An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
The might and tide of the Royal River Coursing fair the breadth of ancient lands Constricted and laid open by time and winds
By Mike Emby8 years ago in Poets
The wind gently caressing my back, The moon basking my naked body in beautiful white light, The grass lightly tickling my feet,
By Ilana Weiss9 years ago in Poets
As the big blue bird watches from its branches within the tree, the sunset denotes an ending of time. An ending of the sun shining,
By Miss Riddle9 years ago in Poets
Monday is mellow. Mysterious and slow. Tuesday is tough. Puts on a good show. Wednesday is wisdom and Thursday's true love.
By Chahat Sharma9 years ago in Poets
Walking through fresh rain on a misty morning with wet blades of grass sticking on my toes Little drops of water gently kiss my skin
By Meghan K. ☽9 years ago in Poets
A certain Treasure You will no longer find Used to live in eyes so blind View the clouds,sea and stone Trace back the past, Eat what's sown.
By Jonathan Clewlow9 years ago in Poets
'The cougar would only hunt at night While the innocents were tucked up in bed Her hunger was matched only by her wiles Or so said the voices in the silver fox’s head
By Sean Bw Parker9 years ago in Poets
Love love love. Conquered Love. Kissed peach-pink rubble. Defeat me. And her peach-pink and kissed rubble. Skin-tight, mashed.
By Shaun Sundance Yates .9 years ago in Poets
She bathed beneath the gorgeous summer light that seemed to shine from another life Stretched out beneath the vast shades of green leaves that mimicked whispers she had heard before
By Ariana Ehrhart9 years ago in Poets
There's nothing new to write... Only the same words in the same sheet. The birdcage is open, my thoughts disperse like origami birds... What's written on them?
By André dos Santos9 years ago in Poets
I have as little control As the rain slipping from the eyes of skies— Of people, of places, Red rain salvaged from my own veins.
By Emma Sidnam9 years ago in Poets
I feel the need to welcome myself to the realm of beginnings Where the air is as pure as the purest linen sheet, Where there is a view of an infinite white field of quiet feelings.
By Laura Jiménez9 years ago in Poets
