Nature Poems
Verses that listen to what the outdoors is saying.
These poems treat nature as a teacher rather than scenery, noticing how a forest arranges its sounds or how dust settles in a slant of light when no one is rushing anywhere. For a quick nature thought to share, see Quotes.
The sun does not ask permission
to throw its gold across the hill,
it simply rises out of darkness
and bends the world to morning's will.
How I have stood at open windows
watching gold become the sky,
how ordinary...
The river does not argue with the stone,
it simply finds its way around,
it has been learning patience
since before the world had found
its shape, its name, its season—
the river simply flows.
Water asks no destination,
it...
Popular Poems Topics for You.
Now the light comes in at angles
that the summer never knew,
golden in the ways that morning
cannot quite contain or see through.
The trees have dressed for leaving
in their finest, briefest wear—
crimson, ochre, amber, russet,
color...
The mountain does not need your seeing
to know what it is,
it has been here before your questions
and it will outlast your quiz.
In cloud, the mountain hides its summit,
but the summit is still there,
standing in...
Hope Poems
The ocean sings the same song always,
yet the song is never twice the same,
every wave a fresh arrangement
of the ancient, endless refrain.
Come to it with your sorrows,
it will take them with a hiss,
replace your...
The first blossom of the season
is a prayer the tree has made—
pink against the grey of March sky,
bright and unafraid.
It does not wait for warmer weather,
it does not check the forecast twice,
it simply opens...
In the forest where the light comes
down in columns, green and still,
time moves at a different tempo—
older than the human will.
The roots beneath are speaking
in a language roots have kept
since the first seed fell...
The first drop falls before you hear the thunder—
a dark spot on the pale stone of the path,
and then the smell arrives, that ancient welcome,
the earth releasing all its held-back warmth.
Petrichor: the word the scientists gave...
We ran out in the rain on purpose—
not toward shelter but toward the wet,
the puddles already forming on the path,
the best part of a summer not done yet.
No adult would have sent us—
this was our...
Life Poems
Nothing puts you to sleep like rain on a roof—
the particular percussion of the drops,
the rhythm that has no ambition to repeat itself
and yet returns before the motion stops.
I have slept to it in houses I...
The monsoon arrives like a long-promised letter,
late, as always, but carrying what it owes—
the fields tilt toward it with something like relief,
every blade of grass and root that knows.
The sky grows heavy in the weeks before...
I stood at the window watching the rain
the way it made the street an impressionist painting—
the umbrellas moving like a colony of birds,
the lights in puddles wavering and fainting.
There is a quality of afternoon in rain...
We did not run from the rain—
we walked through it instead, slowly,
as if the world had given us permission
to be unhurried and wholly.
The rain does something to the ordinary—
it turns it luminous and silver-edged,
it...
After the storm, the world is washed and listening—
every surface freshly aware,
the smell of rain in soil still rising,
the particular clarity of clear air.
And then the rainbow—always unexpected,
always producing the involuntary gasp—
the proof that...
Love Poems
Before the house decides what it is doing,
before the phone begins its urgent call,
there is a window of the wholly quiet—
the peace before the day takes all.
I try to live inside that window—
ten minutes with...
Breathe in. Breathe out. The ancient instruction,
the one the body never needs reminding—
and yet the mind needs it constantly,
needs the body's rhythm for the finding
of the still place underneath the noise,
the calm that doesn't disappear...
The forest teaches silence differently—
not the absence of sound, but its arrangement,
the bird in the distance, the creak of the branch,
the particular acoustic enchantment.
In the forest the sounds become the silence,
the noise becomes the ground...
The thing I held the longest
was the thing that cost me most to keep—
the grudge, the grief, the old resentment
that I fed through every sleepless sleep.
When I finally opened my hand and let it go
the...
We argued and we let the argument sit
between us like furniture we worked around—
until one morning, for no particular reason,
one of us chose the laying-down.
I do not remember who went first.
It does not matter now...
Mother Poems
I gave myself permission to do nothing—
sat in the chair without an aim in sight,
watched the dust motes move in the afternoon
in the particular slant of autumn light.
No list, no task, no justifying purpose—
just the...
Related Poems Topics for You.
Frequently Asked Questions
What kind of poems are in the Nature collection?
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Looking for something wiser and older in tone? Our Anmol Vachan collection pairs well, and Captions suits a photo from your last walk outdoors.
