An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
She played in the leaves Refusing to come inside Just 5 more minutes Under a shower of browns, yellows, and reds She danced with the memory of warmer days and long games of hide and seek
By Archery Owl3 months ago in Poets
Who rides a motorcycle in the snow Who would think to ride a bicycle It makes sense to ride a motorcycle Who rides a motorcycle in the snow
By Denise E Lindquist3 months ago in Poets
The ascension begins in reverse A loud bawdy green Attached to the source Belting a bright tone of summer Has begun to feel the change
By Poem Pie3 months ago in Poets
silence bathes me like pure silken milk spaces become shades of pale grayish fawn alone - thoughts drifting skyward pleasurable quietude
By Antoni De'Leon3 months ago in Poets
Earth's bones felt the distal shift -it groaned mightily- Who dares awaken me from my slumber, Earth bellowed. A rumble from the depths of a mighty giant,
By Novel Allen3 months ago in Poets
<><><><><><><><><><>><<><><><><><><><><><><><> The warmth of summer past, once held in the glow in the trees and the smell of earth and worms that comes alive in the rain,
By Katherine D. Graham3 months ago in Poets
A forest of trees the lumberjack fells one at first shoulder arc heavy swings of beef thwack, thwack thwack, thwack
By Michele Nampalli3 months ago in Poets
The last crimson leaf clings to a silent branchβ its breath trembles as if unsure whether to fall or stay. In the distance,
By Takashi Nagaya3 months ago in Poets
I have carried this fire within me for longer than I can remember. It has warmed strangers on cold nights, lit pathways for those who were lost,
By Tim Carmichael3 months ago in Poets
Introduction This is my seventy-eighth piece inspired by Angie Livingstone's magnificent artwork.
By Mike Singleton π Mikeydred 3 months ago in Poets
I. The Mirror Isnβt Me (Philosophical β AABB) . I look into the mirrorβs face, A quiet, silver, borrowed space. It copies me without a sound,
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast3 months ago in Poets
πͺππ ππ π»πππ In my youth I rested under the arms of your branches Beneath the scent of your perfume none matches
By Salwa Samra3 months ago in Poets
