An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
The silence is solid I breathe it in It grounds me. The stillness carries a presence That is somehow heavy while it welcomes me in.
By Hailey Marchand-Nazzaro11 months ago in Poets
lots of chirping—Florida doesn’t frost nor does it bite. The sound is the chorus of migration. A song of wanderlust. I wonder where they’ve been,
By Natasha Collazo11 months ago in Poets
He is small and curious A little collection of brightly colored Fallen things were in his hands last week There was delight to have gotten
By Lisa Pulliam11 months ago in Poets
The wind is whimsical A flittering breeze scoops up leaves They swirl in a slow jazz paced tsunami of Bulbous Browns, Robust Reds,
By Jada Ferguson11 months ago in Poets
Bright colors above Are now found below Hues of red, orange, and yellow Overlay the grey ground A smell of rain sneaks in
I come in thin, a ghost of a blade, testing the seams of your clammy little world. The air stiffens under my touch the way
By Iris Obscura11 months ago in Poets
Brisk air breezes through the first winter’s frost laden dew While ice infused wind whispers, crackling the leaves on cue Winter creeps forth in abundance this early wintry morn
By Cindy Calder11 months ago in Poets
Winds whistle through thinning pines Invincible to the rapidly chilling air November leaving for the next Turning the page for the season
By Gunnar Anderson11 months ago in Poets
Crispy, crunchy steps are now mushy, mulchy ones as movement recedes, like a slowing metronome. • The rustling fades, as some shudder their last leaves,
By Christal Felix11 months ago in Poets
Leafblower broken? You are high on the perfume, I think...in the gold. * Dark earlier now? Rise and no shine in the day;
By Kendall Defoe 11 months ago in Poets
Orange and red climb up against the black, It slips down some ways, Before it climbs back up again, But not as high as before.
By Rebecca Patton11 months ago in Poets
If winter were a dress, and the fall—its seamstress— I’d spend the best of autumn trading gold-leaf cents and flecks of penny-rouge
By Gina C.11 months ago in Poets
