nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
Villain
Always the villain Never the victim If it has happened to you I probably caused it Either through action or inaction
Atomic HistorianPublished about a month ago in PoetsHe is Vishnu.
Who can become Ram-Krishna. One who can live within dignity by becoming Ram. Who can keep within limits by becoming Krishna. He is Vishnu.
Winter
In winter's grasp, the world grows still, As snowflakes fall, with silent will, A blanket of white, soft and pure, In the quiet hush, nature's allure.
modalities
when having what you love means you don't get to feel it sacrificially disreciprocal, ultimately liminal to reconcile requires conflict as a current condition
⸘jason alan‽Published about a month ago in Poets"Magical Moonlight"
In lands where moonbeams softly play, And stars bedeck the Milky Way, Where whispers dance on zephyrs light, In realms aglow with magic bright.
Kevin ClarkPublished about a month ago in PoetsI Am A Child of the Wind, Part 5
Midwest summers under a hot sun, rolling in the grass, dandelions held under chins to see who liked butter (a reflection proved it).
Andrea CorwinPublished about a month ago in PoetsBerry attack
Berrie's are the best part of summer vacation, especially when you are 8 years old and go to your summer home- secretly a trailer park
Jen PhillipsPublished about a month ago in PoetsThe sunrise
In the quiet dawn, the world awakes, As sunlight softly kisses the earth's embrace. With hues of pink, orange, and gold, The sunrise paints a story, bold.
Narcissus & Echo
Have you heard the story of Narcissus & Echo? Self-obsessive, consuming Love to feed the Ego. We remember Narcissus on riverbeds-
Sofia Loren PerezPublished about a month ago in PoetsRain
In the hush of dawn, before the light, Comes a whisper soft, a gentle sight, Raindrops fall in rhythmic flight, In nature's lullaby, they alight.
Black Momma Math
Ayesha held the folded permission slip. "Three dollars for pictures? Plus a yearbook?" “It’s not a luxury, child,” Ms. Johnson’s voice echoed.
Bishnu KumarPublished about a month ago in PoetsIsland
I remember dead whale on the beach, enormous and small at the same time, Minke, not stinking like people said it would but not exactly emitting an aroma for sore noses either; we were told not to touch it so we compromised, one fingertip each.
TheSpinstressPublished about a month ago in Poets