An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
❤️ A gorgeous day It's sunny, windy, hazy That makes it perfect. ❤️ When God gives me this I receive it with gratitude
By Colleen Waltersabout a year ago in Poets
One: Be strong like the raging trickle. A drop that bleeds To carve home In earth. Two: Be still like the deep reds. Endless source ferry
By Anasuya Basuabout a year ago in Poets
There are plants in corners collecting dust, Gifts of care now streaked with rust We promised them sun, we promised bloom,
By Emma about a year ago in Poets
In the silent halls of farewells passed, Where shadows stretch and moments last, There lies a map the heart must try— The solemn geometry of goodbye.
By Jacky Kapadiaabout a year ago in Poets
Rahman Baba, "Oh, my love, you are the sun to my day Warming my heart and lighting my way You are the moon to my night Guiding me through with all your light
By Tariq Pathan about a year ago in Poets
I was saying— or maybe thinking— something about the way the leaves don’t ask for applause when they fall. Feet on cracked pavement,
By AFTAB KHANabout a year ago in Poets
I wrote a story once Where I am a fox. Beaten, battered, shattered and bruised; Stitched back together with the wool of a lamb.
By Ruby Redabout a year ago in Poets
How do you talk to the ghost of the unknown? What to do when you’re alone in room full of people It’s your personal rain cloud on a sunny day
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
All the Colours of Green Green is more than grass, more than hedges trimmed neat. It’s peeling paint, a broken light, a back lane full of weeds.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Why press it, That tiny heart-shaped symbol, If its beat carries no meaning? Why place it there, If not to be counted, Not to be seen?
By Saeed Ullah about a year ago in Poets
The Ship That Sails To The Bottom Of The Sea They laughed when we climbed the rusted plank, barnacles biting at every blank
On the ocean the water is still. Ripples of waves coming from within; That outer lip of her ear pricks up, taking in the sound of the siren’s call:
By Azi Kaeniabout a year ago in Poets
