nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
A Haiku Kind of Day
Morning sun wakes up Sun and clouds come out to play Night comes end of day Sunset at Halls Head_Author's image_2025 [Author's note: A haiku inspired by the wonderful surprises and sunsets I get where I live. I am lucky I live right on the ocean, and the view of the sunrises and sunsets is brilliant. A lovely way to start the day with a cup of coffee and finish with a glass of wine.]
By Calvin Londonabout a year ago in Poets
The Moon Garden
The Moon Garden Once upon a time, in a land untouched by war and shadow, there was a hidden valley known only to the stars. This valley, which is situated between the ancient Silverpeak Mountains, was said to only bloom at night. It existed despite the fact that neither a poet nor a cartographer had ever sung its name or mapped it. In a small village on the edge of the world lived a boy named Elian. He was seventeen, quiet like a stream, curious like the wind, and always found with a book or a feather in hand. Elian had never seen the Moon Garden, but he had read tales passed down through generations: about luminous flowers that hummed songs into the night, trees with silver bark that whispered truths, and a lake so still it reflected not the sky, but dreams. He lived with Old Marlo, his grandfather, who once claimed to have entered that secret location when he was young. He would smile and say, "It appears only to those who carry no map but heart," his eyes clouded like glass covered in mist. It bothered Elian to believe it. He had to go beyond that. His once-thriving village was beginning to wither. Crops struggled. The river’s song grew fainter every year. There were rumors of people leaving and giving up. Even though he was only a young man, Elian was of the opinion that there was still magic in the world. He just had to find it.
By Silas Blackwoodabout a year ago in Poets
The Whispering Trees
Long ago, nestled between the jagged mountains of a forgotten land, there lay a small village called Kharwand. The people of Kharwand were simple folk—farmers, shepherds, and weavers—who lived quiet lives, untouched by the chaos of the outside world. But beyond their fields and homes stood a forest they never dared enter: the Whispering Trees.
By Amjad Khanabout a year ago in Poets
Portrait of A Pigeon
pigeon posed for me on super hot day, in shade, then improved its nest Copyright © 10/10/25 by Andrea O. Corwin Thank you so much for stopping by! 😃 If you liked this piece, please like it 🤍 and leave a comment. You may share it, leave a tip, and/or subscribe for free. 💕✍️🗣️
By Andrea Corwin about a year ago in Poets
