nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Obligatory Self-Obliteration
Sunlight shimmers through leaves of jade dew encompasses every blade. Through Winter's shrill and Summer's moan one might wonder just how they've grown.
Charles OreganoPublished 3 years ago in Poets
Daily Log
Daily Log At my alma mater, black squirrels would boldly stomp around the campus ground. My friends and I used to joke that they were dyed from the nearby Linear Accelerator Center's experiments gone awry.
Eternity
A star blows a bubble and within it a kiss Visible at the 10 o’clock position inside it Already greater than 7 light-years across
Natalie Frank, Ph.DPublished 3 years ago in Poets
Autumnal Joy
Winter has to wait while the change is in motion. We are about to see the results of spring's devotion. The foliage is turning to yellow, gold and amber hues.
Paul CrockerPublished 3 years ago in Poets
Born-again
Born-again I am reincarnated as a sea anemone, (scientific name Actiniaria). Destined to a 50-year lifespan of being constantly engulfed, tossed back and forth and submerged by the crashing waves,
The Leaf's Journey
The first feeling that I remember, after senses, caressed me for the first time, of those dollops of cold color-less drops, falling on me, sparkling molecules,
somsubhra banerjeePublished 3 years ago in PoetsWinter's Blue
The air a cold blue and a reprieve from summer's heat.If I could see my breath as we speak, instead in awe I look at mountains it's distance felt near.Winter wrens I tried to follow,low looking towards the ground. Tiny prints left as a path to follow. Slowly going out of the trees,no distant cars in my sight.A mist of freezing fog brings an inner warmth. An hour or two as time moves.I know time has past when looking at distant clouds moving slowly across the sky and I think of the most happy thought I can. Then I can't, it's almost as if I had forgot that winter is a rest for our earth.Why I feel like I can't rest along with the changing seasons. I'm too focused on myself. Birds take flight,such an oversight. I can't explain except to think of what I have seen and in a way I think of two small hummingbirds in a summer light. Their energy makes them feel as if I should run for my life. To imagine a bird with such energy and flight gives me hope for future winters sight. I walk slowly back to my car with a feeling of sadness.I don't know where it comes from, except it's almost a guilt for futures sake. I can't walk to this place so long ago when the sky was clear and I looked forward to seeing the moon at night. It had recently filled me with dread. I shouldn't have to live like this, forgetting natures gift. I start with telling myself it is a gift for all of us, even as geese fly past. I look forward to the spring and flowering trees, petals falling in a spring storms wind.
Charlene SinesPublished 3 years ago in PoetsThe Blessing of A Breeze
The Blessing Of A Breeze. A joyful thing is happening today A soft cool breeze is blowing my way After the scorching heat, it gives welcome respite
Sarah Fiander HarrisonPublished 3 years ago in Poets
The Wild in All of Us
Days can last forever, years can feel like minutes. Time is fleeting at best, make good use of it whilst you can. Something so beautiful about nature,
Robert WebbPublished 3 years ago in Poets
Sitting on the river bank
At dusk, sit alone on the river bank. There is no beach on the river bank. Weeds, wildflowers, dots, and down the river.
Yvonne KittingerPublished 3 years ago in Poets
Amongst the Green
Living there amongst the trees, a creature hides behind the leaves. Be it man or be it beast? It sits there silent, strong and neat. With each breath it does declare, that it is watching from deep in there. When you breath you feel it near, on or off the path, it holds you dear. Sanctity and Solitude stand there in the cleft, as you breathe in what is left. Left of a world that is dying, left of a Mother that is crying. Left to a Death where we pant and wheeze. Left to a world bereft of trees... The metal doesn't grow. The concrete has no roots. The skyscraper's screams are not a breath. The smoke is not the babbling brook. To live as a man, to live as a wild man. What will you offer to live amongst trees? For only by tears and sweat will the forest ever be. What it was once to see.
Alexander SmithPublished 3 years ago in Poets
Sky No. 1
Blue aegis Firm thunderous father, and nurturing old man; the touch of your tears soothes the aching earth, whisperss an end to the fires,
Reagan Scott WardPublished 3 years ago in Poets
