ladybug
One of the only (if not the only) insect whose name implies a gender. These arthropods go through parthenogenesis, a reproduction within themselves, asexuality. Yet they are stuck with this name given to them from some scientists who decided that it was fitting. They dress in spot, some have rich red shells, others wear more muted shades of amber.
By Carrie Elizabeth Bice6 years ago in Poets
Goodbye, Summer...
I used to mourn the passing of the summer. I’m just naturally more of a hot weather person. But this year, I am embracing the coming of the fall; looking forward to it even. If nothing else, I am relishing, awestruck, the announcing of its arrival… As I behold herds of Abundant clouds, filled to a beautiful bursting, rolling with a sublime and sloth-like grace over hills of new green. The air is noticeably thicker, no, heavier—especially in the evening and night time. I think there is a poetry and a message in that… An invitation to regroup and re-ground, as the days’ work hours expire. Flights of fancy that the summertime would tempt us to transforming into a newfound focus. An open doorway to a more mature awareness. To putting your money where your mouth is—even though your savings account is still a depleted one. To collect all the things you’ve learned in the past year or so, harness them, and do something truly exciting with them. And not a vacation type of excitement (I don’t always travel well anyway) or even a “staycation” type of excitement… But a ‘who the fuck am I about to be?’ type of excitement, just as full of fear as pure potentiality. There is a part of me who wants to keep turning this passage into a poem, letting a loose rhyme scheme or alliterative device do the talking for me. But no. Even at this very moment, I am learning how to let my prose be enough. Metaphor. Why must everything always rhyme anyway? Rhetorical question. To spend all that time, money and effort on being a better Educator... just to turn back around and perform in a couple of plays. Those two lines don’t rhyme, do they? I guess, at this moment, ABABABeeee... is lost on Me. And there it is: one last rhyme, dedicated to the summer, summer, summertime.
By Orion Bradshaw6 years ago in Poets
