nature poetry

An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.

Bird Nest
In the starkness of winter I see them Unoccupied weavings upon a limb On high with no cover of leaves Remnants of what a bird weaves
By Scarlett Mellin about a year ago in Poets
In the blink of an eye
Summer's glance is gone, didn't even realize all the things we've done...
By Anna about a year ago in Poets
Recycled
Burnt orange fronds whoosh- maples squint, harvest flickers, leafing through my fall
By Marilyn Gloverabout a year ago in Poets
Return To Wayland's Smithy
Introduction This is my sixty-seventh piece inspired by Angie Livingstone's inspirational artwork. I love the beautiful autumnal colours in this work.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Poets
Where Have You Been?
When you don't watch me, I stir unseen in distant storms, generate ground swells in silence— a whisper to the horizon, a signal beneath satellites.
By Tony Martelloabout a year ago in Poets
Don’t Give Up On Me
Most days my body ain't feeling it It only feels the struggles of yesterday Wishing I could stay in bed all day But we have to move
By L.I.Eabout a year ago in Poets
Whispers of the Earth
The morning sky unfolds in gold, A canvas where the sun takes hold. The rivers sing in silver streams, Reflecting clouds and scattered dreams.
By Aramabout a year ago in Poets
The Ants, A Bee, and Me
Sauntering into the yard listlessly Eyes studying the ground Trying to recollect what it used to be My memory proving to be in deficit
By Jada Fergusonabout a year ago in Poets
Crisp Air and Bliss That Leaves
Follow the leaves now Before they bow, blowing kiss Their act is pure bliss
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Poets
Golden Veins
Mountain of fire Gold vein turn compost remain Decay, a new day
By Amos Gladeabout a year ago in Poets
Zelda
Zelda stands tall in the jungle, an Amazonian matron with secrets stitched in bark, amazingly steadfast, with a gray disposition — aged and wise,
By Tony Martelloabout a year ago in Poets
The Hunt Within
At last, the trail ends— not in clearing or cave, not in the snare of silence, not in the echo of hooves— but at the mirror of water,
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzalesabout a year ago in Poets