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Nature Suicide Poems | Nature Poems About Suicide

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

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Details | Free verse | |

Wood Stages

I Death Wood

My skeleton, the trembling tree,
hit by the axes of ambulances
due to the decay of disease.
My muscles languish as wilted leaves.
My organs are rotting red apples.
My soul is the searing wind, while
my thoughts tick like termites.

The ivy of MS illness wraps with
waste around my twisted trunk.
Suddenly, spiders of suicide 
descend onto my branches.
They crawl across my broken bark,
crackling my rustic eyesight.

The sun, a golden unicorn, gone
into the forest of healthy laughter.
My wilted wood wanes in a cloud coma
with no moon, stars or watercolor sky.
Where are my wildflowers? 
Where is my green gleam?
I wait and wish for black lighting.

II Birth Wood

My family, the fog where most
float in the underworld as veiled
ghosts along the grassy grounds.
My thirsty roots reach for them
like wild hands hungry in ebony soil.
Sometimes their memory perfumes
and pollinates my heart with prayers.

My friends are a flock of birds that
become singing bracelets upon my bark.
Their feathers grace me like silk hope.
Their beaks devour the suicide spiders
on my weak wood, and their cheerful 
songs encourage me to bloom once again. 

Full moon flashes as a white wizard,
wearing a cloak of competitive clouds,
while moody night smolders as his black hat.
Spirals of opal light make my bark bright.
Spirit moonbeams weave within my wood,
healing hollow shadows, and allowing me to 
taste the monthly midnight milk of magic.

III Rain Wood

Spring steams with saturating rainfall,
sealing my splinters, washing away webs,
and the dirt of daily depression. 
My sap slides like a slow moving sea.
My tree bends and bows in all
directions, sprouting with joy.
Jade fire erupts along my branches.

Raindrops beat like crystal hearts
upon my boughs and my blossoms.
These clear spheres of nature inspire 
rebirth and germination of all life.
My apples sing as flutes, my leaves
clap hands, and my trunk plays harp.

My lover, the lone eagle, appears and flaps
his feathered wings upon my wooden nest.
Our love is best lived in traveling weather.
My limbs taste the last drops of dissipating dew
as the crocheting clouds release final rivers.
Deer court in the fermenting forest,
while golden unicorn grazes upon me.

February 7th 2008

Broken Wings Sponsor
Contest Any Poem You Ever Penned

Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet | |

The Beauty Fades

The sky above me, beauteous and blue
The trees around, cheerful with tops of green
The rays of sol, a joyous yellow hue
With awe, I gaze at this fantastic scene

Although, no beauty can last endlessly
The bright colors dim into somber shades
Stiff brown leaves wither off decaying trees
And now, in the dark, the pulchritude fades

The sky above clouds into a grim grey
The trees bare their wicked branches like fiends
The rays of sol, no longer warm and gay
 With terror, I gaze at this dreadful scene

It is time to rest, I shall be set free
The beauty is back, may it forever be.

Copyright © Omar Flores | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Take me to the countryside

Take me to the countryside 
where all the daffodils grow
fresh perfume saturating the air
dispersing sensational aroma
in the atmosphere.
Take me to the countryside
to inhale the balmy fragrance
of mother earth,
to walk on grassy lands
and hold each other hands.
Take me to the countryside
to gaze at the swaying trees, 
and listen to them humming breathlessly 
 in the chilly breeze.
enchanting birds singing in the gusty afternoon,
dancing vigorously to their melodious  tune.
Take me to the countryside 
where all the natural things grow,
tangerine, oranges , banana and  kiwi fruit.
homemade yogurt ,sweet yam
and fresh milk from grandpa’s lamb.
Take me to the countryside
to coalesce with earthy peasants, 
to run up and down the cornfield 
and waddle through onion beds.
Soak me in nature, 
and replenish my aching soul
purge my agonizing wound,
and distill my sorrowful tune.
My soul yearns for spiritual fulfillment
to drown the chaos from the external environment,
mineral water and running streams,
strumming guitars and melodious flutes
are singing harmoniously,
and whispering the truth.
lead me to a place of comfort,
a place where I can breathe,
a place of beauty and incomparable dreams.
Take me to the countryside
to mingle with the animals,
to go horseback riding,
and camp on the mountain top.
Take me away from this hopelessness,
to a place of peace and quietness.
Take me away from this desolation
and find away to solve this confusion.
I want to be free,
free from this burden and misery,
so take me with you before you leave.
When I close my eyes and count to three
at the sound of the whistle
I charge you to set me free.


©2013 Christine Phillips

Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

the Rose


                 The Rose innocent white, soft pink, yellows 
                colors touch your soul vibrant red to amethyst

                enhances beauty yet a thorn awaits to break skin
                as life does piercing your heart with a thin pin.

                My life has shed drops of blood through each petal
                 as if in return for the love and beauty you feel

                hence pain underneath patiently waits the bloodletting ~

                The rose symbolizes love yet vulnerable to hold
                for when you open your heart it can be left bleeding

                The best of surgeons can not beat your heart
                It is the inner faith and God himself whom gives strength 

                whispers in your ear you shall live you will exist
                your life meaningful as the water and sun to the rose

                 For I am your God  your existence is not over yet .
                        You must Live ~You must Bloom 
                       
                 

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

4 - Messenger from the Dead

Alas there is no more confusion,
finally found my last conclusion.
Expect me as if Jesus will return,
from a ghost to a realm of concern.

Your dreams are portals like doors,
welcoming spirits into hasten wars.
Leaving the thoughts without trust,
keeping your fears in much disgust.

And though you sought no consequence,
deeds that confirm a wicked malevolence.
Awaiting in your nightmare of screams,
enjoy what is left amongst your dreams.

Copyright © Eternal Victor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Final Fire In the Hall of The Mountain King

Sweet were the days though too few in number
When dread was lain over all tomorrows
By those whom upon the Rod of Asclepius swore
Sending him to seek solace
And pass by unseen
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

A blue star burned cold upon his brow
In the darkness to proclaim his coming
To this place he claimed
As the home of his heart
To play his part in this most sacred scene
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

Alone he arrived 
To no greeting or welcome
But gladness filled him all-the-same
No company would be kept
For this final thing
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

There were no songs in the Hall
No one to sing
Of loves lost or left behind
Succored and scoured
By compulsive dream
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

No proof against arms was his armor
Though many times it had saved him
Against ravage and rage of weather
Their service no longer in need
He laid them before him in offering
To the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

Although weakened, quickly he kindled 
The first glowing embers
Coached them and coaxed them
So fragile and nascent 
Till they brought into being
The Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

His presence in this hostile home
Alone would suffice
No grief-stricken children
Or wailing of women
No beeps or buzzes of cold machines
Only the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

He dreamt of the First Dawn of his absence
And was surprised it weighed nothing
Against the many that he was graced to see
Contentedly he caressed them
Comfortable in his memory
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King.

His star dimmed slowly before the First Dawn
With dignity dwindled the last flickering flames 
As cold grew the King 
On his throne of Stone
Set free near the ashes 
Of The Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

Then Alpenglow burst the first rays of day
Round the only monument 
To a life lived like lightning burst forth from the storm
So proud stood the peak 
Glad alone to have seen
The Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

Copyright © Shaun Herron | Year Posted 2014

Details | Personification | |

SUICIDE NOTE

My name is flower
Of number one display and color
To commit suicide I decide
To take nuclear waste or pesticide

Am tired of you people polluting the air
Polluting our rivers and streams that's not fair
You clear out our jungles, you cut down our mountains
To make way for tall buildings Hollywood Mansions and fountains

You burn fuel for energy source
Depleting the ozone showing no remorse
You drill, you drain the earth of it's natural resource and nutrients
Causing a shift in the earth's plate
Evidence Tsunami and Earth Quake

I cannot take it anymore
This is the final straw
Yes am gonna commit suicide
Either by Nuclear Waste or Pesticide
O! yes you need me for oxygen
along with all other plant life existing

So if I were to take them all with me you'll die
You'll be no more... no lie?
So sit back admire the beauty, the splendor  
The wonderful blossoming of a flower

In my last breath I write this suicide note
Dated 25th April 2011 by... flower


©Copyright April 2011 by Brian Pierre-Alexander
© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Brian Pierre-Alexander | Year Posted 2012

Details | Heroic Couplets | |

Keats Nightingale

Keats’ Nightingale

The romantic poets were too early to postulate total atheism,
And so freshened up the church by aligning god with nature,
And I believe they had a preference for nature over god or theism, 
Because they never posit him as social with high, tall stature.

Keats says that the nightingale exemplifies nature as active, 
As bestowing upon all human beings meaning, sense and worth, 
Since the bird’s song objectifies how nature truly is effective,
Fulfilled by happiness, and aimed at contentment and rebirth. 

Nature triggers in us thoughts and words to settle and allure, 
Offers us our language to dispel pain and find the cure, 
And Keats contends that poetry, the credibility of its form,
Epitomises what nature proffers, a receptacle rather warm. 

When you feel awkwardly suicidal with nowhere else to turn, 
Nature lullabies you into your own sense, one you can rip and burn;
No controlled access freeways, no road signs for your safety, 
Only soft, quiet communication that's never guilty of brevity. 

Just as nature is beautiful, so Keats claims people as beautiful too,
As he uses the word beauty right in the middle of his nature exposé;
He referred to flora, the moon, the stars, the forest and what seems true,
Tnat song of the nightingale that's for anyone, as this bird is not choosey.

He suggests that light or positivity in nature means movement,
That the soft breeze dispels the gloom and mossy pavement; 
Quantum physics does reduce matter back down to interactive particles, 
In which kinetic energy can be mistaken for minuscule, motionless articles.

His mentor is the nightingale as part of nature’s whole,
No minister or clergyman to advise him on his soul,
Stillness and bird song scent his poisoned air surrounding,
And it is all but for the silence of that beauteous music, astounding.

Nature does not irritate him when he surmises and introspects, 
But upholds itself in majestic grandeur with unquestionable prospects; 
It speaks about life, your life, your daily happenings and exotic dreams,
And forever exists for us when sense is just not within our means. 

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Tragic Feather

Oh, tragic feather what is thy tragedy
No longer freedom gay or certian loft
How is this thy new translation
From a majesty, unto a wing thou hath mighty dropped

Were thou thus, shunned, cast away 
Or merely, cut out or off
As limb from downward spiral angel
Perhaps, a troubled finch or insanity in wayward hawk

Lie, if thou must, be it amidst a deafening silence, lonesome soft
But, I plead, please tell me fallen feather, what hath befallen thee
Thy tuft to ne’er evermore touch again
What life should be, warmth of the summer's breeze

Sleep, sleep now 'neath the alley's gutter greys 
Catching Weeping Willows damning drops
Adrift as the drowning lily dying
In seas of the myriad scattered rots

An accomplice I shall say, within a winter's willing white
And alas, buried ordinary in this doth the corpse delight
Far beneath the crowds held at bay and forever lost
Now thou hath become the naked grove of wicker and then...
                                   the more of naked souless crops

Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sonnet | |

Sea of Trees

They are silently screaming under the canopy
Of the hundreds of branches breathing aloud
Baying for the sky, the sea of trees
Beneath their veil lingers not a sound
Nor earthly remains of a thousand spite
Suicides—who may yet wander west
Through these woods, without respite,
Step after step in purgatorial debt
To the trees which they tainted with broken necks
And minds numbed in narcotic delight
As their veins became too polluted and wretched
And left themselves to decay in the daylight
Aokigahara, mother of permissive relief
	May your black trees shroud their endless grief.

Copyright © Samuel Lee | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sijo | |

Intimidated

Wandering amongst the darkness, my life was in jeopardy
A pack of stealthy ferocious wolves, were stalking me like cattle
Slitting my throat in fear, blood dripped in pools for the rabid canines












*First attempt at Sijo!*

Copyright © Dustin Craig | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

EYE Don't See -Part 2-

My eyes
Refuse to see tragedy
My eyes
Marinate in dread…unable to embrace ecstasy 

And I’m left in my solitude…
My eye’s sagging…from endless mourning  
And I’m close to my demise… 
Only to find myself disappear…
When will peace draw near?

You don’t see 
What damage you’ve done
Just let me be
Leave me alone…hand me a gun

I yearn for unspoiled glory
To make me feel perfect once more
I yearn for flawless serenity
To make me feel no regret…don’t ignore
My calls…don’t hang up on me

You don’t see 
What damage you’ve done
Just hear my plea
Listen to my excruciating cries…
Listen to the truth, not the malicious lies  
Our journey has just begun   

And I’m left in my solitude…
Do you hear me weeping?
And I’m close to my demise…
Only to find myself disappear…
When will peace draw near?

Eye can’t handle the stress
Let me release my horrendous distress
Eye can see you making that same mistake
At least MY life isn’t at stake

And I’m left in my solitude…
My eye’s weeping…do You feel my lament
And I’m close to my demise…
Only to find myself disappear…Stepped on like cement
I’m aching with discontent… I abhor this torment    
When will peace scrub off my fear?

I can’t believe my eyes
Your guiltiness flows into me…
I can’t believe I fell for your lies
Your heartless action rape my mind…you don’t see
What my EYES see…

You’ll never see 
How much pressure you put me under
Unchain me from this chamber
And watch me flee…

When will you be set free?

Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

3 - Messenger from the Dead

In Hell where I may reside,
if death is not on my side.
Hunger that weeps to no end,
this darkness within my den.

As you enter my palace of pain,
fear not if you have not to gain.
Though previous life proved not,
judgement upon fears are sought.

And so the righteous shall avenge,
in my domain that seeks a revenge.
Cannot escape a wrath left in wake,
my vengeance is all that keep sake.

When I merge the dead with your dreams,
absolute power amongst all that screams.
Should a hundred years from my death,
not exist within the truth spoken breath.

Thus my soul is sacrificed for trading,
greatest power in all my soul waging.
Shall this price not be enough to pay,
the wicked shall cower before I prey.

Copyright © Eternal Victor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Blank verse | |

Where angels go to die

This place,
this infinitely finite place,
where branches split the clouds
when they spin;
this place,
where the sky is studded with crystals
of dreams;
this place,
where the white melts the blue
and the cold melts the flowers,
where
among roses
a child runs
arms wide open
towards God...
This place,
where God is not what He is,
this place,
a replica of chaos,
the underworld of angels,
the mist of the Heavens
concealed by apparent
fulfillment.

Copyright © Ruxandra Duca | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

Heartache On 4th Street

  How can I live my life
  Always standing in front of a knife
  So I'll get on the night train
  And I'll go to Spain
  I'll leave this kingdom, this life, and this shame
  So there won't be any more pain
  And so there won't be any one to blame.

Copyright © Blake Holland | Year Posted 2016

Details | Haiku | |

Mountain Suicide

Molten lava seeps,

From severed volcanic veins:

The earth bleeds magma.

Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2010

Details | List | |

Collective Suicide

We’ve already decided …

	In one minute -
	50 acres of rainforest
	Are destroyed.

	One billion trees -
	Are used to make 
	Disposable diapers
	Every year.

	One third -
	Of what you throw away
	Is packaging.

	Acid rain -
	Stops reproduction in fish
	And kills crayfish.

	Our cars -
	Burn 2 gallons a day
	That’s 20 lbs of carbon dioxide.
	In our air.

	80% of our trash -
	Ends up in a landfill.
	20% is recycled.

	3.5 pounds -
	Of garbage a day
	Is what YOU produce.

… Our collective suicide.

Copyright © Tammy Armstrong | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse | |

You Lay There

You quietly lay down on the road in the midnight
Breaths fading like a cooling cup of coffee
Whispers of colorless winds, breezed with delight
Finally, finally, finally, you give away that life
Glittering stars in the sky, waving you a big good bye
Also as a welcome, if your soul would revive
You start hearing things never be heard in daylight
Like a whisper, yet so unclear 
You start seeing the colors of night, black, yellow and white

Splatter of red, passionate and on the ground it stays
Drying, and drying, like painting on display 
Pieces of life crawling, trying to find a way to survive
Slower and slower, crawling has made survival harder
Streetlight sparks, tries hard to shine life back into your eyes
You reply with that empty stare you always use for decline
Trees in the allée, shaken and whispering 
In vain, in vain, no matter how hard they try
Why, why, you can't be awaken by the power of light. 

Stray dogs come sniffing and smell your despair
Such taste of life for them, too hard to spare 
Sweet, and full of life
Early birds come along, patiently waiting for the morn'
Blankly is how they stare, at your still posture.
There's no way back, there's no way back.

There you are.
Quietly lay down on the road in the midnight
Nothing, nothing can bring you back to life.

Copyright © James Hou | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy | |

Elegy to a Hanged Man in Birds Hill Park

And if the winter comes
It will come too soon for autumn
But a branch shall be the angel’s arm
To raise me from the bottom;
I shall not sink into the snow
Nor feel the winter’s dark white breath
For here my eyes shall always open
To the sun; it, to my death.

Copyright © Garth von Buchholz | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? | |

A Suicide

Never ending grasses spread out in each direction,
An amiable old barn, sitting amongst it.
Overhead, geese fly south for the coming wintry months,
And into a handsome setting sun.
A picturesque landscape is laid out before my eyes.

The smell of sweet hickory surrounding my chilly nose,
Old twigs and grasses crunching beneath my feet.
Watching my breath form clouds of fog,
Savoring the gentle solitude.

I embrace the touch of a country Christmas in the air,
While my heart, cozy beneath heavy clothes,
Is warmed by the hushed calm that can only be brought
By evening walks similar to such.

Copyright © Katherine Scogin | Year Posted 2005

Details | Rhyme | |

Two Youths Astray

Far deep within the woods, there is a seldom-trodden trail
Whose winding way is paved along by rustling, fallen leaves
And flanked by ancient maple trees. This nest of branches weaves
The woodland spirits’ canopy, in autumn hued and pale. 

To reach this path, explorers must traverse the hurdling crests
Of stately mountains guarded keenly day and night, and yet
The souls of some too often find themselves much lured and set
On walking underneath this shielding roof where beauty rests. 

Where does this pathway lead? No sage would know, for not a soul
Who made his way that far has yet returned to speak of it. 
Man’s told of this enchanted trail in deepest dreams divinely lit,
When doubts are fooled and leery eyes, in passing, grasp its role. 

Though hidden and remote, this solitary road allures
The restless fancy bound to earth by pale reality,
And gives man’s aimless days their restful, fresh finality
When blissful poesy the gloom of droning life obscures. 

I knew two youths who strayed from home and found this path one night.
Bemused by its unearthly call, they veered and probed away;
Alas, they reached the very end, and there they longed to stay.
Among the stars, their love now dwells in bright, eternal light.

Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com

Copyright © Eton Langford | Year Posted 2016