An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
A whirling wind whips through the intertwining trees of thought The blazing fire is stoked by the whisper of every word Torrential rain downpours in each space of silence
By Bethy Faber7 years ago in Poets
A hum cascades as though a gust of wind Released as She exhales a change of key A pulse of life like so shall not be dimmed
By Talia Elizabeth Cogdill7 years ago in Poets
A flower A tree A weed Knows what it is to do No questions asked, no doubts or hesitation It turns sunlight into energy, drinks water and
By Gabrielle Ellerbee7 years ago in Poets
It is hard. And it was difficult from the very beginning too. New, fresh start. That is what everyone dreams about and it seems like it is so easy for everyone else. But is it really?
By Theresa Norv7 years ago in Poets
Bloody sun-stained October sky, Painted black amongst the grays; Silent Insanity, the Solitude and I, Lay buried beneath September’s blackest days.
By Andy Reed7 years ago in Poets
The beast appears to move downstream, Its smooth fur, that, to the human eye is sleek Whilst the true reality of life is such:
By Olive Octavius7 years ago in Poets
Rightly wronged grin at my foe My crushed petals without whoa Distinction between things unsaid Tantamount to space between read
By Shane Eide7 years ago in Poets
I think we're going to the moon a place that is left untouched by many a place that will forever leave people in wonder
By C. Ford7 years ago in Poets
I prefer rainboots to ballet slippers because they are so much better for dancing in the rain. Each puddle is a spotlight for me
By Writers' Circle7 years ago in Poets
Instinctive by design, cultured to breathe, the young pup explored, through the forest he weaved. Up again, down again, inside and out,
By Kendra Adams7 years ago in Poets
I don’t think I’m one of you You think the way that seals do You’re hard and cruel, even when I try to mend a crack. There’s never been a shortage of people telling me I can’t see
By Jessica Selby7 years ago in Poets
The freckled moon sits high above the earth, Waiting for the sky to darken so he can come out of hiding Sometimes he's impatient,
By Gloriana Demers7 years ago in Poets
