Long Nature poets Poems
Long Nature poets Poems. Below are the most popular long Nature poets by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nature poets poems by poem length and keyword.
‘Water’ seems a fitting title
of this rhyme on something vital
for the beings we take care of
and the others we’re aware of.
Life on Earth depends on water,
whether human or sea otter,
fish or fowl, whatever creatures
having some subsistence features.
Water may have been existent
in archaic ages distant
long before we tend to think—
even water that we drink.
Yet when in our galactic history
it was formed has been a mystery…
The researchers have debated
as to if it could be stated
that this liquid can be dated
back to when it’s been related
there was a disk of gas and dust
and molecules that were a must
for water that originated
when our ‘system’ was created
(namely, ‘solar’, where we’re fated)…
Or might it be more antiquated?!
Could we trace to outer space
the genesis that took place
of the water in our glass?
If indeed this came to pass,
it would open up new queries,
not to mention E.T. theories…
But that’s within the jurisdiction
of those who compose science fiction.
Many scientists have avowed
that from the Sun’s parental cloud
of interstellar dust and gas,
from which our star derived its mass,
water, well, to be precise,
water in the form of ice
was inherited there and then,
in that olden where and when…
Some astronomers theorize
that what we may not realize
is up to half the H2O
within the oceans that we know
right here on Planet Earth could be,
yes, older than the Sun we see
illuminating from on high,
in daylight’s path across the sky,
our frets and frolics down below,
where heedlessly we come and go…
Water and life go hand in hand,
from briny deep to wooded land.
In the mariner’s rhyming tale,
all the winds at sea did fail,
and the sailors lives were lost—
the idle ship was merely tossed
as if on a painted ocean,
painted ship, devoid of motion.
There was water ‘every where’,
Coleridge says, except that there
was none to quench their parching thirst;
so the voyage seemed doubly cursed.
Water is such precious stuff!
Do we value it enough?
Oh, may there never come a time
(as in that famous rhyming rime)
when as to water here on Earth—
where mortals meet their death and birth—
we too will ever need to think
that there is not a drop to drink!
~ Harley White
Wordsmithing and living
are like communicating and loving
through a camera lens
when you could just lay down your language-camera,
to step into face-to-face space,
rather than stepping aside from present co-arising,
co-relational empathic moments of opportunity
and co-gravitating issues,
to choose instead to speak
sing
dance ex-cathedra
In what is an increasingly accessible
rhetorical climate moment,
but decreasingly LeftBrain reading
writing
rithmatic tic tic
emptying-out
echo-palace for noble and graceful
and unpaid poets
Our sageconomist gods
and musecologist goddesses
with their anthroprivileged sacred meanings
and mundane busyness purposes,
to chat amongst our win/win selves.
Only nature photographers
and soulful philosophers
take muses seriously
as performance artists;
not just under-commodified
and over-domesticated
giants of useless
unentitled industry.
Sacred ecology smithing
and synergetic economizing
are co-nutritional communication and deep life-loving
through bicamerally reiterative lenses
of Left Interior Ego Landscape
ecohosted by Elder Right Exterior MusEcology Landscape,
therapy for regenerative planning and development.
In EarthParadise
poets rule Interior Ego Reigns
while permacultural ecotherapists co-evolve governance
of Exterior CoOperative EcoClimates,
politically egalitarian
as economically co-op driven,
ecosystemic space/time synergy
here/now win/win balancing
confluently elational body/mind
neurosystemic energy;
learning to speak in mindful face to face
paced time '
and algae-surfing seaside rhythms.
Writing without experience,
outside experience,
beyond and abstracted from context contenting experience,
already takes God's active-verbal name
in panentheistic vain
pursuits of beautifully affordable correctness,
omitting primal wild
dipolar dialectic revolutions,
complex fractal-spiral regenerative icons,
metasystems of time's unfolding reformation
with fertile refolding eco-function,
flowing back to Golden Elixir,
Rule,
reproportioning Ego/Eco-Balance
face to face
Here in Now
like flowing river water identities
in salt surfing seasons
Of Earth empowering deep ego energy
in synergetic Sun's wide
wild museco enlightenment.
When I sit still and calmly read the works of Poets True
It is nice to know I'm not alone because of all of you
There are stories being told here in such different forms and ways
We have happy times, some joy and pain, and some for special days
There are some who write in Haiku, there are those who love Quatrain
We have those who write sweet Sonnets telling us about the rain
But we also have some Poets True who write as though they sing
With a Rhyme Royal or Limerick that will cause your ears to ring
How about the Free Verse Poets and the Funny Poets too
Those Acrostics and the Metaphors that can help the sun shine through
There are Ballad Poems and Lyrics truly wonderful to find
And the Epic Poems and Tanka's that will stir things in your mind
On a quiet night with softened light we'll read an Ode or two
Or a Villanelle or Couplet that someone has shared with you
What about those Nature Poets who can rhyme about the Earth
How the flowers grow in colors even different kinds of dirt
We have those who write of waterfalls; and sounds that fill the air;
Of deep mysteries and great mercies that reveal how we should share
Some are Kyrielles and Kwansabas that find their way to you
Those Alliteration Poets can help you think of things to do
We have Poets True from nations far that share the things they see
There are dreamers here with mighty words that say we can be free
We read Love Poems so sweetly said they cause your heart to melt
They will talk of Love lost or Love found that's truly deeply felt
Well, I could go on forever speaking of the Poems found
Here on Poetry Soup with you and these true treasures that abound
But I guess I'll stop and thank you all for sharing what you do
And I'll say right here that we are blessed - We all are Poets True!
There is a tension of expectation in the air
I adjust my skirt and straighten my hair
Will the other poets be let down when meeting me
I wonder how true my impressions of them will be
In one corner the rhyming poets have gathered
And arranged themselves in alphabetical order.
The nature poets stand near a faux waterfall
Where ferns and orchids adorn a rock wall.
The rollicking laughter exposes the comics
As opposed to the quieter, even, iambics.
Then right in the center a crowd so familiar
Across the room their identities - clearer
A face for the names I have learned over time
At last we are meeting, our lives to align
Andrea,Connie and Kathryn from PFT
Gals that have always encouraged me
Anna-Lise, Line, Debbie and Eve
Constance, Carol, Monteray and Shadow.
Their poems reflect where their hearts are at
If your name isn't here it is etched in my heart.
Then the guys appear- such good looking gents
Who always take time for careful comments.
Paul, Richard, Laurie, Tom, Vijay and Teppo.
Who I'm blessed to befriend
All talented poets whose work I commend.
As we mingle with others we haven't met yet.
There's Drake arranging an open- mike set
Carrie,Kim, Seren, Debbie - Sara,and Joyce
Finally now I'll be hearing their voices.
Brian, Dr Ram, Devnath, Tom, Pandita and others
The numbers of names seems too numerous to cover.
Some with only a fleeting encounter
Craig, Catie, Chris A and Ruben O
It's mostly through blogs their characters show.
Suddenly morning blooms on the hill
I awake from the dream with the sun on my sill
Perhaps it will never come to pass
Meeting the Soupers in one place enmasse.
STRAND SELECT X,any form,any theme
Contest Judged: 2/22/2020
First Place
Iambic Heptameter Couplets (fourteen syllables--seven unstressed--seven stressed)
scansion of first line:
a/LIT/tle/TA/ken/IN/the/MID/dle/'TILL/you/HAVE/e/NOUGH
unstressed syllables: a/tle/ken/the/dle/you/e - seven unstressed syllables
STRESSED SYLLABLES: LIT/TA/IN/MID/TILL/HAVE/NOUGH - SEVEN STRESSED SYLLABLES
AND FREE'S YOUR ROBOT MIND (little wisdoms)
A little taken in the middle 'till you have enough:
but if you lose it at the limit things get kind of rough.
Then tides begin to rise with surges roaring out of tune.
The shore is slammed by tides too tough while stealing time too soon.
The cynic's anxious life relies on mastery of time.
These titan's of naivete make time the bottom line.
But nature poets highly versed, in season's change so well,
Are highly seasoned well in verse to let time show not tell.
The length of life need no acclaim to maximize the same:
For life is not the time of fire but time left to the flame.
Now prophets and philosophers are known to live long lives;
To mark each moment passed seems strange but that's how life survives.
To focus on forever is a foolish game to play;
Forever is that second lost when death takes you away.
Let life be based on every breath and count each one you take:
One day of breathing by the count gives life you did not make.
So practice simple principles like these and you will live
Enriched by new perceptive life which free's your soul to give.
When you know how to make each breath become a joy to find
It lifts you up and toward the light and free's your robot mind.
It’s cool and the dusk is young yet,
The sun is taking its time to set beyond the mountain tops
I try to enjoy my fourth legal beer in the backyard
Also known as The Upper Room,
Where I once enjoyed dozens of illegal beers
Now I take my chances at writing words on blank paper.
And reading some of Purdy’s brilliance,
Only leaves me discouraged on this sobered day
I lose myself, for a moment, in addling thoughts
Then, I find myself
Dancing through the impregnated mosquito’s
Now I am unsettled in my abstract mood,
Those isoleucine hungry bastards…
I may have written my only masterpiece if it wasn't for them.
Not yet,
Not yet young poet, you’re but a child in this art.
Where the wind composes the singing pine trees,
Silent birds hide in the branches waiting for their turn
To sing their song just before dawn, and try to feed
On the unclad worms eating their way through the soil
Beneath the garden soon to clad with sunshine
Not yet little ones, I say out loud to them
You’re but a small necessity in this masterpiece
Unseen yet,
The weather is slowly feeling cold and bitter
I can see the leaves growing and blowing from birth to death
I can hear the changing of the season whispering to them
Nature is magically present in my awareness of it all
It’s beauty, once again, leaves me dumbfounded
What is it that I believe in? And why?
Have I figured that out yet?
Not yet young poet, you’re but a child in this art.
9:04 P.M. on June 27th 2013 In Palmer Lake, Colorado
" I wandered lonely as a cloud "
~William Wordsworth ~
Shook away by solemn persuasive wind,
I felt as though fallen from my splendor;
Leaves of red, yellow, green and every kind,
Seemed, yet, showing me fraternal ardor;
Ash, maple, aspen, alder and cherry,
All as though in ninth clouds; aerie Fairy...!
Lonely butterfly that hovers around,
Snail that strolls like a toddler on green grass;
The sun marching like Zeus fiery gold crowned,
Streams gleaming luminous like crystal glass;
These are sojourners on this earth transient,
Like me tents set in scenes so ambient...!
Like wavelets in gentle breeze I ripple,
Blown by trade winds newer lands I explore;
Weather transitions my movements cripple,
Zeal and zest, yet, like child, in me does soar;
Lilies, Croton and asters bid goodbye,
Figs, plums, pears and peaches in surprise, sigh...!
In dark, constellations fashion-parade,
Aries, Virgos and Pisces like sprites fly;
Moon, like cut-silver-cake in shade gets fade,
Stars, like brides in diamond rings, wry in shy;
Love, to forlorn fall-leaves, the nature shows,
Loneliness has its joys; a poet knows…!
20 September 2022
I Wandered Lonely As --- Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
Syllables checked in How-many-syllables
When the river runs dry
When the river runs dry, tears of sorrow fill this poets eyes
The words just won't flow, as the blank page clearly shows
All life dries up as ideas and thoughts they get torn in two
All around us can see it and sense it they feel the sorrow too
For what is life without freedom of thought and it's expression?
All poets like their words to be heard and read without exception
Our Maker well knows our needs, knows us better than ourselves
When the river runs dry, He gives us clean waters found in his well
When we go to him and drink deeply of his fresh waters of truth
Our soul and spirit are invigorated renewed like the days of our youth
Our prayers are answered as copious tears shower down from on high
We drink it all in till we're dripping wet, that's when we understand why
When we rely on ourselves our own thinking from our imperfect minds
That's when there's trouble, the page is blank and so the river runs dry.
John Derek Hamilton
April 17,2016
Far away over meadows, fields and hills
Or through oak woodland which is ever sweet;
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.
Early morning, amid the dewy chills
Where a dawn kissed grassland moistens the feet
Far away over meadows, fields and hills.
A perfumed carpet your raw sense it fills
A yellow trumpeted aspect replete
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.
And by the noon, as mid-day sunlight spills,
I wander onward down a floral street
Far away over meadows, fields and hills.
By farmstead ruins and old water mills
Where sheep now dwell and brightly bleat and eat,
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.
So, the land where the poet whet his skills
I walk at springtime in nature's elite.
Far away over meadows, fields and hills
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.
Alan S Jeeves
That my words bring to others comfort and joy,
And will remind them of small moments we enjoy,
Like when the midnight sky, touches the cool sea,
And the empty blackness ahead, resounds sweetly.
To give abundant hope to those who are striving,
Like the orange skies of new dawn just arriving!
That I may provide the sad or lonely a new friend,
That will be revisited in print again and again.
Like the unexpected glad hours of beauty's visits,
And blooms spreading delight from places they sit,
In loud colors that shout along the paths of summer,
As Summer himself outshines very other blossomer!
That I can remind people to stop look and listen,
Touch cool diamond dewdrops and see them glisten,
And observe Your various acts of kindness all about,
That is evidence of Your great love, without a doubt!