Forest Poems - Poems about Forest

Lost in the Woods Strolling in the midst...

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STILLNESS* ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In stillness they stand, deep roots sip from ancient streams, time's hands slip away. Branches weave through endless skies, the heart learns to stretch and breathe. *Note:Poem originally written for and submitted to creativeramblings.com (Haiku Shack) for its anthology contest. This is my original poem. ...

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In the forest. A bench is a spot to hang out. No one judges you. Riding by on bikes. There’s no better spot to be relaxed. There’s plenty of shade. Backpack seated next to you. Tipping over but not falling. A bit of pollen on this bench. Something green growing but seems not poisonous. In...

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a leisurely stroll, walking alone in the park, I voice deep secrets - thoughts that I have never shared - with the forest primeval verdant, sheltering, it absorbs the unrevealed; nature is opaque...

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To the clouds- a tousled crown of green, a bump in the fabric of land. To the deer- a hall of silent pillars, woven shadows, mighty temples. To the rain- a fleeting flash of green and brown then hush- splattering on fallen needles. ...

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Nature is calling, your hips swaying. A light snowfall takes place in a winter breeze. The footprints of a doe and her fawn grace the land in fragments. Broken bits of grass poke out from where they were last seen, in brown, sticky patches. A moose, a rabbit, a raccoon— resting, rejuvenating, saving their strength. Birds chirp, wolves howl. I close my eyes and know I’ve made it. Did you make it to Italy, sparrow? For I am yet to make...

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Checked by www.howmanysyllables.com>syllable_counter ************************************************************** Lost The sun sinks low, the shadows grow, No moon is out up high, A chilling breeze begins to blow, With stars up in the sky; I wearily wade my way in...

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I took the road less traveled to hear if a falling tree with no one around (aside from yours truly) does make a sound but lost my way veered far astray and for the life of me couldn't see the forest for the trees but if I could it would feel so good not a bump on a log nor lump on a stump as then I'd be...

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I remember what I am. So do they. Cognitive dissonance, Keeps them at bay. Illusions tend to Bind with lies. Look with your ears, Not with your eyes. Listen to your words, What do they say? They might just set you On your path today. Your soul's purpose Is hard to find. Think with your heart, Not with your mind. Pain helps us Find our way. Don’t hold tight, Lest it lead you astray. Two...

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If only you could see the forest for the trees it would feel so good for then as an evergreen you'd be out of the woods and if you cared for me going out on a limb tho' not on bended knee I'd ask you to become a branch of my family so near and yet so far you touched me to the roots of my heart and...

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In the deep silence of the forest, where the wind whispers forgotten tales, lies the mystery of the birds' language, a symphony of ancient songs, in the prophetic bones of those who know, travelers through times and dreams, carrying the memory of old days when man and bird were one. In those golden times, when sky and earth sang...

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In Manipur's lush forests so bright, Khamba and Nongban ventured with delight, Seeking blooms to adorn with care, An altar to Lord Thangjing, their hearts were sworn to share. Through dense woods, Khamba's path did wind, Wildflowers' scent and earth's damp design, Birds sang sweet, leaves rustled free, A waterfall's roar, a sight to see. A towering tree, with orchids so fine, Hanging...

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Africa, The undiluted genealogy of humanity and humility The undisputed abode of nature Surrounded by wild bushes, forests, winding rivers, Uncountable mountains, endless valleys, sacred hills And unasailable caves The breeding ground for crocodiles, Gorilla's, Lions, Buffalo's And unquantifiable exotic animals The domicile of moonlight tales; Tales laced with valor and splendor Africa, Where the stars and the moon defiantly compete...

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~ With a moonbeam in her smile, she illumined every flower, while she wandered down the path, neath an ever-changing sky With a chuckle and a grin, peeked behind the twisted maple, where the dragonflies would hide, if a stranger passes by On this quiet summer eve, as the crickets started chirping, with a pinecone as a necklace, she was dressed up for the show As she took...

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On the hills is a forest of windmills. A chimera mirage of shrill, garish pinwheels, Wailing an endless lament to the tragedy of the commons. They spin a yarn of the collapse of self-sufficiency and starved frugality, that yearned to curb our needs. It's already too late, or almost too late to ever succeed in providing for the commons....

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