An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
The Old Library Dust rises like ghosts from the shelves, and the air tastes of ink and forgotten voices. I walk slowly between towers of books,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 11 months ago in Poets
The stars lean close when silence grows, To hear the thoughts the daylight froze. I speak to moons that never fade, Of dreams I built, and ones I laid.
By minaal11 months ago in Poets
Toby sticks to himself It's not because he's shy He is shy But that’s not The reason why Toby sticks to himself? He's a loner
By Sam Spinelli11 months ago in Poets
No Man Is an Island > “Entire of itself, Every man is a piece of the continent, A part of the main.” We are not separate islands drifting in a sea of solitude.
By hamad khan11 months ago in Poets
And just when I thought That crimson October Would no longer make its appearance in my life, Everything turned upside down.
By Calina Bala11 months ago in Poets
It feels like my mother has been visiting me lately, a little more than a year after her passing. * Seems fitting, given that spooky season
By David Muñoz11 months ago in Poets
Sparrow Logic The city argues in tall letters. A sparrow writes smaller— a note pinned to the morning in brown and breath.
By Milan Milic11 months ago in Poets
This poem was written in response to the Rattle® Poetry Ekphrastic Challenge for August 2025 and was ultimately not selected. You can find more information here.https://rattle.com/page/ekphrastic/
By Rae Fairchild (MRB)11 months ago in Poets
O patient mirror of the night, you rise, unhurried, a lesson in recurrence. While the world below measures itself by progress and decay,
The cry of the huntress In the full of the night A call to her soldiers To come join in this fight - For the vermin are here
Moon, oh Moon How I once loved to walk under you Hoping that your gentle rays of light might grant me a boon Blossoming like a moon lily, oh how I grew
By Matthew Mccahey11 months ago in Poets
I'll never get used to it. I can't get used to you. It's for my whims that you punished me so well. And the dawns come, the lawyers of the daily worries,
By Olaf Podolski11 months ago in Poets
