An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
May sunshine find me In the wind and in the cold, Warm rays relieve me
By Heather Kasparabout a month ago in Poets
A placid lake was the perfect place to whisper without words. Frozen over in December it ceased to move on the surface still, it flowed beneath glassy bounds.
By Bugsy Wattsabout a month ago in Poets
As tender the night Slowly dawn appears Piercing sparks against the wood From the smiles creates the mood Dancing around the heat shifts
By Erica Williamsabout a month ago in Poets
In the hush of the forest deep, Where ancient trees in silence sleep, A fire crackles, sparks take flight, Dancing gently through the night.
By Muhammad Saad about a month ago in Poets
Ash tree stand alone Touch revealing hidden warmth Winter chill defer
By Raymond G. Taylorabout a month ago in Poets
i have tried to set your pedestal ablaze, but my curiosity, my understanding, my open arms, act as a kiln forging your base of clay
By Daniel Kabout a month ago in Poets
I see beauty in mundane, and often achieve Zen. Above sycamore leaf, is fallen, senescent, but to me, it's attractive.
By Seema Patelabout a month ago in Poets
A bird pecks away Frozen seedlings don't deter Mellows mind matters
By Marilyn Gloverabout a month ago in Poets
Midnight Run You never needed the open field to feel free, freedom lived inside the way you held yourself, head high, body tense,
By Marie381Uk about a month ago in Poets
Fearless, delicate thoughts try to rise to the surface, freedom slips outside, opening up new horizons for themselves They do not storm, they do not seek fire, but carefully prepare themselves to undergo the furnace
By Darkosabout a month ago in Poets
Introduction This is an ekphrastic terzanelle inspired by an image shared by The Enchanted Booklet on Facebook here: The music is "Child Of The Moon" by The Rolling Stones.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a month ago in Poets
At the end of the night, the fire learns to whisper. What once shouted with resin-crack and orange tongues now bends inward, a monk at prayer.
By Games Mode Onabout a month ago in Poets
