Most Liked Nature Poems (1,977)

A November Conversation

"Leafless tree, gray and bare as your mood, you arms thin and frail,

somehow you manage a majestic stance in your loft, as you extend a

crooked limb to warn me of advancing snows.

And with a gust of wind, four limbs, a palm, brush across what seems

to be an ear.

Do you hear the crackle of the upcoming ice or the moaning of a pack

of wolves along a distant timber trail?

You hold no shelter now for your winged friends. Does this make you lonely?

No squirrel now to tickle your back, that scratch that makes you laugh

and shakes your leaves without a single breeze.

And that melody you sing, with your gold coin leaves as they shimmer

from Autumn's breeze, is silent now.

Soon I will see your coat, white, with sleeves of ice.

And I, shivering in the sleet, with skins to keep me warm, will wonder

as you do not make a sound

with your bare feet on the ground.

We speak of these November things, you and I, as each year

rolls around.

You learn of my attention to your roll upon this earth.

And I learn, of all the seasons,

November breeds your worth.

I LOVE TAKING STROLLS
IN THE SOFT MOONLIGHT,
WHEN THE MOON IS FULL
AND THE STARS ARE BRIGHT;
ON A COOL SUMMER NIGHT
WHEN YOU CAN FEEL THE BREEZE,
AS IT BLOWS TO AND FRO
PLAYING TAG WITH THE TREES;

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WHISPERING WILLOWS
AROMATIC PINES,
AND HONEYSUCKERS SMELLING SO SWEET,
HUMMING AS I GO
DANCING THROUGH THE MEADOW
AS THE WILD FLOWERS TICKLE MY FEET
THE CLOUDS ARE GETTING DARK,
I BELIEVE IT'S GOING TO STORM,
I CAN SEE THE LIGHTENING FLASHING
SO I MUST MAKE MY WAY BACK HOME!

A Tear for Haughmond Hill

Haughmond Hill is in England. It was a quarry. Its rock used for hunting lodges and the Abby of monks and grave stones.


I was a work of wonder
created for man's mirth,
not just a thoughtless belch
from an angry gaseous earth.
I remember my moss-green cape
spreading far over land in my care.
A pavilion for life unseen
and home of the Kestrels and Hare.

The dragon of flies hovered high
on up-drafts of a springtime breeze.
And horsetails softened their spikes
near a river flowing with ease.
The gold-crest bird with long yellow stripe
hid not beneath a shrub.
But darted in air
and danced on my cape
his roll melodic and clear.

In the sun an emerald slide was I
each drop of rain a child
gliding with glee to the valley low,
with sunshine and warmth in tow.

With ravines, mistaken for smiles,
I glare at horizon's end.
I saw them come with their earth-rippers.
The ones they call "The Men."
They splayed me out like the hunter's game,
like surgeons with unversed hands,
flaying me lengthwise and breath,
greedy butchers of land.

They drilled deep into my core
the lavishing land-whores.
They punched my skin with holes
then chipped away at my soul.
For leaving me rocky and shallow
vandalized graves appeared,
most built with my soul,
slowly disappeared.

Now a blemish upon the earth,
my soul naked to all,
even with threads from a penitent heart
my scars are seen by all.

f Grief

If, in a moment of time you think you don't matter, think about this single leaf.

At my wake, in Autumn,
I become carpet of the mountains
kindling sparks of fire,
setting the hills ablaze,
a contorted body,
lusting the land.
I cling to withering bark.
But hired Autumn breezes pluck me from the teeming branch:
And I duel gravity's drag
until the hardening earth
and I collide.
With twisted, upright, scabrous palm
I scratch at healing air
yet crumble into ash
as round a grave I swirl.
Bits of yesterday scattered.
Who I was
not mattered.

Magical Hummingbird
On winged endless flight
Blown in on soft wind
Flutters into morning light
A welcome familiar friend
Nuzzles bright red bloom
Then darts off again
Flower to flower resumes
In feathered costumes
Colors to delight
So sweet a tiny sight
In window bright
As nectar sipped
Tongue gently dipped
Smiles excite
To vivid delight
Heart beating fast
Humming wings
Softly sings
Flies away
In morning dew
Day still new
Returns
Begins
To sip
Again

what's enlightenment?

just seeing the same old things

in a brand new way

Wildflowers propagate wild and free
Lovely flowers not seeded to be
Growing free to behold for you and me
The very name Wildflower stems
From a genus named “disambiguation”
Defined “to make something clear”
This genus has no confusing ambiguity
Only mind’s interpretation from visual acuity
Wildflowers are abundant throughout the world
Unplanned and unified in beauty and continuity
As native gemstones and handcrafted jewlery
The showy Wildflowers number so many
Every country in the world they grow plenty
Take Primroses, Daisies, Mallows and Sages
Comforting as the Blanket Flowers and
Sprinkled with sweet innocence of Baby’s Breath
Such timeless beauty throughout the Ages
Colors rich like Scarlet Flax, Purple Coneflower
Bluebonnets, Crimson Clover and multi color Poppies
Whimsical joys like Candytuft, Catchfly and Tidy Tips
Dense and penetrating like Blazing Stars
Heavenly like Rose Angels
Deep and mysterious like Chircory
Fleeting like Bird’s Eyes and Butterfly Weed
Contemplating like Farewell-to-Spring
Unusual like Dame’s Rocket and Fire Wheel
This beautiful genus the world over is so surreal
We can almost imagine a world like Wildflowers
Growing free throughout all the lands
Colors unrehearsed and unplanned
Blown by winds and strands of time
Beauty sewn so elegantly grand
Our eyes open pure, not blind
Standing strong within united power
Understanding hearts all basking
Free from dishonesty, war and strife
Nothing-lacking only serenity everlasting
If only the world were like a Wildflower
Like the sunshine of a Gold Yarrow
With hushed silence we close our eyes
And think about Cosmos and tomorrow
Sowing Wildflower seeds of love that grow free
In the serene beauty of a new world of peace

To behold the chest:-)
Of hairy man
His flesh ripped and toned
With strengh of ten
Legs bulging

His iron grip
Buttocks hard and clenched
Tinny trunks hide what's not to see
He massages tones his body

His daily routine
Hours and hours
In the gym
To show those perfect byceps

Woman go week in the knees
To sample his body and hidden beneath
To kiss his lips to smell his demour
For want to sleep with him

On the parapit
The figure of stone
Her mortal form
Set in fixed posse

Elegant cold to thouch
Those seductive curves
fingers and seductive toes
Cold to touch
Partly clad

Reviles her charm her parted
Dress reveals her desire for mortal sin
Marbled face
Her angelic figure her seductive hair and face

She projects her form in body and grace
Her hidden sole turned to stone
She hides her body within

Chiselled by nature from volcanic rock
Where land mests the Sea
She yawns at old Poseidon
in a picture I cannot be.
But I know of the secrets she holds,
Buried treasure and smugglers deeds
And a place I could lay my head
On a cloth of golden fleece.
Then the sea crashes in kissing her floor,
While I dream of Atlantis and stoving Whales.