As Vincent Willem Van Gogh said, “…and then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?”  Explore nature through poetry. Feeling inspired to write a few words of your own? Share it with us at!

Weekly Poems

The little tree by the old road fence

Grew in the summer sun.

“I want to grow tall,” said the little tree,

“And growing is so much fun.”

The little brook running beneath the bridge

Babbled and sang all day.

“I want to become a river,” it said,

“So I’m hastening on my way.”

The little bird fluttered from out the nest,

And flew far across the yard.

“I’ll be a big bird,” said she and twittered,

“If each day I try real hard.”

The little boy stood on his tiptoes and stretched.

“I’m just like the rest,” said he,

“I want to grow up and see the big world-

And the sooner the better for me!”

Mother Nature smiled at all her fledglings,

But she did not bid them stay.

She knew that to live and grow and age

Is forever Nature’s way.


maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

Smooth it glides upon its travel,

Here a wimple, there a gleam—

O the clean gravel!

O the smooth stream!

Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,

Paven pools as clear as air—

How a child wishes

To live down there!

We can see our coloured faces

Floating on the shaken pool

Down in cool places,

Dim and very cool;

Till a wind or water wrinkle,

Dipping marten, plumping trout,

Spreads in a twinkle

And blots all out.

See the rings pursue each other;

All below grows black as night,

Just as if mother

Had blown out the light!

Patience, children, just a minute—

See the spreading circles die;

The stream and all in it

Will clear by-and-by.


THIS was your butterfly, you see.

  His fine wings made him vain?—

The caterpillars crawl, but he

  Passed them in rich disdain?—

My pretty boy says: “Let him be         

  Only a worm again?”

Oh, child, when things have learned to wear    

  Wings once, they must be fain    

To keep them always high and fair.    

  Think of the creeping pain            

Which even a butterfly must bear    

  To be a worm again!


Swirling from within my magical jar,
wee ‘lil bits of shooting stars.
Like sparks in the dark upon the skies,
enshrouded in streams of fireflies.

Glimmering, shimmering, within a glow,
like bits of glitter within the winds flow.
Carry me away into the blackest of night,
within the streams of the fireflies flight.

Express permission granted to repost from author Robert Paul Chaney ~ Baltimore Woods says “Thank you!”

 You hope the gift of silence

                            will last forever in woods

                                    miles up this ridge from the road

                    Yet along this trail you hear

                            a swift rustle to the side

                                    that halts when you turn to see

                    Everything stands motionless

                            thick vines block your field of view

                                    through larch trees and giant ferns


                    You push ahead still aware

                            something light matches the stride

                                      of your footfalls on the path

                    You climb on a cleaved boulder

                            which juts like a wrecking ball

                                      impacted in the hillside

                    On the far side of that stone

                            you purse your lips and whistle

                                      then watch for movement nearby

                    Perhaps you heard the ground rise

                            or surface roots suckle rain

                                      convincing you nothing’s here

                    Aloof but omnipresent

                            you grasp what you came to find

                                      silence follows inside you



Author’s website profile:

Name of author: Grady Mankin (username: blue roan)

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