An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
I sit alone and fancy creating a beloved for myself; Sometimes I paint her eyes black, sometimes I kiss her lips. I sit here planting beads of light in the string of sorrow;
By Rehanabout a year ago in Poets
In lands where silence speaks in storms, And sunlight hides from shape and form, There rise the arcs that pain has known—
By Jacky Kapadiaabout a year ago in Poets
I expected to sink But the air in my lungs decided against it for today. Passivity pressing and constricting against every passion I fight for
By Ruby Redabout a year ago in Poets
I did not find the forest—no, I grew it. Not from grand design or divine whisper, But from earth-broken palms, From a silence aching for life.
I do not always speak the things that coil and churn beneath my smile the war just to exist, to breathe without a price affixed to every breath.
By Cadmaabout a year ago in Poets
She plucked tear dropped dew like harp strings; they clung to spider silk woven between the drying pondweed. The creek somber,
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
When I look across the trees, I hear music. A symphony of waves fills me as the wind moves the shoreline oh so slightly to the right... My right. A subtle rippling effect accompanies the breeze as deep evergreen becomes a brightened chartreuse. A layering of sound becomes visible as oaks lean and still stand tall against the bristling maples and rustled brush.
By kpabout a year ago in Poets
Upon a pedestal carved in grace, Where shadows dance and stars embrace, A wand of power, old and wise, Stirs silence with enchanted sighs.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Poets
In twilight’s hush, upon worn wood, An ancient tome in silence stood. Its pages curled with whispered age, Yet danced like spirits on a stage.
In a velvet night where silence hums, A magician stands — the showman comes. With eyes like still and stormless seas, He bends the stars with practiced ease.
In the hush of a moonlit sigh, so deep, Where stars above and waters sleep, A single rose begins to weep— Its petals hold a dream to keep.
In the hush of dusk, a figure stands, A whisper carved by unseen hands. No face, no name—just shape and shade, A soul where silent storms cascade.
