Nature Rhyme Poems | Examples
These Nature Rhyme poems are examples of Rhyme poems about Nature. These are the best examples of Rhyme Nature poems written by international poets.
Contest: Haven
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Written: 091226
Very often,
There was this place by the sea.
Although unhidden,
It was a perfect spot for me.
My great getaway,
A quiet place at the end of the day.
My hiding place.
It Sheilded me from the speedy race.
My sanctuary.
Secluded, causing a cease from hurry.
My haven.
There, the heart rests and preps for heaven.
My steal away.
It birthed a memory.
It declared war against worry.
My haven by the sea; My forever story.
“Somewhere beyond the sink-hole, past the magnolia, under the live oaks, a boy and a yearling ran side by side, and were gone forever.” ~ The final sentence of The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings.
A child was gone forever…
Was I, too, once a child?
Would it be that never,
I’d again run free and wild?
Would I simply pass away
like little Fodder-wing,
not to see another day
where I might fly or sing?
Lately, I’ve been thinking of
a brand-new hopeful dawn,
and the feel of earnest love -
of Jody and his fawn.
I saw a waterwheel, saw a rabbit,
took more than just a look.
Another’s soul, I’d inhabit
in the chapters of a book.
Lost forever to the ages,
a long, forgotten “when” -
four hundred thirty pages
gave me childhood again.
Wholesome ...what an incredible word
Arousing glorious visions of purity
Innocence, health...natural and earthy
Unpretentious, clarifying....free!
A dash of red
In the leaves,
Points ahead
To old long sleeves
Makes us smile
If only a few,
For mile after mile
A brilliant view
Most welcome sights
And darker darks,
Set off the brights
Like scattered sparks
A change begin
Simply excites,
Takes place when
All orange ignites
Back to September
We need you here,
One to remember
Year after year.
A cold northwesterly breeze
Whips the nearly naked trees
A few pecans still tip the top
Unreachable by squirrels
Even if they hop
Within the crowded dark,
She dreams of a golden bloom.
Weaves a swift, geometric loop,
Then traces right, a graceful swoop,
To banish gloom. from the room.
And share a silent spark.
The Bushy Creek Spring Makers Market is the call
Poetry and bee motels selling on our stall
busking in daylight
fireside songs at night
Camped out for two days we're gonna have a ball
Call them bee motels cause we don't drink alcohol
different native bees are sealing up a hole
young ones will hatch out
adults will buzz about
Collect pollen and nectar in nature that's their role
Everyone is fond of the summer season
some just can't get enough of that sun
they travel worldwide to gain its rays
but the other seasons are required as one
Now here's a thought to ponder upon
what if summer lasted all year long
just imagine having continuous sunshine
our hearts would be filled with joyful songs
Children would want extra long holidays
even they could have classes held outside
more fun to learn about nature
sometimes summer rain keeps us inside
Now what if summer ended for good
and worst of all, winter lasted the year
nothing but cold, snow and ice
perish the thought, for it fills with fear
The heavy coats and gloves are on
never to take off at any time
well, maybe we'll stick to the four seasons
so ideal really, to keep us in our prime
They arrive at the start of spring,
In the morning light, they sing,
On branches high they dance,
Daringly reaching for the sky, taking a chance.
Emerald leaves sway gently
in the breeze,
A soothing sound spreads among
the trees.
Beneath Summer’s warmth they drink and drink,
In various colours displaying their
beauty, glittering in sync.
Then in a blink comes autumn’s call,
Turning emerald leaves to gold and
red,
Each leaf’s vein bleeds,
And in a final twirl to the ground,
they gracefully fall.
By Zyrool
9/26
The trail led to a mountain top
unveiling a becoming view
there not expected to be seen-
and knew we found a peekaboo
to an attractive, bubbly scene
likened to a movie prop.
Effervescent was the blue lake
framed by the verdant spruce and pine.
Pure and untouched for nature's sake-
a harbinger of peace divine.
My old soul is what I feature
Never asked a reason why
Never tried to doubt the nature
Only feel the urge to fly
I’m a metaphor you might
Recognize in times you follow
The trajectories of mind
In the dimness of tomorrow
When I’m tired of the flying
See me resting in the shade
Too much rest may equal dying
But I’m not at all afraid
I was born to find my light
Be it deep, or be it shallow
Flecks of sun, or moon at night
Lantern glimmer in the halo
I know that I must beware
Of the flame, but it’s a joke
I instinctively take care
From the turning into smoke
Only freedom is the cause
Of my little fragile life
Flying over, I take course
To whatever source of light..
The earth below fades to a distant haze,
As I ascend beyond the rush of days.
I catch the current, seamless, cool, and strong,
Where skyward rivers pull my path along.
I stretch my wings and tilt into the bend,
Where draft and motion effortlessly blend.
To ride the rushing wind is pure delight—
A boundless devotion to the gift of flight.
No friction drags, no gravity can hold,
As endless skies of sapphire blue unfold.
I love the freedom in this weightless stream,
Forever soaring high inside the dream.
The same haunting melody each time
ever the same when full moon climbs;
It is the sweet song of fuchsia twilight,
sung by the mystery bird each night.
An unknown bird, red and lilac tinged,
daily sings skies, from gold to orange,
Searing sunset into heart and memory,
It's the same song, never does it vary.
Fierce updrafts surge, the wild winds rise,
And hurl the drops to freezing skies.
The ice and hail will smash and pack,
Inside the towering thunder-back.
Collisions strip the charges bare,
As static tension rips the air.
Light crystals float to upper height,
While heavy graupel sinks like night.
Sparks zigzag down, a leader low,
Stepping below a ghostly glow.
The fields skyrocket, voltages soar,
To crack the sky and strike the floor.
Sudden awaking, the earth responds,
A surge of power breaks its bonds.
The trees and towers stretch and strain,
To thrust their streamers through the rain.
The channels splice and circuits close,
A blinding flash of lightning glows.
Volt-ignited, the atmosphere
Roars as the thunder shakes the sphere.
The Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
Autumn, my breath of fresh AIR.
Autumn, she sings melodies of CARE.
See her as your beautiful BRIDGE,
And she will assist you over the RIDGE.
From the fighting forces of NATURE,
She shields and gives hope for your FUTURE.
See her as your seasonal ADJUSTER,
And she will see you through DISASTER.
Accept her as the officiating REFEREE,
From climatic extremes she'll set you FREE.
Autumn, my calm after torturing HEAT.
Autumn, my peace, poise; my season TREAT.