An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
***** December - 2025.... There will always be 24 hours within a day, 52 weeks within a year, and according to the calendar, it just doesn't seem right when none of us have taken our purpose and life goals into consideration.
By 365poetry6 months ago in Poets
They say the luck is in the clover, the fourth leaf hiding from the rest, but I have found it spread wide over the ordinary world and blessed.
By Tim Carmichael6 months ago in Poets
Would we still chase the rising sun, If shadows ruled the sky? Would hope still hum a gentle tune, Or fade without a cry?
By Jacky Kapadia6 months ago in Poets
We are the ones who are there when you are down We wait for you when you’re not around We know if you go out, you will always return
By Calvin London6 months ago in Poets
zillions of redbuds standing quietly beneath them nothing but blessings. Redbuds are blooming now. What a gorgeous sight. Ephemeral, so all the more beautiful.
By Seema Patel6 months ago in Poets
imagine feeling everything pangs 0f infinite gn0stic hunger bef0re, after, during thinly in the brain aut0cannibalized by the mind
By ⸘jason alan‽6 months ago in Poets
My words hang, pendants under this poem, attached by a slender thread, in their chrysalis container. * They begin this life barely a caterpillar
By Natalie Wilkinson6 months ago in Poets
The sky is full of clouds, like my mind. The ground is slippery, like my thoughts. The rythem of the rain takes me away to somewhere else grey.
By Gabriel B. Shames6 months ago in Poets
Cold snap coming, set to collide right smack into the warm front, possibly spawning tornadoes cyclones twisters, snapping treetops like matchsticks,
By Harper Lewis 6 months ago in Poets
Once Upon a Poet’s Dream It wasn’t sleep, it was spark, words kicking walls in the dark, lines that bit, lines that burned,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 6 months ago in Poets
Beauty Smothered In Flame An orange rose rises from the dark soil, Petals bright as a fading sunset, Yet black edges creep along its skin,
I’m out and about Strutting through the daffodils Flicking back my hair Doing my thing I feel your stares I hear your whispers
By Mother Combs6 months ago in Poets
