nature poetry
An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
At Dawn
At dawn, the early morning dew sends chills of excitement down my spine, woahs of wonder echo across the void of vast grass, a place of pleasantry, a place of rest, a place where all wild things run free. Across the air fly birds, brilliant splashes of color against the pale, pink sky. Spiders cast delicate whisps of silk into the breeze. As the day wears on, I think of tomorrow. I wait and wait as I fall asleep. I smile. Dawn is on its way, waiting for me to come tomorrow.
By Cheyenne Marie8 years ago in Poets
My Own Place
Anger, Fear, Worry, WoeSend me to a place only I knowCrystal clear water cascades down the wallsThe rocks as smooth as rubber ballsDreamy blue horizons caress the sky Flossy white clouds float gently bySweet soft breezes sweep over my faceThey never have a change of paceWords of wisdom travel on the windThey don't care if I have sinned
By Shannon Bartie8 years ago in Poets
Snowflakes
Fat snowflakes floated to the ground, blanketing any remanence of life. A thick blanket of white covered the soil, the grass, the trees; and a sense of silence over took the air. It was not the silence of night in a room without a light, nor the silence in a room full of people staring blankly at one individual. It was a soft muffled silence, like being wrapped into wool carpet. The air was crisp yet scentless, nothing like pumpkin bonfire autumns, and the crispness was much sharper. It was sharp enough to bite her nose, causing an angry red color to emerge. Her cheeks easily followed her nose, enough to look like a blushing school girl. The fat snowflakes clung to her hair and thick eye lashes, the white flakes contrasting against the darker colors. She stood still like a doll, her boots sunk deep into the blanket. She wore a jacket, but it was thin, yet her arms stayed at her sides. She felt cold. Her eyes stared blankly out into the white, fascinated and excited for this time. The time where she felt anything. Spring brought new things; new animals, new plants, new life. Yet she felt no ounce of happiness. Summer baked all life, forced cold treats into her hand and dips into the pool. She did not feel relieved by the cold waters. Autumn killed life that spring brought, causing leaves to shed their youth and fall into death. The satisfying crunch of plant corpses did not bring any joy. Winter however, was a clean slate. A pure world of white, and only white. There was nothing, and in that nothingness she found something. Something more then a daily routine of humdrum. She felt cold, she felt inspired: she felt. Her eyes raised to the street lamp, the only thing that casted light in the darkness around her. The light seemed to flow through the snow, and glowed off of her white coat. She felt at peace and once again, as in every year, she thought to herself, "how odd I find something in nothing, yet nothing excites me more."
By Mikayla Kahlenbeck8 years ago in Poets
