Most Liked Nature Poems (1,977)

The one creator, the all greats;
Lord pf the universe-
The living, the original;
Ruler with power innate;
The giver, the sustainer,
The unique, compassionate;
This master praise, to Him alone
Thyself I praise prostrate….
The generous, who does create
The universe in pairs…

May 17, 2014

I search the sky along the horizon,
slowly, carefully, for clear signs of you.
May Moon, tonight you’ll ascend, full and high,
and I’ll be watching as I always do.

Like a playful mistress, you wink and glow;
just a hint of presence, yon eastern hill.
You steal my breath with your birth rise dance.
Your magic leaves me stunned and perfectly still.

Mysterious Luna, I raise my arms,
your scared energy kisses my face.
Fill me with wisdom as shadows grow tall.
The secrets of time, you guard so with grace.

A wisp of clouds becomes a dance of veils;
an intrigue to catch a glimpse of pure light.
The clouds grow denser, filling in spaces,
till you become a dot, swallowed by night.

I watch, I wait, anxious for your return.
Sister Moon, I crave your calm company.
The scent of rain heightens, the breeze, cooler;
the chill licks my flesh to the bones of me.

All my life, I have shared my dreams with you.
We have cycled and phased in prefect sync.
As I turn to go, the rain starts falling.
I look up in time for a final wink.

In the distance the darkness can be heard,
silent rumblings of days to become
nights constant companion.

The artist lay down her brush as
vermilion and crimson become red,
cobalt and imperial become violet,
burnt umber becomes, all.

Each sunset now silently memorized
each delicate leaf, recorded
each favorite book, reread
each shadows, grows.

Once clear becomes haze
minute optical changes in perception
brilliant o*gasm of light
and color
and texture.
Lead once again to shadows for
in the distance the darkness can be heard.

~SAS~

A beauty born
Tender blossoms
Seldom is life
Pure in heart
Risen to occasions
Partially passed
Always inviting
Only for a season
Now gone past

Light has crept away in stealth
So again we to lie down to sleep
That little taste of death
And on the morn to rise reborn
Awake you may hear a crack
It is the crack of dawn
the Break of Day.

Soft is the auroral light of dawn
To gently dismiss the night
Soon the sun will shine
The energy - therein
Is a gift you can absorb
To save the world
And yourself.

I appeal to the Muse

How can I write a poem
When nothing happens to write about
Every day is the same
Apart from minor changes
You should go out more they say
I know but I can’t be bothered
I have this terible inertia
But It is not depression
It is a long time between meals
So I cook ,sometimes it is good
Sometimes it is so bad
a total waste.

So every day is different
If you make it so
Remember it is not real
Nothing which is changing can be real
in the absolute sense
So carry on my friends
This is not your natural home
You volunteered when you entered
the labyrinthine maze
There are many wrong turns
After a while you will look over the top
and see the goal
Taking freewill was always an option
How many million years ago?

Poet to Poet

Cold mornings/
Coltrane silent/
Yearnings/

Poet, I long smell the earth in my skin
I want my eyes to tell the stories.
Glittery destination to anywhere.

I can reach, I can reach past this yellow symphony
In a remake trading post world paved with vendors.
Buckskin moccasins only brushing the ground
Pitch my tent, make a home for a week, move.
(ah. no phones, no appointments to keep, no problems)

Staying up nights watching a full moon laugh.
I'll be able to touch my feet & know
They're carrying me on my destined path
Free-spirited is what they call me
Splash in uncharted rivers, open my eyes underwater.

Forever with my smile, smelling like
Clouds on the back of the wind
Finding my fairy ring,
Some day my wings will catch my breeze and I'll sail
away again, even if only in another poem.


~SAS~

Another sleepless night
spent ruffling sheets
& a poet's mind.

Eyes swollen
like sponges,
head pounding
from another night
of sleep's betrayal.

Do emotions fill every
poet's mind when the
sun sets?

Do thoughts scream
in every poet's head
when all is silent
after dark?

Do poet's fear sleep
because they fear never
picking up the pen again,
or is it just me?

Perhaps it is that burning
within a poet's gut,
like hot coal,
like a poem being born?

Perhaps it is that pounding
that throbs within a poet's
groin, or the courage to love
like a wound that never
heals.

So many emotions
scattered around like
stars in the sky,

None with enough light
to be alone in this world.
Ahh yes, emotions, stars & poets
would wither in the darkness if alone.

How does a poet sleep,
& dream just one night
before the sun shows itself for
another day?


~SAS~

I was born this way, I have never seen the day,
nor the beauty and splendour of all He has made.
No rising sun against the pale blue sky,
no oceans' tide, no mountains high,
no silver moon, gold stars shining bright,
though for me without sight it is always as night,
and so, I can only imagine it's true,
what's been said about this great vast universe and you.
Such wonders to behold which would bring sheer delight
that I would trade all other senses for one moment of sight,
for one chance to see all these things and you His,
greatest creation even my life I would give.

w.b. JS

OUT-WORN heart,in a time out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;
Laugh heart again in the gray twilight,
Sigh,heart,again in the dew of the morn.


Your mother Eire is always young,
Dew ever shining and twilight gray;
Though hope fall from you and love decay,
Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.


Come,heart,where hill is heaped upon hill:
For there the mystical brotherhood
Of sun and moon and hollow and wood
And river and stream work out their will;


And God stands winding His lonely horn,
And time and the world are ever in flight;
And love is less kind than the gray twilight,
And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn





To Mr.M : )