nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Cultural and Personal Influences on Dream Shapes:
Title: The Shifting Shapes of Destiny Once upon a time, in a small coastal village nestled between towering mountains and the vast ocean, lived a young woman named Maya. Maya had always been captivated by the shapes and forms that surrounded her in the world. From the intricate patterns etched in the sand by the waves to the ornate architecture of the village temples, every shape held a story and a piece of her heart.
Obiajulu HenryPublished 11 months ago in PoetsNature's Bounty
O Nature, sweet in her wildness, Your beauty is complete, Joy to every man's heart, To everyone who loves Marty. Trees are proud
its balochPublished 11 months ago in PoetsMy Lonely Days
In the shadows of my silent solitude, Where echoes linger and dreams elude, I navigate the depths of my inner maze, Embracing the stillness, lost in its haze.
Onah Victor ObinnaPublished 11 months ago in PoetsGirl
In a world where chaos swirls and twirls, There shines a gem, a simple girl. Her beauty lies not in lavish attire, But in a heart that's pure, a soul on fire.
"Auguries of Innocence"
To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour. A Robin Red breast in a Cage Puts all Heaven in a Rage. A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons Shudders Hell thro' all its regions. A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A Horse misus'd upon the Road Calls to Heaven for Human blood. Each outcry of the hunted Hare A fibre from the Brain does tear. A Skylark wounded in the wing, A Cherubim does cease to sing. The Game Cock clipp'd and arm'd for fight Does the Rising Sun affright. Every Wolf's & Lion's howl Raises from Hell a Human Soul. The wild deer, wand'ring here & there, Keeps the Human Soul from Care. The Lamb misus'd breeds public strife And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife. The Bat that flits at close of Eve Has left the Brain that won't believe. The Owl that calls upon the Night Speaks the Unbeliever's fright. He who shall hurt the little Wren Shall never be belov'd by Men. He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd Shall never be by Woman lov'd. The wanton Boy that kills the Fly Shall feel the Spider's enmity. He who torments the Chafer's sprite Weaves a Bower in endless Night. The Catterpillar on the Leaf Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief. Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh. He who shall train the Horse to War Shall never pass the Polar Bar. The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat, Feed them & thou wilt grow fat.
"Whispers of the Moon"
In the stillness of night, a celestial tune, A symphony that resonates, whispers of the moon. Softly she beckons, from her celestial abode, Her silvered beams weaving dreams, a magical ode.
Favour GabrielPublished 11 months ago in PoetsDoggy Heaven
In loving memory of Chucho, my canine friend, Whose life tragically met its untimely end. He bounded through our home, full of wag and zest,
Miguel RamirezPublished 11 months ago in PoetsOcean Gypsy, Sentinel of the Deep
Lone sentinel of the deep, perched above the crashing sea Opal scales, sea grass hair, mossy arms reaching out Eyes reflecting the color of the hazy sky
Tina D'AngeloPublished 11 months ago in PoetsA Melody of Autumn's Splendor
Amidst the land of the rising sun, where ancient traditions and natural wonders entwine, a painter's brush strokes the canvas of the land. In the palette of vibrant hues, Japan adorns itself in the embrace of autumn, unveiling a breathtaking symphony of colors that captures the hearts of all who wander within its realm. Come, let us embark on a poetic journey, where words become brushstrokes, and the verses weave a tapestry of the resplendent beauty that is Japan in fall. In the realm of crimson, gold, and amber, where the sun casts its gentle glow, we find ourselves amidst a landscape transformed. The ancient temples stand tall, their weathered structures a testament to the passage of time. The gardens, meticulously manicured, become a sanctuary of tranquility. Here, the maple leaves unfurl their vibrant robes, swirling gently in the autumn breeze, as if whispering secrets known only to the wind.
Panos KalsosPublished 11 months ago in Poetsi transcend belief
i skip a stone across the water i kiss its path with the fear of my habit the stone sinks as perception among death i carry a perpetuity in my breath
When will I be Free?
When will I be free? I’ve been free since June 19th, 1865. I’m unbound, but I don’t feel alive. When will I be free? 158 years ago they took the chains off my body and yet somehow they’ve still got me.
Joe PattersonPublished 11 months ago in PoetsNo Distraction
Destined to twinkle like the stars in the sky. Inhaling the scents of the apple blossoms. Singing folktale tunes. Twirling around to every beat of the chorus.
Cathy DeslippePublished 11 months ago in Poets