nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Truth/Lies
Crunch crunch you're always hungry, what if that is a sign for you? Ouroboros the snake that eats its own tail. This symbol is within all ancient cultures. What does this symbol mean? The same thing the yin yang symbol represent, wholeness. Any sage would tell you that the Tao can not be understood so in humility we learn to rise?
By Jordan Martinez8 years ago in Poets
Outside the Window
outside the window. What’s the weather like today? The wind. It’s blowing extremely hard today. Throwing everyone’s hair in their face. And even when they brush their hair behind their ear, the wind just blows it right back. the wind. It’s making the trees shake back and forth. As if they were dancing. Their big branches wave at me. I wave back, knowing they are not alive. I look around. The sun glares through my window, blinding me. I am unable to see what’s outside. I can hear the wind from outside the window. I hear the leaves rubbing, and clashing together. It’s loud. The sun finally leaves my eyesight. I see leaves, falling from the oak tree that sits in my backyard. A small pile of leaves, sits on the fresh cut grass. the leaves are being blown away. The wind. So powerful. Blowing away everything in its path. outside the window. What’s the weather like today? The wind. The wind blows everything away from my backyard. It is very windy outside today.
By shelby potter8 years ago in Poets
Between the Trees
Between the trees I wander. No real place to go no place to call home. So I wander between the trees no real destination in mind. The sounds of nature trees bristling in the wind the chirping of the birds, serene in its silence and calmness almost like it's frozen in time.
By Adam Trent8 years ago in Poets
Garden in the Sun
It was a Sunday in early spring. I was up before the sun, and the cool, humid air fell through the windows. Behind a veil of clouds, the moon was still visible, looking down on my little house. As light stretched across the heavens, the garden outside glowed to life. All the flowers lifted their soft heads towards the sun. How delicately they worshipped it. I considered gathering some for my night table, but decided against it.For like me, they were happy where they were.
By Trudy Blough8 years ago in Poets
I Am Old, but Spring Is Here
I am old. I feel it in the creaking of my bones, the way the wind whips through me on a cold winter's night. But today it is spring, and the sunshine fills my gaps like a warm orange putty of glowing light. My glasses, usually dim and dull, seem to create their own luminescence... Some of my panes are darkened and opaque, others are translucent and bright, and that Mr. Golden Sun plays my glass like a keyboard, bringing life to what hasn't always been so lifeless. My words are heard at last, shouting my messages in clear white, bold fonts. And that blue sky, oh that multifaceted, sea-turquoise, unreal sky... I've never seen anything like it. Even the rusty parts of my exterior, worn from years and years of weathering, shine pale-white with the overexposure. The ivy that wraps me is no longer gnarled and rough, but instead hugs my curves and is given new depth.
By Jessica Desplenter8 years ago in Poets
