Nature Personification Poems | Examples
These Nature Personification poems are examples of Personification poems about Nature. These are the best examples of Personification Nature poems written by international poets.
Somehow, she appears from nowhere
to dominate the darkest sky,
her glow, suspended in the air,
will mystically bring on a sigh.
Her magnetic vibes are wondrous:
the shifting of each ocean's tide,
and also, somehow moving us-
she steers how minds and feelings ride.
Manipulator is our Moon.
Our months, divided each by stage,
are how her phases stay in tune
to regulate how hearts will gauge.
Full moon and love are tied as one-
Romance and moonlight, hand in hand
maneuver closeness that is spun
as Cupid seals what she has planned.
A force of nature, to be sure!
For ages, she's been on a throne
with mystic strength that does allure-
to mysteries still unbeknown.
Through many generations
Roots have forged strong bonds
that overlap each other deep in the earth
I am the oldest,
not untouched by the outside world
beauty and decay
Mixed with nostalgia and lush forest
children's play and laughter
When I look back
in slightly blurry images
No echo in the forest anymore
silence reigns
The city is growing faster than my family
the crystal ball cannot predict the future
Upon a forest floor where many lie
and breezes stir, the upper branches bent
to meet the final breath of shrivelled sigh,
a leaf would cling to heaven’s tears when sent.
Its youthful lustre now recalled through tales
as varied as seasons – verdant meadow
below the clouds which often yield to gales
then scud along periphery of show.
When thermal blast from forest fires above
an ocean scape of waves competing in sound
with rumbling progress fits the Man like glove
through ignorance – eventually hound.
A leaf in woods that’s silent, is the Hope
we need to cling to – shadows rest on slope.
FERTILIZING DROPS
Coming wetness falls;
Guaranteeing Mother Earth's
Terrestrial births:-
Rain, old friend, I hear you gathering in the dark.
Come—my leaves are thirsty for your silver touch.
I have waited through the long hush of heat,
roots dreaming of your cool, wandering footsteps.
Let your voice fall through my branches,
let your fingers drum softly on my moss-green skin.
Every drop you bring wakes something sleeping in me—
the ferns uncurl, the soil breathes, the shadows brighten.
Stay awhile, Rain.
The world feels more like itself when you return.
Gems adorn orange moon, bracelet of stars
Sinks crimson sun. Bullfrogs, in twiggy marsh.
Swirling in space, stars chase opaline darkness,
On forever road, illuminated in hued sharpness.
Green is moonlit valley, sunset, star crowned,
When bracelet jingles, felt upon solid gound.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First, the hunger~
a blade splitting every leaf,
a mouth with no bottom.
I am all appetite,
a green comma
curled in the wet dark.
Then the ache:
my skin stitches itself too tight.
I spit nails, spin a rumor
of wings~
a shroud of gold and spit,
a hearse made of silk.
Inside, I dissolve.
No prayer, no bone,
just a thick syrup of becoming,
a body unmaking itself
in the blind cathedral
of my own ribs.
One morning, the light
pries me open~
not with kindness,
but like a burglar
kicking down a door.
And I, new and clumsy,
will stumble into the air,
still drunk on the miracle
of my own undoing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was born of trembling stone,
cold and sharp, unnamed, alone~
then the rains came, soft and slow,
whispering, You must flow.
I carved my path with silver teeth,
gnawed the earth beneath my feet,
sang the songs the rocks had taught me,
wore the valleys down to naught.
Men arrived with nets and prayers,
called me holy, called me theirs,
built their temples near my back~
I drowned them when I chose to crack.
Now I am old, but not yet tired,
my body wide, my voice entire.
I swallow sunsets, spit out stars,
while the moon strokes my scars.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You think I’m just water falling~
a careless spill over granite teeth,
but listen: each drop fractures
into a thousand silver syllables.
My mist rises, whispering
the oldest verbs—erode, persist, become.
The rocks below me remember their names,
though they've worn smoothly as vowels.
Even the air around me hums with wet translation,
an endless sentence without a period.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
six weeks of silence~
then my stalk erupts
like a green exclamation,
thirsty for light.
I split myself open,
offer crimson tongues
to the indifferent window.
Each petal: a dare.
you count my blooms
as if numbers matter.
I measure time
in slow,
uncurling victories.
the ferns admire the oak
our tall handsome guardian of the forest
he gathers verdant mossy mushrooms
I am the northern night goddess
As I cast my celestial spell
You may glimpse my aurora at night
My energy hugs the atmosphere
In my ethereal pink costume
With floating rubies and emeralds
Winds tickle my borealis stars
As I float in my beauty all night
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aurora swirls over icy earth where
her breath casts colors through cold midnight air.
Her gown shimmers a shifting spectral light,
silent and bright through cold Icelandic night.
Frozen fjords, her audience below,
mirror her brilliance in shimmering glow.
Jagged peaks stand witness to fleeting art~
a masterpiece shaped with God’s heart.
I began life as a humble seed over four hundred years ago,
now I'm three hundred feet high and I continue to grow.
I live in the north of California not far from the coast
and I'm the tallest tree on earth; that's no idle boast.
I have a native American Cherokee name; I'm a Sequoia tree.
But folks know me as a Redwood, and that's fine with me.
I consider myself very lucky because I am still alive,
many of my friends have perished in wildfires and didn't survive
So, if you're driving up the coastal highway you can't fail to see,
me and my Sequoia friends and family towering majestically.
I am a red maple tree in a forest,
have been growing for over a hundred years now.
There is a lovely view that I share with many birds and trees,
when the nests are full of babies I am so happy listening to the peeps.
At the beginning of fall my green leaves begin to turn from green to red,
soon, my gown is fiery red and I am so proud as I sway and flutter,
but, as the breezes blow my leaves begin to fly.
I let my children of red go floating, drifting, gliding,
until my ancient branches are bare and gnarled in the fall sun,
and then . . . I sleep beneath a winter blanket of white.