Long Nature love Poems
Long Nature love Poems. Below are the most popular long Nature love by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nature love poems by poem length and keyword.
quilt in waves a rainbow ocean
etheric your ambrosia whiffs
whirling my waist
I wash dishes
rain swallowing chores, blood red hot
garden path waits your stoic tread
rockery longs for guitar thumbs
astral breath brushes rose petals
sun rises steady in fall sky ~
sorrow songs reaps benefit of time
your initials melded to mine in rhyme
astral skin blankets my chest
stormy waters
do not drown
your pauses
_____________________________
Placed 8th : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand : May 26
Each one of us follows a specific quest,
and there many different ones;
for me it's that passionate love which blooms
in spring when rain becomes mist.
Watching roses drip as eyes that weep restores
the memory of that forgotten sadness
brought by a faithless love known too briefly
to discover the scope of its insincerity.
Why didn't I believe in her fickle promise?
She only gazed at those radiant stars,
as a true one wouldn't have to compromise
the beautiful truth not stained with lies.
Still waiting to feel that passionate
love which blooms in spring...
happy wagtails by the petal-draped lake,
gather to make their notes ring.
Besides velvet-soft kisses that I eagerly steal
from tempting lips seeking this man's warm hand,
what else could please me more than an indulgent will
with that passionate love which blooms in spring?
When fate decides to bring you love sent on scented air,
you'll hold in your palm the whitest bouquet of clover
as the faithful glances in these enamored
eyes we'll remain as they are today to last and endure;
we may fall out of love and regret what wasn't there,
but which other promise has the strongest bond?
Ignore the sympathetic smiles around us, don't stare
at the prettiest roses taken from the sunniest garden;
let's reflect over our life: what's to come and what we'll become after,
we must love each other and live in full devotion until the very end.
We walk down an isle flanked by family and friends,
and their happiness mingles with ours as they sense
the strongest bond in a proud man and a happy woman so thrilled and surprised,
then we smile back at them and thank them for having come as they had promised.
Away from the cheerful crowd, we kiss in a orchard of lilacs,
they are purple and blue with gleams of light on their petals;
I pluck some and put them in your gentle hands and you gladly accept them
while your vivid imagination paints a rainbow above to appease your whim.
Why would someone judge someone
by what color their skin is?
Or where they are from?
or who they love?
Life is truly not fair
and people aren't nice to each other
There are so many beautiful things
in this world
Nature, love, music, and some people
There are many people with nice pretty faces
that show a different side to different people
they are very friendly to some yet spew hate to others
There are people that I love dearly that have darker
skin than I do. So what?
There is someone that is very dear to my heart
that is gay. So what?
One of my dearest friend's child is married to someone
of a different nationality. So what?
I strive to be the person that does not judge the outside
wrappings of a person. But if you have a hard heart,
then all bets are off!
Let The Flowers Grow Again Poetry Contest// Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Contest Judged: 9/2/2025 4:03:00 AM
( 2nd Place )
Written: August 26, 2025
There are days the globe feels heavy,
when the garden does not answer back,
and every stem bows under the weight of rain.
I walk among the silence,
touching soil with trembling hands,
wondering if beauty remembers me
if blossoms still dream beneath the dark.
Yet even in the hushed, forgotten corners,
a pulse remains.
Hidden beneath the globe,
roots hold fast in quiet
keeping the echo
of a vanished sun.
I believe, when gentler winds arrive,
and grief begins to loosen its hold,
the earth will speak again.
Blooms will turn their faces upward,
not in rebellion.
So let them grow
not just for the season,
but for every heart that needs reminding-
love is never gone
it only waits to bloom.
Hectic red steadfast on earth and anchored fast
Caught in the beginning of the end of working days
To yield a common profit from the land as harvested
On beams of yellow sun light set in motion in the Spring
Beings on oceans of colors with orange poppy fields
That only feel the warmth of winds circumference
Along with golden wheat that is ready to be taken in
Before eaten by Winter strangers and their friends
In a spectacle of hills rolled up in evening green
Beds of vegetation dream of wheat in foreign lands
Under blankets of sky pulled up to open window ledges
A baker gives full attention to making bread
The aroma drifts to the seashore close
While Spring goes back to sleep at peace
And near enough to hear the ocean break
Collapsing waves upon the shells already there
Someone in the wooden cabin listens fervently
Watching out for Summer whispering in
An open vase or vessel fills with country air
Prepared to hold the flowers of the field
Cut with kindness ready for the dinner table
Bread and water are there for company
As well as comfort for some weary bones
An old couple still find romance in holding hands
Vast open lands that radiant with natures colors
Require receptacles made of clay to celebrate
To display the beauty of the day while saying grace
Wind and rain bring back the wheat fields from the past
Swaying flags of yellow gold on beams of light
Anchored from the soil up to the sky
Boundaries emergent to lift the fleeting eye
Flickering light might indicate the end of power
Only shade can hide a candle going out at night
In reference to the Purity Wheat Domain
It remains the same in brightness
Note: Special thanks to Elizabeth Wesley for planting the seed (another one) for this poem. And despite the dismal nature of this writing, Sanibel Island is still a beautiful place to see and visit.
Sanibel, Sanibel, Sanibel dream;
Once we were lovers before I knew what love means.
I held your hands, your soft white sands
Caressing my fingers tender;
Sanibel, Sanibel where have you have gone
Our love no longer lingers.
Gone are your spiraling sea shells,
Remains of your deep ocean friends;
Gone are your crystalline shorelines
I left my footprints in.
From progress called sky scrapers
And concrete travel parks;
Sanibel, dear Sanibel,
You’ve lost your sweet lovers spark.
Others may find you still lovely
With your great blue egret plumes;
But I’m not fooled for a New York minute
Because I watched shooting stars with you.
While the waves washed in from the distance
And the tides came and went with the moon;
I gave you my all while following the call
And you left me far too soon.
Sanibel, Sanibel, Sanibel dream;
Once we were lovers before I knew what love means.
in the light of moon and sun, roaring boldly, our faith has won - our love He will never shun ~ by poet
walking by the creek, who murmurs in her steady pace
reflections of the joy, laughter stirring the stars in space
feels just like a song, promising the sweetness of grace
delicious moments in heartbeats, blessings to embrace
warmed by the sunlight’s glimmers, coloring gentle dawn
so life seeks to reveal the beauty and wonder before it’s gone
breathless praise comes on wings as they fly on and on
revealing the secrets of God’s blessings – to angels we are drawn
will life soon learn this story that once encouraged our song?
I believe in beautiful mornings,
Lapis lazuli skies,
Cotton ball clouds,
Waking up slowly,
Feeling the lovely warmth,
More ardent than a trillion suns,
Emanating from the person beside you,
As you can’t help it
But embrace the small of their back.
I believe in dusk,
Sunsets of roses and tulips,
Red, pink, orange, purple.
I believe in star shine,
Coal-black nights,
Pierced by billions of stars,
Precious sparkling ores and gems,
Surrounding a crescent moon,
Like a smile amid the darkness,
But still finding it not as wonderful
As the way they smile
When you gingerly caress their face.
I believe in beauty,
The beauty of nature,
The beauty of the world.
But it isn’t nearly as wonderful
As when you have someone
To share it with.
Dear Budding Poet,
Modern poetry to me is the reflection of the chaos and
declining intolerance of modern times. It expresses the pent-up
emotions writhing in complexity trying to embrace our beautiful lives.
I know you’re a budding poet pining to express yourself and
aspiring to make a mark. My advice to you would
be to listen to your heart and transcribe in your own way what
it says. It’ll become a poem because your heart is the window
on the world through which you perceive the human values taking
intricate shapes, yarns of emotions weaving tapestry of joy
and grief, and the beauty of life designing ecstasy in your mind.
Don't ever close this window. You look out at the pristine
nature and absorb the elegance it frames. You would reach
the realm of exaltation when your mind would swim on
imagination. Let it flow in its own course meandering through
the landscape of your times. Wake up the muse in you and
let it float. You’ll then find formless blocks of words appear
as imagery. You need to use your pen to sculpt from these
the piece of art, your poetry.
Poetry in my life is like a perennial fountain drenching my
parched mind, drowning my sorrow, draining my tears
and satiating me with joy of creation.
My favorite themes : nature, love, emotions, fantasy,
introspection, desire, dream.
My favorite reference sources : www. howmanysyllables.com,
Cliché Finder, Thesaurus, www.rhymezone.com.
Titles of my favorite poems I’ve written (in order of preference) :
Atmospheric Pressure, Your Lacustrine Beauty, Through
The Opaque Night, Flowing Silence, As I was Walking In The Snow,
Searching You, Sign of Times, Kite Flies Away From Concrete
Jungle, Opening The Mind’s Petals, Embrace of Quietus.
My literary background : I’m an Earth Scientist having a doctorate
degree, published many scientific papers , received national
awards for research. My parents who were teachers of
literature infused in me the love for poetry. I started writing poetry
from high school days, published 4 books of poems.
Suggestion for book title : “The making of a poet”,
“Poems in search of a poet”.
May, 23, 2018.