nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
A Proper Ode to the Proper Feathery Friend
While on my stroll I heard a hoot. Wait, scratch that, I’d better take aim before I shoot. Im not yearning for a splat.
Azera alysePublished 2 years ago in PoetsHumble Hummingbirds
Mom, can I go outside? I promise I'll act right Thanks Mom, see ya later Hey Johnny, let's go play Okay, no problem my guy
Robbie BalePublished 2 years ago in PoetsFlamboyant Fireflies
On this cool summer night Sun going down real slow Slip and slide spraying everywhere The kids on the block All running around the yard
Robbie BalePublished 2 years ago in PoetsWatcher Of The Night
Wise Eyes Wise with the time Set apart from the rest Watcher of the night Radiated by the moon Through the darkness of the night
Kmac El BeyPublished 2 years ago in PoetsMorning Light
I am hopeful Seeing the sunlight rise Blue and transforming Flying fast Snapping dreams into reality I feel hope Seeing the stars
Vince JohnsonPublished 2 years ago in PoetsInto Owl's Eyes
The picture is good. All is well. The structure is great. I can tell! Into that forest, onto heights, Does crown a barn owl, watching sleights.
Nature/
Meet me where the wildflowers mourn over the unmarked grave of icebound epochs. Someone must encourage the saplings, judge the race between hummingbird and dragonfly
Sawyer ScottPublished 2 years ago in PoetsA Morning Hike
I stand over the clear quartz stone I buried 6 days ago. The sun hasn't peaked over the horizon just yet, but the light from its near emergence casts shades of orange and pink amongst the clouds that linger.
Ashley StewartPublished 2 years ago in PoetsCommute to Work
The snow falls gently from the sky, almost as if it’s suspended in air- lingering before gravity continues to lay it softly on the ground.
Ashley StewartPublished 2 years ago in PoetsThe Wild Wolf
You find yourself alone outside Under a starry sky A gush of wind surrounds you A burst of light then flashes by You walk towards the forest
Nadia IrisPublished 2 years ago in PoetsKindred Relations
The trees and I are intertwined Mirroring each other before the incline To become who we are Roots and principles must come forth
Asante JonesPublished 2 years ago in PoetsWhat The Quiet Gives Voice To
When I say it is quiet, I mean I can hear everything. Wings on brackish water, becoming wings on salty air as the goldeneyes take flight. I can hear the tide slackening after it’s swift rising; swelling so much as to embrace the bottom-most branches of overhanging cedars. A tide that reaches to the sky to meet the Wolf Moon in her fullness. The shape of a V forms overhead and I hear Mary Oliver’s voice whispering the hushed words of her poem, Wild Geese.
April BenczePublished 2 years ago in Poets