nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
My Pain. Content Warning.
I felt your rain upon my face as it trinkled down my throat. I danced in rain all about your place; squished it between my toes, accepting the cleansing restoration, return of all lost hope, peeling back the layered sands as the lands still flood below. lifting worship, I praise your name, cause your strength is how I cope. A gift to all of God's creation, let Jesus steer your boat. He calms the seas. He brings you rain. He will keep you afloat. He has the keys to break all the chains; to Him I shall devote. He loved us then, as He loves us now; restores all whom are broke. He is our peace. Oh! Hear how He cries. . please. Don't get trapped within the smoke. Everly patient, graciously waiting, Jesus Christ come quickly you alone are our only hope!
By Dina Evans a day ago in Poets
My Amber Place. Top Story - October 2026.
I’m going to October, my amber place, where life unfolds in richly hued shades. The sun is dim in the morning fog mountain peaks invisible The air is fresh and damp, infused with a salty sea fragrance mixed with a woody, damp, and musty scent of October leaves Afternoon sun burns off the chill and mist Sparrows sing and tussle among the shrubs below The large Flicker who calls as he bobs his head and tail He shouts that October is here, telling the world he is ready. Tree frogs croak in the afternoon sun, their final hurrah before They must hibernate for colder months Join me in my amber room, let’s look at the russet, umber, and burgundy fingers, now fatigued and dropping down to their ankles and toes. Walk with me to see the sun’s beams glinting on sunshine-colored trees, peeking through branches and ricocheting to porch pumpkins and butter chrysanthemums that are growing next to the Ghouls that stand in yards, waiting for night to light them up, so that they can roar at walkers, and charm drivers “Charm?” you say – “A matter of opinion.” “Yes.” Taller and scarier, pumpkin head or scarecrow, Skeletons and aliens, all competing to do it better. “We could bob for apples on the front lawn. Over there is a big vat of water, with yellow and red floaters. And the prize, a caramel-coated apple rolled in nuts.” “NOOOO,” shouts the twelve-foot ghoul and reaches out a hand “The apples are mine, from a friend.” We turn to look where his bony finger points, and see a bare tree that gave fruit to the kids on the street while letting the bandit raccoons of the night pick a few. I hope you enjoyed the tour of my amber place, the russet-gold October of falling leaves and slumbering trees.
By Andrea Corwin 2 days ago in Poets
