nature poems

December Geese | Ralph Monday - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

December Geese | Ralph Monday

The song of migrating geese spilled from the sky.
Upward they soared under moody December skies,
Flying in a great V as if symbiotically linked by
The vast natural forces that had shaped them over
Millennia, the way that natural law molds and
Forms rock, the geese and the stone in an inconceivable
Distant time elementally birthed in the heart of a savage
Star.
The physics of life pulses through them as through me,
And I felt an ancient shudder pierce my being, timeless,
As their unity joined and patterned an experience split
Open and reformed instantly in my coursing blood, and
Those air travelers prodded on by what mysterious,
Unknown instinct touched me, bound to earth, and I
Envied their freedom while all the while realizing that
Freedom is not in the strident whish of beating wings,
Contained rather in an unencumbered heart that
Instinctively knows both sky and earth, fire and water.
All experience is linked, as the lesson of the flying
Birds taught, and once the heart is set adrift from its
Moors, no compass is sufficient enough to guide it
Back to the original port, and in that epiphany, I
Dreamed, like the geese, of flying to you.

Ralph Monday has had over 200 poems published in literary journals and online literary sites. A chapbook, All American Girls and Other Poems was recently published, and a book Lost Houses and American Renditions is forthcoming from Hen House Press.

Taking a Walk | Ananya S. Guha - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Taking a Walk | Ananya S. Guha

I walked in my little home town, after Christmas
dwindling streets, people
and houses. A friend shakes hand.
I look the other way forgetting to wish, wanting
to love and say many ecumenical things. But I have just come back from the bar, after downing two and a half gins and burying my dreams into the recesses of winter nights of this town, where I was and am born. My face is reddish, body warm, I take leave of my friend and wish that the trees and the whispering pines will walk across my body, especially in death.

The Girl the Birds and the Boy | Jenny Middleton - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

The Girl the Birds and the Boy | Jenny Middleton

Parakeets, jade bright and lit
with watery sunrise lean swiftly
to their reflections
as they soar through dawn,
born seemingly from the tongue
like twirl of willows and a tangle
of dun branches that trail
the river and its way.

All night they have sat here-
the girl, the birds and the boy,
blanket wrapped and waiting,
sleep snuggled and cooled.
The blush of the world at bay
and its formal carnations lost
amongst the damp scent of weeds,
clambering and clustering the banks.

Then the rush of fish; salmon, leaping,
flying through the water to spawn,
to live and to die amid such brightness
and to be reborn.

More at https://www.jmiddletonpoems.com.

Dark Poem and or Lecture; I'm Starting to Think Some of the World's People Lack Something; Don't Know We Hate Our Madness, Darkness, a Poem, or Lecture | L Lawliet - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Dark Poem and or Lecture; I'm Starting to Think Some of the World's People Lack Something; Don't Know We Hate Our Madness, Darkness, a Poem, or Lecture | L Lawliet

I often realize this throughout my 23 years alive, what seems like many other lifetimes, past live’s in the world of people, humankind as a whole seem not to reach out to others they don’t get to know the real person behind what they show others they could be angry at the world or at people or at family or the past.
For example we, human or not, fear our own madness monsters, darkness but some of us still, with people surrounding us, get lost from time to time, forget who those people are, sometimes feel like them or the world is against us all so we, in our own ways, hide, fight them, grow to love what we hate in our selves, see cold hatred stared in the eyes of the people like what is this freak, like you’re not human anymore.
It’s like we’re standing alone on the edge of long high 1000 or a 100,000,000 foot cliff slowly being pushed over while that stuff we hate, our hatred, our madness, that monster inside is not human anymore as it would seem as we age, grow older, either can’t run away from or get away from, either hide or escape it.
We seem to forget as humans or non-humans that we all have something, we need a helping hand to let us know there are people in the existing hell-hole of a world we either see as friend foe or both, we truly can’t decide due to the illogicial method of wanting to exam, observe people’s every nature, mannerism, action, behavior, body language, gesture, humans studied to the fullest.
We unusually remember the face they hide behind, assume it’s fine while deep inside they’re scared, looking for the help they seek, can’t find but often lack the means to save themselves but look strong on the outer but not the inner.
There, screaming SOMEONE, ANY ONE, PLEASE HELP IN BLOODY TEAR-FILLED EYES.
They don’t know who or what will save them; they try everything, just get more lost, can’t find a light close enough to see anymore so we either see a hand, know it’s a hand or madness, hatred grab, slowly gradually pull us over the cliff, edge grasping to take us into itself, make us become it, we think it’s that same madness, hate, smack it away, try to run.
Though if you truly wish to save, help people, reach out to them no matter how they look, think, act, talk, dress, conduct themselves, how wise or dumb they can or could be, how different they might be, the world peace breed fear, hatred that’s the madness that becomes our own darkness that pulls us over the edge; so which are you, are we, is the world, am I; you decide, help, or hinder; keep me in the light finally, save us all, myself, or leave me to wonder when I
‘ll be saved, me as a whole, the whole world.
So, next time ask which you are truly through meditation or self discovery; ask, are you the man or the monster.

More at http://lrueryuzaki.deviantart.com/journal/dark-and-or-lecture-433491254.

Time's Burden | Satish Verma - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Time's Burden | Satish Verma

I am not too well, he felt.
The flames chased him in charred landscape.
Fighting over, he pondered about the
crime within, the surge to find a nest hole.
A wounded pride where the salmonella hits.
You enter a slot for more enticements.
Any patch of vague tragedy among the barren
desirability, shares the accident with sacrifice.
Unhappy, you reverse the mode of retrieving
against the terms of swimming alone.
Where was the death’s arc to capture
the mistakes of life? Was an archaism
sufficient to kill the untruth? No implant
will enhance the height of achievement.

More at http://www.anmolbol.com/poems.

Where I Can Breathe... | Ananya S. Guha - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Where I Can Breathe… | Ananya S. Guha

The day is at once at tandem
with tepid sun, winter’s discomfiture, or feature.
Outside the room music
blares, Christmas is near
children squabble, then singing. Sighs, life takes
historical movement, years
lapse and then these visuals.
The town hasn’t changed much except for the number of boisterous cars, and pedestrians manipulating ways, hands up to code a message, please let me go to the other side. The trees silently stare at the church across, shadowy, languid movements. It is dusk.
Hands up. Let me go over to the other side, where I live, where I can breathe.

Little Turtle | Mary Bone - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Little Turtle | Mary Bone

Little turtle peeked out
from underneath his shell.
He decided to venture forth
on a stormy day.
He had a little flashlight
to light his way.

Earth an Epic | Seshendra Sharma - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Earth an Epic | Seshendra Sharma

Even by bloodshed, which is indefinably superior to gold
Dreams did not become realities-
Only fools do not know that
evolution also is subject to evolution-
When the earth is ploughed with a plough
Only then it becomes a country
When the earth is ploughed with a quill
Then it becomes an epic
If it is not ploughed either with a plough or quill
It is merely just merely earth-
24 hours of distance lies from sun to sun
only two hearts of distance lies
from human being to human being-
The sky opening up its pink folds
flying itself in the winds of dawn-
Look! How many riffles of distance lies
From village to war-

More at http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com.

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