nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Origami Birds
There's nothing new to write... Only the same words in the same sheet. The birdcage is open, my thoughts disperse like origami birds... What's written on them?
André dos SantosPublished 7 years ago in PoetsSouls
I have as little control As the rain slipping from the eyes of skies— Of people, of places, Red rain salvaged from my own veins.
Emma SidnamPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe First Raindrops
I feel the need to welcome myself to the realm of beginnings Where the air is as pure as the purest linen sheet, Where there is a view of an infinite white field of quiet feelings.
Laura JiménezPublished 7 years ago in PoetsEmerge from the Heavens
He is the sun and he is the moon. Which one shines brighter? His beautiful golden rays beam at me whilst glistening against the bright blue sky,
Chloe UrquhartPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Sun Rises
The sun rises on the innocent and the guilty Water quenches the clean and the filthy Animals die for the helpful and the hurtful
Ghent
What are you to me? You're my home when I feel homesick. My place to live when I feel like dying. My chaos in this orderly world, and order in my world of chaos. My home, Gand. Ghent, Gent.
Ingkor bergenPublished 7 years ago in PoetsPotatoes and Blackberries
Digging up potatoes is satisfying, When you put the fork into the ground and big spuds, baby spuds come up. In the fresh summer air (a little muggy perhaps) you admire your roses and fuchsias against a blue or overcast sky.
Chloe UrquhartPublished 7 years ago in PoetsNorfolk Nourishment
Home is the crisp autumn leaves: Burnt orange, gilded, as fire breathes. Nature is the wool around my heart, A breeze filling my lungs, never apart.
Chloe UrquhartPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Natural Body
My skin is my continental plate hiding the web of blood vessels and ivory. My bones are made of stone and moss, held together by centuries of pressure
Jocelyn WhitePublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Owl
I am the Owl flying over the forest Watching you, shall I never rest. Neither a prince, nor a king No crown, no ruling. Warden of Nature
Yoann GentyPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Rain
I walk through the dusty streets, With people around me - all peccable. They look at me with eerie eyes; With eyes of demons, with hot looks.
Arzun NasufovaPublished 7 years ago in PoetsElderflower
I My eyes meditate on you; the static stones of your sprawled body, and the tectonic,lazy grinding of your megalithic limbs that shy away from the golden organ pipes burning through the canopy smattered above, honeyed lasers on our shared milk-flesh. As the corners of your mouth rise, and your tongue quakes on your elderflower sorbet, mine does too. You are walled by feathery blades of dew soaked lawn and dandelions,the monumental press of your tired body forming the fringes of a tangled exoskeleton.
Jack DuckettPublished 7 years ago in Poets