An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
And again I say it The things I know. Don't think you can understand through the frosted pathways. The iced-over lakeside is simply opaque;
By Ruby Red2 years ago in Poets
Angels collect us when we die everyone’s name is written on a leaf in heaven. When that leaf falls to the ground, an angel comes and carries the soul away.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 years ago in Poets
The poem consists of five cantos (stanzas), each with 14 lines, following the terza rima rhyme scheme (ABA BCB CDC DED EE), which was inspired by Dante's Divine Comedy. Shelley’s use of this interlocking structure creates a dynamic and fluid movement that mimics the wind’s own power.
By Mr Ali2 years ago in Poets
Canto I: Portugal and Spain The first canto introduces Childe Harold as a nobleman disillusioned by his hedonistic life. Tired of pleasure, he departs on a journey, seeking distraction in foreign lands. He first arrives in Portugal, where Byron describes its natural beauty, its historical grandeur, and its recent suffering under Napoleon’s invasion.
The Life and Influence of William Wordsworth Born in Cockermouth, England, in 1770, Wordsworth was deeply influenced by the picturesque landscapes of the Lake District, where he spent much of his life. His early years were marked by personal tragedy—losing his mother at the age of eight and his father at thirteen. These losses shaped his poetic sensibilities, drawing him toward nature as a source of solace and inspiration.
Introduction This is my twenty-sixth piece inspired by Angie Linvingstone's amazing artwork. You can find her on Facebook on the link below.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 2 years ago in Poets
Like a river finding its course, transformation carves its path, through the landscape of the self. Like the river's streams of water,
By Anon2 years ago in Poets
Something pinched the pincher off, maybe another sea creature did it just to show off. Somewhere there is a one-pincher-armed-crab crawling sideways or swimming in circles missing his other pincher.
By Rowan Finley 2 years ago in Poets
Your path knows no houses made of clay, Perhaps that's why you never see us on the way. Such is the flaw in love’s fleeting days—
By The Content Crafter2 years ago in Poets
As you lay your head upon your berth Tossing and turning in your bunk Your body fighting off blessed slumber Clear your mind from the day’s stress
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Poets
The ticking hands, they never pause, Etching lines with inconspicuous claws. A childhood giggle, a transitory glance, Lost inside the waltz of chance.
I dream of a land where voices shine like sunlight, where truth rises with the dawn, stretching across every street, every city,
By T. E. Door2 years ago in Poets
