1. My poem is about the sky because I just think its so beautiful and full of life. I wrote this poem a sunset and it was beautiful so that's what inspired me.

Have you seen the Sunset and SunriseAnd the Horizon that's a prizeHow the colors mix and meltAnd look as soft as feltHow they float away into blackAs you wish them backAnd that feeling that makes you sadHow the tears come and just make you madBut then you see the starsThat are so small they could fit in jarsNow there's so manyYou'd by each one with a pennyHow they shine so brightAnd don't put up a fightSo you stand watching them twinkle and shineThen you realize you feel fineSo you sighAnd say goodbye.

Chelsea Poshni

2. AUTUMN

by: George Sterling (1869-1926)

OW droops the troubled yearAnd now her tiny sunset stains the leaf.A holy fear,A rapt, elusive grief,Make imminent the swift, exalting tear. The long wind's weary sigh--Knowest, O listener! for what it wakes?Adown the skyWhat star of Time forsakesHer pinnacle? What dream and dreamer die? A presence half-divineStands at the threshold, ready to departWithout a sign.Now seems the world's deep heartAbout to break. What sorrow stirs in mine? A mist of twilight rainHides now the orange edges of the day.In vain, in vainWe labor that thou stay,Beauty who waste, and shaft not be again!

3 Amid a Crown of Radiant Hills

  by: Dollie Radford (1858-1920)

 

Amid a crown of radiant hills,A little wood with blossoms rareBreathes sweetly, while the young lark trillsHis new learnt melody and fillsThe fragrant air. Among its boughs the fresh winds play,And, where the spreading branches part,The sun-light drops from spray to spray,And seeks the ferny streams which strayWithin its heart. And there the wild bee fills his cells,And murmurs through the golden hours,And charmèd fancies and sweet spells,Are woven in the tall blue-bellsAnd cuckoo-flowers. There many a mossy bank entwinedWith shining leaves awaits our choice,Come swiftly love, my soul unbindWith thy dear looks, that it may findIts prisoned voice.

4 The Grass

  by: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

 

The grass so little has to do, --A sphere of simple green,With only butterflies to brood,And bees to entertain, And stir all day to pretty tunesThe breezes fetch along,And hold the sunshine in its lapAnd bow to everything; And thread the dews all night, like pearls,And make itself so fine, --A duchess were too commonFor such a noticing. And even when it dies, to passIn odors so divine,As lowly spices gone to sleep,Or amulets of pine. And then to dwell in sovereign barns,And dream the days away, --

The grass so little has to do,I wish I were the hay!

5 Nature I

  by: Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

 

Winters knowEasily to shed the snow,And the untaught Spring is wiseIn cowslips and anemonies.

Nature, hating art and pains,Baulks and baffles plotting brains;Casualty and SurpriseAre the apples of her eyes;

But she dearly loves the poor,And, by marvel of her own,Strikes the loud pretender down.For Nature listens in the rose

And hearkens in the berry's bellTo help her friends, to plague her foes,And like wise God she judges well.Yet doth much her love excel

To the souls that never fell,To swains that live in happinessAnd do well because they please,Who walk in ways that are unframed,And feats achieve before they're named.

This poem is dedicated to my friend Maureen Mc.Millan, who has recently passed away. When she told me she wanted to write poetry,I advised her to sit in her garden and see if she found inspiration there. When she became ill, I E-mailed the above poem to her.

5 A Garden Reverie© JoyceIn my garden I sit and stare, if weeds are there, do I care? I am lost in a reverie, focused on my apple tree. 

The tree proudly waves blooming boughs, high to caress passing clouds. Her fruit with their rosy faces, 

will go to other places. 

She will lose her leaves in winter, her bark may begin to splinter, but her summer will come again, and deep-rooted she will remain. 

And me? I hope most sincerely, that like the old apple tree, I will stand firm, and tall and strong, regardless of what comes along. 

A search for purpose and peace in life, through the inner beauty of G-d's nature.

6 Special Place© Colin F. Gload

Light reflecting, in my eye, Cloudless blue of august sky, Shadows lurk in nature's womb, I'll take this place to my tomb. 

Morning wakening, air crisp, A welcoming breeze, nature's breath, An inward battle, self a test. 

Tranquil freedom, warming calm, A creative spec, of gods own palm, Gone untouched, nearly unknown, Those who see a place as such, Can understand, it’s more to touch. 

We bring purpose, reason to go, Return with peace, nothing to show, Like a mouse in a field, lost astray, I continue my journey, alone on my way.

7 LOVE LEAD NATURE© Manjeshwari P MysoreLove is like the damask rose Once smitten, bound by its charm Vividly feeling nature so close Every moment makes feelings warm 

Learn about being a better thyself Essence of love shall make you fonder As the flower enriches the world, it enriches itself Deeply touched by its wonder 

Nurtured scent of the damask fills the air Acutely mesmerizing mind, heart and soul The sweetness that pulls those with the flair Ultimate pure happiness without any foul 

Relish the true beauty of divine nature Earthy wonders lead to blissful future.

8 Summer PoemI wrote this poem because my favorite season is summer and I wanted to write a short story on summer but I didn't have the

time so I turned my little story into a poem.

Summer© KeertiThe sunshine pours in, draw open the curtains. The chirping of the birds, my heart with warmth. Time to get out my bike, get back into shape, become one with nature. 

To feel the warm grass, dew against my feet. Splash through the cold, water rushing against me. Cooling me. Redirecting the sun's rays, the brimmed hat atop of my brow. 

This is the signal, We've all been waiting for, Summer is here.

9 Tree PoemMy name is Jonathan, and I'm in the 6th grade. I wrote this poem for a class last year. My mom thought it would be a good idea

to place this poem on the net. I love trees a lot and I hate to see them ever cut. For all the tree lovers out there, this poem is

dedicated to you.

Tree, Dear Tree© Jonathan GeorgeTree, Dear Tree, In the Spring, you give the birds a place to rest. On your lovely branches I can hear a family of Robbins singing in their nest. 

Some trees are short, some trees are tall, But all trees are lovely as their leaves change in the Fall. I love to see your reds and browns, but your golden yellows are the best of all. 

How beautiful you are covered in winter white, As you stand in the snow and your branches are frozen in ice. 

Then again comes the spring so crisp and clean, Waking you out of your slumbering sleep. Joyfully telling you another year has gone by, " Look up dear tree you have grown one inch more closer to the sky." -Jono

10 Tree PoemThis is a very interesting and creatively written poem about a child's destructive and innocent creativity.

The Life of A Tree© Jonathan P. Potter

What was once a child's castle of disillusionment, Only remains to be used at the whimsical wanderings, Of a lonely young boy with a solitary pair of slicing scissors. Now with the easily frustrated fragility of a child, It is taken from its torn tower of grandeur. Left empty, unfulfilled in its fullness it remembers, A tortuous time of Homer and Shakespeare. It strengthened steadily through Roosevelt's Reformation. It gave guilty witness to Kennedy's Killing. Trading its tricky secrets with Truman's Temple. It once was an infrastructure of naturally created Complexity, Lying in careless, crumpled abandon on the floor. But Daddy, its only a piece of paper.

11 Treesby Harry Behn

Trees are the kindest things I know,They do no harm, they simply growAnd spread a shade for sleepy cows,And gather birds among their bows.

They give us fruit in leaves above,And wood to make our houses of,And leaves to burn on HalloweenAnd in the Spring new buds of green.

They are first when day's begunTo tough the beams of morning sun,They are the last to hold the lightWhen evening changes into night.

And when a moon floats on the skyThey hum a drowsy lullabyOf sleepy children long ago...Trees are the kindest things I know.