Nature Free Verse Poems | Examples
These Nature Free Verse poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Nature. These are the best examples of Free Verse Nature poems written by international poets.
Peace is the natural state
The source of rest and the result of entropy.
It is the zero point
Where everything comes and goes.
How do we know this?
Just look at our lives.
Each day ends and begins with sleep
The state of renewal without conflict.
Conflict comes naturally enough
In pursuit of our goals,
Position, power, procreation,
And all the things that support it.
Conflict arises from peace
Like ripples on the surface
Obscuring the mirror clear image.
Conflict is the first step,
But by the end
It is all that’s left,
Rage and frustration, chaos and division
With peace eclipsed.
Where is the natural peace then?
Where is the rejuvenating sleep
At the end of that day?
Waiting, simply waiting
As it is
Its nature to do.
(10/6/26)
November 1st in Mexico and South America
marigolds' pungent odor is used liberally
to guide spirits from cemetery to Day of the Dead celebration
homemade altars await the visiting soul
Photographs, candles and water have been assembled
their favorite foods and drinks are there
for dessert they may nibble on decorated sugar skulls
Day of the Dead, an important holiday,
represents cyclical nature of life and death
Out very late,gardening in the dark.
When my head torch failed.
I completly lost the plot.
The scale and might
is hypnotic - I almost
clamour for breath
as I look down
from the clifftop
into the churn
and deep throated rumble
of a swell heaving upwards
to gulp at rock, weed and air
in a frenzy of foam.
There is a strange
gravity exerted by such
power that seems
to pull upon the mind,
to feel my fragile life
lipped on the edge
of a plummeting drop
a mere step or stumble
away from death.
I anchor myself
to the ledge, dare to lean
forward and stare
into that which awaits
if I were to fall,
to glimpse nothingness,
oblivion or something more,
a floating shred,
the leftover foam
from the source of it all.
The glimmer of dawn's velvety glow
slowly rises
its feathery light of red and orange cannot be touched
only seen and felt
this delicate vision penetrates to infuse me
in a solemn reverence of nature's offering
as my eyes bow, moist and beguiled
filled with a wondrous wonder
sharing this space in an enduring calm
of permanent perpetual ageless morning
full of natural artistry and splendor
breathless in its serenity
where I'll stand motionless in harmony and awe
of my earthly bond
feeling unhurried in a technicolor world
consumed and overwhelmed
immersed in a deep sense of tranquility
that becomes another realm of existence
flowing through a quiet universe within
Pine needles scatter across the grass
Mushrooms show their faces too
The trees applause with their colors,
in the cool, refreshing evening air
My mind can think a million thoughts
- but what I see grounds me -
Pieces of nature create a puzzle
That shows off a beautiful scene
There is no reason to figure things out,
or to find a way to defend myself
Because, it is all here looking at me
In my purpose, no-one has to see
Heidi Sands
10/3/26
(C)opyright
Out of body, all Divine --
the mystic does not die to get there,
a life long relationship. Claimed.
Who do we believe?~ (one who loves life
deeply death will never deceive....) Poet.
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Hmm...indeed sometimes lies -- and the heart can lie even when thinking truth...even the marriage vow, till death do us part (the priest his own Christian contradiction). No one really knows the deeper nature of the heart. Does it start with a beat of flesh? Or its own spiritual continuance possessing form whatever? Time will less tell than Heaven and Hell.
I found a lone wing --
the cat seemed sleepy
and content;
the mouse took an extra
swallow of whatever no
hurried breath to vent;
the sun had one less shadow
to cast less intent;
the tree branched a sign
cozy nest for rent --
and I continued raking….
Star Dust Molded
Upon the all-encompassing walls of my four cornered room, hang
six generations, three ghostly spirits of my forefathers and mothers,
three generations, living shadows reminding me of who I am, who I owe.
Star Dust, Genes, {{ not blue genes }} nature, nurtured , influenced
by all those one has interacted with throughout a life time in this plane.
One’s Family, mentors, peers, coworkers, bosses, Friends and Lovers.
How does one reconcile what and who, in this melting pot of predisposed
influences was the guiding light, the forces that molded an already formed,
perfect vessel, into the image who stands before the multitudes encountered.
B. J. “A ” 2
September 30th, 2026
this caramelise animation
with nearsighted obscureness
again darkly blushingly arrive
billions bespeckle ebulliently tilted
in balletic rioting
ebon will languidly linger
to tiptoe clockwise
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 28–October 4, 2026)
from the deep fells of September
I stand tip-toe on Autumn's reach
longing to see the late-day blush
or a June lark through dewy haze
but all that meets my hopeful eye?
October, dropping bright bloomers
and the cold, graying cloaks beyond.
Copyright © 2019 / 2026 Gregory Richard Barden
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
Till the blooms are fed the aura
That low gleams the distant hills,
Glistens the dewy flora,
Enlights an ever bluing sky—
Glint and sparkle befell the swelling rill
Shall delight my sleep weary eye
Nature folds away her tinting hues
That dab each petal such singular art
Till blossoms burst forth and sunlight suffuse
The myriad colours of the mouldering heart
That even such as I, a waking recluse,
Cannot feel—a thing apart
No dew for the dandelions aloft
Their needles do not sting
No song is sung as soft
As the first notes of spring
The robin sings a far off melody
A cricket chirps in the wings
A squirrel sure unseen,
In the hollow of an oak tree
Are doubtless splendorous to glean—
What simple joys the morning brings
When we add ourselves to the scene
My birdbath has become
the backyard rage! Now,
as many bees as parched
birds, they line the edge
taking buzz-sips – then
back to the honey-hive --
water, a must, in the desert,
if to stay just barely alive….
My charity, a small oasis, little
bigger than a hubcap; thousands
of grateful gulps a day~ more honey
on the way. Wonder!? Should I
have a neon sign, to attract Night
Owls and bats, already a focus of
many feral cats -- lizards, scorpions,
spiders and gnats…? What must they
think, of a semi-soft heart and head,
sharing tap water~ but off limits a cool
kitchen and king-size bed?
I am tired of prayer portals,
gateways unlocked by trance,
the meditative magic carpet rides
to promised realms, the rituals -
it has always
been here in the soft whisperings
of evenings, writing its narrative
in everything -
the tall eucalypts
of the high country, the coastal
she oaks and grasses buffeted
by the wind, rivers and pebbled
streams, mountains, the wide
plains - and murmurs
in the soul stuff
and in every atom of me.
Mostly I am deaf to its voice
and search for my own,
a plea, a prayer, anything at all
to send a ripple across
this dark, featureless terrain
that drops off at the cliff edge
of thought and stretches beyond
the full stop at the end
of my mind.
The first touch of a womans skin,softness.
From fumbled beginnings to adult exploration,softness.
From top to toe in lust or love,softness.
From neck to breast,inner thigh and inbetween ,softness.
From whispered words to gasping moans,softness.