An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Full moon reigns in the West Above blanketed powder snow Belowβ ivory, silver and cerulean meet in silent, parallel play.
By Kate Kastelberg 7 months ago in Poets
Oh my sun Let your hands rise towards the clouds and let them pass through you Tell me how warm you feel Live and reach it in your soul and aura
By KuroHoshi7 months ago in Poets
I don't want flowers at my funeral I want flowers all the time in general I don't want flowers when I'm dead Pink and red are my favorite flowers, I said
By Denise E Lindquist7 months ago in Poets
The wind is surely asking something; it raps meekly on my old window. Should ever I deign to answer it, I fear where it might ask me to go.
By Gabriel Huizenga7 months ago in Poets
whatβs crinklin inside? fistfulsa flowers, sunshine daisies n paisleys!
By Thomas Bryant7 months ago in Poets
pink rose petals endure cold wind and harsh rain still stand so elegant. Note: The rose is blooming in my garden. I was surprised to see it's immaculate despite the rough weather from the past few days.
By Seema Patel7 months ago in Poets
The Crystal Ball Bowed My crystal ball bowed to her light, Not to fantasy, not to passing desire. It recognised something older than memory,
By βΏ V+ Marie381Uk 7 months ago in Poets
Wild, open spaces Fresh, clean air Wind, blowing through the trees Mountains, reaching toward the sky Trees, growing to meet the challenge
By Karen7 months ago in Poets
Finally! I caught you in your completeness not just the light that you reflect that we normally see but a glimpse of the unlit you
By Colleen Walters7 months ago in Poets
Circling the sun with grace Molten magma, cooled in space From majestic icy mountain face, To the dark depths of the seas.
By Mama Magdalene7 months ago in Poets
Tongues of mist paint the green valley grey, while Dew sparkles on the antlers Of a lone stag, standing watch. The bullet enters behind the shoulder.
By Adam Kolozetti7 months ago in Poets
*** as the snow begins melting tiny bits of life slowly emerges from the petrichor scented soil sure signs of second chances, hopeful notions
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden7 months ago in Poets
