nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Beginning and End
The valley cupped the dim light. Reluctant to surrender the blue hue preventing true shadow. Each tree recognizable in individuality, formed a seamless mass relinquishing nothing. Stars claimed their place above, yet that shallow crater denied the placement of any cowl. The frosted peaks entreated the fading glimmer, boasting their might against that which would hide them. Distinction segued into shape and shape into shadow till they were indistinguishable. The watery shadow lent itself to the indistinct, raising what had lain down. Obtuse became minute and minute obtuse as beauty unveiled itself in new form. The dying giants glimmered above, failing in comparison to the surrendered orb. That beacon that lent itself to another’s strength.
By Ryan Gibbens7 years ago in Poets
Beauty In The Pitiful Field
It was the early rise of dawn, dew drippling from the leaves that crumbled beneath my cold feet as they carelessly touch the soft surface of earth. All nature breathing and growing before my awakened eyes. My head hummed with soft hymns, I can once again recall the early memories of childhood, the never ending hours of morning sitting in a crowded room filled with the sounds of a faith-filled lullaby, reciting each song into the young memory I once possessed. Now I find myself staring into a misty field, a field that would not seem like much at first glance but this pitiful terrain sweeps into rolling hills, furthering into the steepest of mountain. Pale fingers gently tracing the smooth tips of grasses as it rustles in the breeze. I can’t help but admire the sky so blue, the fresh air in my lungs. For this is a field of vision. A place in which I come to collect my thoughts. Furthermore, it is on this day, in this field, I have come to a conclusion about this uncertain life of mine. It is that we all start off somewhere. We are born into this world with a quest and that is to find ourselves, to find what people we are meant to be within this society. Like this field we are not sculpted to perfection, there are days when the wind blows too strong knocking us off our path, sometimes the bitter winter freezes us in place, oh but must we never forget those welcoming summer days when the most delicate of flowers flourish with confidence, making love to the birds and the bees. Life shifts through hills of complication, far and wide. Ultimately life is a mountain and we are all climbing to reach the greatest point. We will endure struggles but the result is well worth the wait. For my eyes have not yet seen such a sight.
By Laura sloan7 years ago in Poets