nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Blazing a tale
Out my window Soldiers march It was almost if I saw them Elementary colors playing in the wind What made it gold Rows of run off streams
elementary colorPublished 3 years ago in Poets
In bloom
my body was a graveyard, The only time anyone would visit was to lay lilac on my skin. The bloom left smothered by heavy hands, leaving violet seeping in.
Rosie NealePublished 3 years ago in PoetsFull of Colors
When I was but a child, naive and small I hated secondary colors Not only one, or two But them all Some distorted reason made me see
Gleice MirandaPublished 3 years ago in Poets
When I Raise My Eyes
When I raise my eyes to the pink and orange Arizona skies, an ember ignites inside my mind. It leaps into flames as The streaks of blue and cream
Laura FrancoPublished 3 years ago in PoetsTime
You were there before the sun rose. You were there when the edge of darkness turned from black to indigo. You were there brooding on the waters
Rohini SunderamPublished 3 years ago in Poets
MY BLUE DIVINITY
Like the waters, I am peace Like the skies, I am light I am the Divine flow To be in my presence is to feel To feel love, to feel God
MACIAH GRACEPublished 3 years ago in Poets
Verde
IN A POSITION TO GROW THE UNGROWABLE Verde is the hue that lifts us to catch the sky. From our once dry and desolate array,
Ted GuevaraPublished 3 years ago in Poets
Silver Sister
Bound who speaks the opening lines, I ask the gods some respite cool tears, measured by the years I lie awake. Stars upon their wane with night,
Gemica RosenbergPublished 3 years ago in Poets
One Promise
“Promise me?” Flowing light off his tongue, the words hung heavy in the Autumn air. Bright crimson and canary-yellow leaves
Megan SaundersPublished 3 years ago in Poets
The Earthly Guardian
When below are my feet and the earth braces my grip The feet sink in deep, the gravel soil, and my head stays still Muted are your earth tones, like my dulled smile, I grieve
Anmol TiwariPublished 3 years ago in Poets
The Culture of the Rose
Flesh pinched and picked over to a slapping drum, beet hollow, hollows roots hairy capillaries. Dirt weight mutes the echoes in the den.
Gemica RosenbergPublished 3 years ago in PoetsBloom
You've heard how Roses can grow through concrete, right? It's true. I remember when asphalt tore a bouquet in my shoulder,
Timothy RomanPublished 3 years ago in Poets
