nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
The Flame
The flame As the flame flickers, I look deep in its core Hypnotic as I watch the dance My mind mediated as it plays with my eyes
Jody MeadusPublished 6 years ago in PoetsLet It Come
The clouds they hover with no remorse, with dark, with dim, with gloom; Rain soaks our hair, our clothes, our shoes, the walls of every room.
Bailey SchullPublished 6 years ago in PoetsArchaeology
Archaeology Flint arrowheads a War of 1812 uniform button and metal Cola bottle tops …and my hands sifting moist soil
Michael UguliniPublished 6 years ago in PoetsA Flower's Journey
We all start as a seed Once we start growing we bud Once we bud, we start blossoming But some of us begin to wilt As we wilt, some petals will fall
Meghan YoungPublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Winter Storm of 1994
Two cast-iron cats with glowing eyes Sat in the fireplace, accompanying the flames But not stealing the spotlight. The fire crackled and moved in a wild, original way
Wesley HopkinsPublished 6 years ago in PoetsFounded: 1565
A town with quaint cobblestone streets never meant to bear cars. Founded centuries ago, In an entirely different time.
Sarah HanzmanPublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Flames Are Burning
The Flames are Burning By: Kristen Coughlan The flames are Burning When man created fire The fire gave warmth and light
Kristen CoughlanPublished 6 years ago in PoetsA Subdivision in June
A Subdivision in June The sun-washed asphalt divvies up the homes Creating rigid boundaries for the mind The pent up fury of lawnmowers in the sun
Michael UguliniPublished 6 years ago in PoetsWinter
The chilling season on shivering skin, beautifully full coloring trees decay with the soft wind, For only the sweet blankets of white clouds exist,
Olivia GipsonPublished 6 years ago in PoetsWater's Drop
It is now my time to wander My fingertips traveling the wooden rail cracked open like a wound leaving hollows for the brushing sounds to entice the famined fish
Kaylee ChampaPublished 6 years ago in PoetsSurrender of the Bay
Her sirens all have gone to sleep With icy breaths she heaves a sigh Surrenders to her bottom deep Floating upward to what lingers in her eye
Kaylee ChampaPublished 6 years ago in PoetsRespect
Tree. Dead. Not dead. Gives hope.Saves lives. Beautiful. Not dead.Fallen. Still fresh. Still habitual. Home. Gratified.Dead, but still vandalized for its beauty.Scars. Twisted roots. Sounds of nature.Chirping. Wind gently caressing my face. Sun energizing my soul. Hot. Grounding. Trees dancing with the wind.Nature creating music. Quiet. Solace. Safe. Happy.Breathe. Inhale. Mother nature, A jungle gym that Revitalizes the soul. Allowing me to become one With her. Listening to her. I am her child. Love her. Creating an endless space of energetic opportunities.An endless unexpected opportunity of challenges too.Listen. Peaceful. Cracking of leaves. Disturbed by the polluting sound of engines. Suffocating their air.Thank you, My Lady, for the endless trailsI have the honor and privilege to walk. Sun. Hot.Rejuvenating. Soft cold breeze hugging my body.Focused. Heart racing. Increased breathing.Anxious. Stop. Breath. Inhale. Exhale. Continue. The sound of her being crushedUnder my feet. The parts of her she shed off.I'm sorry. Shade. Cold. Breeze slapping my cheeks, Pinching my ears.You are nice. Nature. Love. Respect. Thank you.Thank you for loving me and guiding me this far.You are the treasure everyone is looking forAnd I have found.I am rich.This is all I will ever need.Thank you.