An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Turtles have hard shells and soft backs *** I watched as they scrambled Over each other In that bright red plastic bucket
By Michele Nampalliabout an hour ago in Poets
the cool has stolen my arms has stolen my legs has stolen my seat has stolen my edge the cool has stolen my house has stolen my grace has stolen my food has stolen my face
By K.A. Smithabout 4 hours ago in Poets
StoneHenge The circle that watches The stones stand, patient with the weight of centuries, their silence thicker than the night around them,
By George’s Girl 2026 about 5 hours ago in Poets
The soft chin lowered to a heavenly field of flora, still not letting that proud smile take flight, yet the chuckle of happiness escapes through the starlit eyes
By P.A.Vinura Jayasankaabout 9 hours ago in Poets
As spiders crawl upon your skin Do you wince or whine Lie awake at twilight as spindles Spin lacy traps Across your window
By Paul Stewartabout 12 hours ago in Poets
all of nature calls out the birds sing like they know my tale the earth cries leaving no doubt nature is speaking in braille
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsdenabout 12 hours ago in Poets
I am not really squermish, but I like this image !? Masculinity is hard to pronounce, but in my religion, they are NOT allowed !?
By 365poetryabout 13 hours ago in Poets
I hate the sky - I can't see it from where I'm sitting !? I hate the bag, that makes others see the sky - hahaha that's not funny, but good try !?
By 365poetryabout 14 hours ago in Poets
We evolved for one environment, and now live in another. Stress is inevitable, and it is hazardous, it can steal all joy.
By Seema Patelabout 14 hours ago in Poets
long fallen a gnarled tangle 𖣂 dead branches snapped lying splintered in the sand slowly degrading mulching bleaching in the
By K.B. Silver about 14 hours ago in Poets
I walk by flowers Leaves of wonders and awe Legs trenched in magic.
By Maya Or Tzurabout 15 hours ago in Poets
All morning I climbed through oaks, losing count of myself. Somewhere below, a voice I used to trust had said this would help.
By Tim Carmichaelabout 16 hours ago in Poets
