nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Summer Days, Autumn Nights
Families are slowly fading from the oceanfront, bonfires are beginning to appear, and bikinis and swim trunks are becoming sweatshirts and sweatpants. The warmth that I have been engulfed in nearly all day has begun to fade and the breezes that earlier were a momentary relief from sweltering heat are now more chilling, bringing to mind nights in which I fall asleep entangled in blankets just to wake up and find that the brisk morning air is now wrapping me in its embrace, while the blankets that once held me snugly are now strewn about the floor. The shimmering sunlight quarrels with the pale moonlight, creating warm yellow hues that evolve into autumnal oranges and reds. It’s beginning to feel almost as though someone has hit a dimmer switch on the sunlight; it has not faded, but it has weakened and changed, making it clear that this night is to be no different from the last; the moon will take its place among the stars and the sun will temporarily concede its place among the clouds. The air is no longer filled with the giggles of happy-go-lucky children, rather, it is filled with the laughter of happy-go-lucky adults. Earlier, we praised the ocean for its ability to relieve us from the scorching heat, but now we praise the heat of a fire for its ability to relieve us from the cold ocean. The salty, carefree, breezy ocean days are becoming crisp, calm, colorful nights. Gone are the chlorine-scented summer days that we longed for all spring, and before us rests the apple and pumpkin spice-scented nights of fall. If only all days were reflective of the summer. If only all nights were reflective of autumn. If only all moments were reflective of the joys of each season.
By Rachel Anita6 years ago in Poets
The Trees of Grand Lake, Colorado
The trees reaching, their leaves like hands, branches like fingers; fingers trying to grasp the last of the sunshine's rays before he slowly dips over the horizon, not to be seen by these trees again until the crack of dawn. The calm water a dark orange, smiles and sends small waves to the shore; the trees not only soak up the water, but also the smile. You see, they've been dying by the thousands recently because of beetles, digging their way up, underneath the beloved bark, and stealing the trees' life force. The trees, old and young, wise and not, could use a little happiness and maybe even a little help. Though old, they make mistakes. Mistakes not to be taken lightly to the naked eye.
By Katie Harder6 years ago in Poets