An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Honey Days Bees fly low across the grass, Busy wings as hours pass. Dipping deep in bloom and bud, Fields are sweet and thick with mud.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Roses by the Wall Roses bloom along the stone, Red and gold and pale alone. Climbing up with gentle grace, Sunlight brushing every face.
Lavender Lane Lavender growing by the road, Soft and purple, neat in rows. Buzz of bees and summer sun, Smells like peace when day is done.
A Monkey took a Pee on me I sat under a coconut tree bye the sea when a monkey looked down on me. Disgusting little bleeder
I can’t believe we’re at the end of the month already. Is it just me, or did April drag a little—but like, in a weirdly needed way? I think it made space for me to finally catch up with myself.
By Carolina Borgesabout a year ago in Poets
A simple senescent leaf, fallen on the ground. But I noticed, it inspired. It was rich in chlorophylls, harvested sunshine,
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
Darkness in its deepest sonder, desolation in its truest bareness, all embraced my shattered skin, Enclothed in the tightness of survival, the light that belied in its invisibility propelled me to keep my hope akin.
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Poets
Crack cowered bloomlet springs up for enlightenment my inner resource *** I saw this tulip growing out of a crevice this morning in my community garden and became inspired to write a haiku for L.C. Shafer's Dollar Challenge prompt: Life Finds a Way.
By Marilyn Gloverabout a year ago in Poets
Noor was a curious child, full of questions. Her favorite one was: "Mama, what are stars made of?" Amina would always smile and say,
By Mr Aliabout a year ago in Poets
Your mind is an ocean And I'm going to build a ship Just to sail it's seas
By Bixi Hernandezabout a year ago in Poets
the sufferer who hates to be thought of as a victim the witness who knew before we did and the narcissist who couldn’t care less
By ⸘jason alan‽about a year ago in Poets
The river knows the weight of time, carving songs into stone, pulling shadows from the dawn, letting go before they linger.
By Printique Studiosabout a year ago in Poets
