Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Son Nature Poems | Nature Poems About Son

These Son Nature poems are examples of Nature poems about Son. These are the best examples of Son Nature poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

12345
Details | Free verse |

A mother's treasures

A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother 
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her 
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this alletrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevaient from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths, roles and qualities
of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job 
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s


Details | I do not know? |

The Mighty Waves

The aching need to be near
The enduring pain no one could bear
Trying to control the mounting fear
As disaster strucked unaware.

Felt so alone, with no one there
Seeing the love ones drifted apart
But they could only see,
As they became the ocean's heart.

Who could express the lost they had?
Who could feel the heart hurting so bad?
Crying over a lost son who is just a little lad
They could do anything but bring him back.

Country shattered and torn
People left homeless
Mighty wave come and gone
Strong but merciless...


Details | Haiku |

Trees of the Lord

The trees of the Lord
Full of sap and evergreen
Planted by waters,

Spreading out their roots
Even when drought comes with heat,
Still, will yield their fruit.


Details | Burlesque |

Redneck FATHER'S DAY------

***NOTE~TO BE READ WITH A RIDICULOUS "SILKY SOUTHERN DRAWL" (have fun:)***



"Storm over yet...?"

"Well hay'ell ye'ah! 
 woo-hoo!
 sum'body git me a da'gumm cole beer.
 whadda'bou  that boy th'er?
 sum'body git him'a cole beer too!"

"Diddy! that boy ain't nothin' but 8 years old!"

"Wha'choo sayin? 
 wha'th'a?
 na'I don't give a jolly'durn, if he ain't nuttin but 8 year'owed!
 shoot! 
 'dat boy dun' sat him thr'ew a big ol', storm! 
 torna'durr warnin' too!
 he gonna have him'a cole burr;  
 on me!"
 my treat!
 mama, git him'a cole burr! 
 ro'tt now; 
 ya'here?
 besides...
 ta'days father's day!" 



© 2011  ~JSLambert Esquire

   










Details | Blank verse |

Cedars of Lebanon

Tree of honor born from the cedars of Lebanon
No seed does it drop and it not know where
Absorbing the heat to provide a haven of shade
Seasons and storms cause no threat
No cutting words can perpetrate its bark
A sapling mirrors its sway in the daystar’s light
Majestic and true, august and firm
Friendly and kind always waving never wavering
Never can the seed of this produce anything but a Cedar of Lebanon


Details | Free verse |

My Future Generation

I can act insane
But DO NOT 
Make me feel worthless

I belong in God’s family
He will bless my future generation

Don’t punish me for
Being myself –
Don’t envy my glee 

I can act like an
Adult, but I’d 
Prefer to have joy…

Not stress…
That piles upon us in our 
Everyday lives

Being childlike is

A rare beauty – 

No one prizes it…

No one came across it…

In this lifetime…

I can laugh all day
I can make you smile
If you’d accept my 
Childlike dreams of mine
Don’t treat me like a sick swine

Renew my young heart
Give me the ability 
To kill the old man…

I have my place in God’s family
He’ll be adored and glorified 
We’ll exchange prayers and hugs  
By my future generation

I beg of you – 
Don’t kill my childlike mentality
I’ll behave myself…
I’m positively sure that I’ll make you happy

I’ll still have pieces of a child in me

And pass it on to my future generation…


Details | Narrative |

Look Memaw

Look Memaw!

I went outside when my grandson called me.
Down the wheelchair ramp I walked while looking.
I glanced all around, left and right, searching.
Then, I heard it, his wee small voice saying,
“Look, Memaw, I am up here in the tree!”
To my surprise, I had to look way up.
Not ten feet, not twenty feet, thirty feet –
Yes, tiny as he is, he climbed that high.
Afraid to show alarm, that he might fall.
I laughed and said, “What are you, my primate?”
“What’s a primate?” he asked curiously.
“A monkey, a primate is a monkey.”
After I responded, he replied, “No.”
With great pride, adding, “I am a tree frog.”

© February 29, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen



© February 29, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Narratives Free Poetry 
Sponsor	Catie Lindsey


Details | Couplet |

Indigenous I Am, from the Stolen Generations

This is a journey, a trip call it what you will It follows the footsteps of my ancestors, and allows my thoughts too spill Firstly let me take you back, to tell you so little of my past Indigenous I am, from the "Stolen Generations" I did not last This is why I must make this journey, to allow me to find the real me To retrace the few steps I made, to rediscover what my young eyes seen How ironic that the person I'll ride with, is the son of the then official Whose deliberation to round up us children, the scene, locale It's now the morn of our travel, where I look I find hard to see The peripheral of the distant horizon, is all that really captures me The town where I grew up so young, barely to the age of five Perth, now bustles like a termites nest, zig zagging in busily strive Into the bush we go, to a place where us youngsters so enjoyed Moore River Native Settlement, which soon became children void As I walk my arid lands, patterned in the heat of this day I recall with every step, where us Indigenous children played We could survive on the smallest of fruit, water we could easily find Even the son of the then official, said that we are a superior kind He marvelled when I spotted tracks, traces of where animals crossed Remembering back to when I was five years old, our lands always talked We opened up as we led our horses, introduced all those centuries ago They opened up my lands, rivers we walked, now the white man flows This is a journey I had to make, it's called, it's in my will No more "Stolen Generations" no more will my culture spill


Details | Free verse |

Wisdom of Heights---Climb with Me

This morning
bells toll
a trumpet sounds
but refuses to blare
it just doesn't know 
how to harm
what it takes
to infect the living 

trees
earth
and sound
survive sadness
out last the past
bond brothers and sisters
of sky
air 
mud 
and water
as it loses 
to a force

some days...

this morning
it wins
because the vibration knows god
and is ONE

and though human imperfections
sit in the shadows of it's path
perfections will
and forever will
prevail

people
so arrogant 
we choose to destroy 
but how can we concentrate 
on methods of malcontent
when god sits at our breakfast table?
urging
as father urges child
"get up!"
"move on!"
"stand on two feet!"
"breath child!"

he tolls the bell
as we lay on deaf ears
he loosens ties with anger 
as the path warns and wears
thrusting
driving this cosmic ship 
of no loses
only tiny
arrogant setbacks

and he smiles
for he knows
what we yet
have to find...
and all is well.


Details | Quatrain |

The Orchid

The Orchid
As the orchid blooms its long beautiful flower
The perfume of which fills the air hour by hour
The strength in its leave when open from bud
No decay just a little wrinkle as in age it should
 
If Orchis the son of the nymph and satyr
Had not drunk of the vine and showed his desire
As he drank long and hard at the feast of Dionysus
His eyes fell on a priestess and caused all the fuss.

He wanted her, was his drunken decree
And he didn’t care if she didn’t want he
He coveted the priestess as he drank by the hour
Determined he was soon her going to deflower.

His advances she said she would not take
But he did not listen and her he would make
But for this insult to a revered priestess
The gods were determined he’d pay for her distress

He would not go unpunished this was THEIR decree
And ripped limb from limb they decreed he would be
The bacchanalians did tear him apart and justly so
He should have accepted the priestess she  said NO!

The father of Orchis prayed the Gods would restore
The son that he loved and would for evermore
After they listened to the prayers of a father distraught
The Gods returned Orchis not as a man but as a flower they thought.

Orchis became the flower with the strange sounding name
Whose beauty enchants and its perfume does the same
The orchid, the bulbs shape we will recognise today
The part under the body, where a man likes us to play.

© 9/02/2013/~GG~


12345