An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Petals That Remember Soft sits the morning on a quiet breath, A small bright heart upon a slender limb, Feathers warmed in blush and tender depth,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 5 months ago in Poets
long charred remains a victim of wildfire flames I remember you. Note: The is tree was beautiful in spring, but got charred in an apocapyptic wildfire.
By Seema Patel5 months ago in Poets
Don’t look at the sun Do not look at the sun too long, It is not made for mortal sight, What feels so pure can still be wrong,
thunder hurls itself forward lightning following swiftly behind the ground trembles in fear in anticipation the townsfolk cower
By Alys Revna5 months ago in Poets
a mourning dove calls from the roof, dry and happy under a sunbreak Copyright © 4/15/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin Thanks for stopping by! 😃 If you like ♡ my scribbles, hit the subscribe button. Please consider leaving a comment. ✍️❤️
By Andrea Corwin 5 months ago in Poets
*On the path of life, the heart remains like a dream,* *The heart remains like the moon with light.* *Everything changes here in the speed of time*
By hassan khan5 months ago in Poets
There is something the earth understands that we have spent lifetimes trying to learn, 🪶 that beauty moves at its own pace,
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
The scars on my skin are my badges. Badges from burns, Medallions from fights. Trophies of my mental wars. Each badge has a memory,
By Jennisea Standing Rock5 months ago in Poets
The Zipped Face at the Edge of Winter She stands between two endings, one side quiet as untouched snow, the other heavy with hidden fracture,
The Parish Where No Morning Comes The bell had long since lost its tongue, Yet still the tower leaned to speak, A hollow throat of broken stone,
Summer fades like a lover’s dream Summer fades like a lover’s dream, Not all at once, but slow and low, A quiet loss beneath the gleam,
golden oat meadow walking along the dirt path is heavenly bliss. Note: I really felt so, as I walked on the wild oat meadow that backlit afternoon.
