nature poems

A Flower With No Name | Casarah Nance

I didn’t know the name of those flowers,
They were red, but not red, not quite.
Something about this flowering bush,
gave my eyes a peaceful loving site.
The bells of blossoms drooped down,
Like the leaves were crying bloody tears.
The image of this solitary plant,
it will haunt me for many many years.
For when I witness this beauty,
it was standing waist high in a open space,
surrounded by only grass and dirt,
it did seem rather out of place.
I drove away not knowing
that through time and space somewhere,
this vision of the perfect flower,
was one that we would both share.

At Grandad's House | Imogen Anderson

I will never forget
How your garden looked
It is frozen in time.
A memory I barely remember
I was only two or three
and yet I can still feel
– the grass beneath my feet
– the pebble-covered driveway
– the line of beautiful flowers.
We came when I was sick
from too many marshmallows
driving in the car
the motion made me nauseous.
We came to your backyard
and still I can remember
– the inside of your house
– the bathroom tiled in green
– the piano
– the delicate glass everywhere.
A house of memories
but the yard meant more to me
my first word ‘flower’
encouraged by your garden.
I can still feel the fear
the Bird of Paradise instilled
the orange and black foliage
made me wary.
Thinking that a spider
was hidden there.

More at http://imogenanderson11.tumblr.com/.

The Winds | Ananya S. Guha

The winds have arrived
derived from mother sun
and these ancient rock-fastened hills
treading mills
the winds take a plunge into the water,
what does it matter?
The wind does not feel
like a keel it hovers around
for posterity, and these hills of antediluvian rocks on wing
whispering pine trees feel its earthly sting.

Cold Comfort | El Sane Ken Silencer

And the wind
wizened
the cocksure
Brew the air
in bale, no bliss
to the ears
When the trees
swirled and
nodded
And a bough
what the eyes borne
sighed and fell
Took mind to canvass
wrap in canvas
the heart
with cold comfort.

Enlightened Spirits | Blanca Alicia Garza

I wish flowers would sprout from our bones,
not ashes or dust, forgotten in the cold ground.
Our essence then coated with a thousand colors,
not with the tears of those who remain behind.
May our enlightened spirit then fly free,
as ravens within the light of the full moon.

In the Hopes | Cattail Jester

In the hopes you
might be kind I became
the flower
that you blasted away
In the hopes you
smithy redeem, I nestled
my body to the earth
and you became a train
I became a morsel
you chewed
I became a thread
you ripped
I gave up, stepped back
said no, moved out of the way, and you did not
know or see I could do so
Until you found yourself
speaking to the air.

The Lover | Ananya S. Guha

In the blue yonder
there is under
the sky, earth and cover
misty dark-eyed lover
I cower
at love this tower
and over the wind blows
the wind blows
dark secrets
is the lover
doe-eyed
once espied
lover shatters
what else matters
under dark deep seas
is the lover
naked as a body
knows nobody

Faded with Time | Saarthak Haldar

Seeing, as standing on my cherished place.
Thinking, as the time passed, everything changed.
Once, there was chirping of birds.
Once, there, butterflies fluttered.
As the breeze touched my skin, tranquillised my soul.
That feeling was best of all.
As the green leaves of a tree,
danced in that breeze.
There was, Carpet of green grass
With shining of morning dew, like shining of the stars.
Gazing constantly, the open blue sky,
was the best part of my life.

Only residing in my memory now, mesmerizing view of this dreamland.
But in reality, all lost into the forgotten sands.

No birds chirping anymore.
No butterflies fluttering anymore.
That breeze, can’t tranquillise me anymore.
Mesmerizing beauty, i can’t see anymore.

Now, standing in that place alone.
Everything is barren now, i see, everything has gone.

More at https://poetriesonreality.home.blog/.

The Science of Hate | Matthew Abuelo

Hate is a geography
A floating continent really.
It spends most of its time
In the Far East (the Orient)
And moves west with the sun
To nourish its flowers and vines.
Its beasts will forever feed on your indignities
Catholic and otherwise.
Like every continent
Its got its rat eat rat cities.
These cities
The legal apparatuses
are always unhinged
And points towards
The punishment of the sleepless.
Punishment
That is
After all
the Catholic way
The endless sport
With no true winners
In the mind of the guilty.
Only you have declared
The residents of this town
As sexless
Unwashed
And uncultured.
A city of peasants
Who spend their time in church
Or behind a typewriter,
Computer and spewing
All vile and forgotten things
From the outdated theater of
Black and white ideas.
All with the grace of apes.
A city of apes
Whose lone desire
Is to break the backs of their youth
And be forgiven in a Sunday confessional.
Their backs were to be broken forward so
they can always bend at the foot of the cross
Of the holy
And rotting corpse.
As one great writer put it
“Does Christ ever get tired of bleeding?”
Though you have declared the rock n’ roll soul can heal anything
A dubious claim if you ask me,
As long as you can escape this city
And find a natural home
In another town where depravity
And sex flourishes.
But sooner or later
This continent will sink below the waterline
Until the next great
Betrayal.

More at http://joerussia3.wix.com/thenewsfactory.

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