An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
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
Morning opens its gentle eyes, Light walks barefoot on grass. Leaves whisper old, kind stories, Taught by wind, remembered by roots.
By Muhammad Saad about a month ago in Poets
Breathe. Begin. Stand honest. Grow slowly. Trust effort. Choose patience. Fall once. Rise wiser. Move forward. Speak gently. Listen fully. Act fairly.
Aloe stands with thorns so sharp, A quiet guard around its heart. Through heat and storm, it bends, not breaks, And from its pain, a blossom wakes.
By Gloria Penelopeabout a month ago in Poets
The fire did not follow me when I left. It stayed where it was made— not abandoned, not grieving, just finished with its portion of the night.
By Marcus Hillabout a month ago in Poets
Burn young one, burn Eat, and grow bright For many still yearn For youth’s warm light You want your turn To start your rite
By Josh Rippergerabout a month ago in Poets
1st Day...... Dear Santa, I must let you know that I tried this thing with the "Jamaican" people, I don't know, they seem to think I'm replacing you with something, or someone else - oh well... we should stick to the "Patrrage In A Pear Tree", we should...
By 365poetryabout a month ago in Poets
Passion warms my heart. I live for the art of life, the beauty of breath.
By Lizzy Roseabout a month ago in Poets
An unneeded abundance A glory only some ask- for the faint warmth of morning sun on bricks ... Bouncing back and illuminating the sleeping cactus,
By Avocado Nunzella BSc (Psych) -- M.A.P about a month ago in Poets
Returning to the place of their becoming salmon gather. Thick in a pool awaiting a signal to begin running the gauntlet of men, bears, and eagles,
By Natalie Wilkinsonabout a month ago in Poets
The Version They Remember Isn’t Me They remember me before the damage, before loss rearranged my thinking, before I learned how quickly love can leave,
By Marie381Uk about a month ago in Poets
