The nature poems They are quite common, the natural world has been one of the recurring themes in poetry. It is often the primary theme in each era and in each country.
Poets like to describe the natural world; its varied landscapes, the changing seasons and the phenomena that surround it, among others, have been an important part of the history of poetry.
Here is a list of these types of poems:
Talking about you, it was always easy,
you came to me with your waves to walk my dreams,
to salpress my soul to lengthen the days,
all blue, all owner, all water everywhere,
an endless block of fish and coral.
Knowing your ways was simple,
to find you it was enough to go to the edge of the house,
and there you were, on every corner,
each cardinal point had you embroidered in the name,
that's why I didn't finish naming you.
-the normal daily voice for those of us who knew you,
that we live you from the beginning-,
was talking about the sea.
I see you from the house,
green, yellow, leafy,
I see you and I'm eager
of your fruit between the embers.
And it is that, with butter or fat,
be it cob, corn or corn
-any name-, it's your nuance,
your particular flavor,
How can I not love you
give the flake to the root?
How many peoples feed
thanks to your noble fruit?,
your power I do not dispute,
all good about you comment.
The grounds are well set
having you sown,
the plow becomes easy,
you are noble, oh cornfield,
of the world you are the salt,
her enchanted heart.
You are noble green lady,
light of every being and thing,
you are in the river, in the rose,
in you the sight is lost.
Your paths teach us
about God and creation,
and it is that you are song
of all those who dream.
Go to meet you every day
allows to expand knowledge,
you are easy to love
and you always bring joy.
It's you nature,
air, land, sea and sky,
fire verse in which I fly,
royal root of wealth.
Don't give up, it always shines,
against the dirty I accompany you,
I will take good care of you every year,
on the land and on the shore.
You have become a habit,
obvious reason for respite,
invisible life that sneaks into me,
that runs from lung to blood
so that I can walk the paths that correspond to me.
Color of silence,
visit of the breath of God in beings,
when I no longer look for you it will be everything,
the fog will be the path and I will be the fog,
and there will be no reason or body,
and I will become one with the whole,
and it will be you and me in the corner of the spaces,
If I sowed in you, I would understand the life that you keep,
could be spice from tibet,
a grain of immortal Spain,
an Apple Tree from Patagonia,
some fruit that arises from your pact with the sun and the water.
If i were worm,
the world would walk you,
I would look for your most hidden secrets in the minerals,
I would try to understand the artifice of coal and diamond,
I would try everything to know where God got you man,
and where is the soul of the plants hidden from you.
Say your name,
is daring to much and not knowing everything.
You boil him to the inland,
heart of stones,
cloud secret to cry water,
invisible cloak of the sun.
When you came,
the night was the custom,
the raw the usual food,
the cold reigned in all
and there was no room for anything but the trembling of blue and ice.
did you come,
to carve each hill,
and make the rain gush,
and the seeds drew his body from the earth,
and they were called trees,
and the fruit fell later,
and man had you for god,
necessary and flaming fire.
The coyote looks at you from afar,
Everyone is looking for you to calm their hunger,
but you are cunning and fast,
and you know where the shadow is on the meadow,
you know every place where the sun does not shine.
You are agile,
white smile that jumps between the hills,
restless cloud everyone wants
and that hides underground to dawn when hunger calls,
and the young require green,
and life is fast,
and you have it.
Without you man could do nothing
you are crystalline jewel of life
that thirst calms me, the body takes care of me,
and safeguard my being from dying.
Of the elements, you are power,
liquid treasure to the one who asks for it,
your sweet attribute nests in the blood,
spring that helps to strengthen.
Don't stop sprouting your light from the sky,
nor leave the sad earth deep,
that men are waiting for you on the ground.
Only you gave nature,
water, your divine soul in blue flight,
in rain that everything loves and in good persists.
You come and go, white and gray,
winged sky breath,
you open your coffers to the ground
giving water on the plow.
Sponge you are in the height,
joyful shadow to the walker,
pure dream that heals me,
dim dancing figure.
The rain you give to the plants
so they can grow,
they are holy tears
how deep sprout from your being.
Children always look for you
to guess figures,
you go, you change, with two winks,
transforming you into madness.
Beautiful cloud, beautiful cloud,
never stop being,
it always rains on the rose,
on land, and in the sea.
You get up very early,
and the morning comes to you,
in your light everything is won,
divine sun, friend, brother.
Thanks for reaching out
and give us clarity
to all mankind,
every hour, every day,
you light up with joy
in any darkness.
What would it be, sun, of us
without your genuine glow?,
Without your pure and fine heat
that does not look like others?
The foals would be crazy,
and all the animals,
the kittens, the jackals,
the seagulls and the dogs,
we would not see the hills,
we would suffer a thousand evils.
They are the owners of the skies,
angels on high,
they are majestic figures
that they fall in love with their flights
and they even cure madness.
They dance as they fly,
they fly as they dance,
on the landscape they launch,
they sneak into the look
and the heart reach.
Be seagulls, gannets,
or the peregrine falcons,
fine flying pheasants,
or the clever eagles,
how beautiful are their trills.
See them tame the wind high
invites to reflexion,
gives my pen inspiration,
to capture what I feel,
cheering the heart.
They fly underwater,
they are dancing in the border,
his joy has no end,
they don't stop for a second;
their fins never cease
to swim from one side to the other,
they have strength like a colt,
owners are from the deep sea.
There are in rivers, lakes, seas,
they are even found in dreams,
large, medium and small,
their forms also vary,
fat, skinny, flattened,
even in muddy soils.
The light dances between its petals, bathing the world in color;
she covers herself with beauty with just one.
His presence is cause for joys and longings,
they are when life visits,
also when it leaves,
they are where the wounded man complains,
where love sprouts,
between the pavement,
on the moldy walls,
and each one of them,
each tiny figure,
to the life.
Your stay is short,
but the meaning of your step can be as sublime as the greatest feeling,
it all depends on the man,
from the eye that looks at her,
of the heart that with them surrenders.
You give reason to the moon,
dark and silent night,
your presence goes and sits
in the mountains and in the dune.
Like you, there's no one,
your mystery inspires man,
there is not a day that does not surprise
the feeling that you have arrived
and that you have filled everything
with the black of your name.
You are the clarity
of the world and its confines,
you come with golden mane
and light humanity.
Every town and city
owes you the glow,
also the pure candor
what are you toast, beloved day,
you are light and joy,
offering of great love.
lung of my land,
deep root with which the Pachamama breathes,
lined trunks that give reason to the forest;
houses of leaves that shelter so much life,
veins of the world,
They are owed the pure air,
the poet's blade,
the shadow in which man rests from work,
and the boy,
and the woman,
and the animal;
they are owed the fruit and the nourishment of the food,
the existence of every living being,
infinite thanks for being.
I would like to honor you as it should,
from root to crown,
each branch woven,
each folded moss ...
The day the last one leaves,
there will be nothing,
and many do not understand,
And maybe when they do it will be too late.
of elegant and noble green,
the sight in them is lost,
in their heavenly forms.
Holy grails spring from them,
rivers full of riches,
They are the queens, they are highnesses
of the earth entirely,
how beautiful it is to see first
when waking up its beauties.
They are crown in landscapes
of the peoples of the world,
sprouted from the deep
with its very firm anchors.
Mountains of the places,
thanks for giving sustenance,
for taking care of the strong wind,
we owe them shelter,
give shelter to the father, the son,
sorry for the bad, sorry.
With you life comes
to the desert before lost,
crying from the sky on,
smile that waters everything
and cheers the driest nest.
You are born in the sea, the river,
or the lake when the sun hits
and with its rays unfolds
heat, warding off the cold:
the steam goes and reaches the sky.
For you the seed sprouts,
the cow quenches the thirst,
thank you rain for you,
for every liquid drop
that endows the soil with life.
nations rise above you;
skeleton of the earth,
single block of the primeval house.
If I face you against yourself,
the spark arrives,
then the fire sprouts,
and the night was solved,
and the stomach will no longer sleep empty.
If I put you on yourself,
a wall rises,
and another, and another, and another,
the palm comes and covers from the rain,
and then we have shelter and rest.
If I take you and give you an edge,
I have to hunt and feed,
and make dresses
and other things.
Stone, foundational element,
the man appreciates your presence.
Green lady decking
every place on the planet,
in every space, every crack,
your presence always flows.
You are a mother, Pachamama,
sweet, attentive, understanding,
you are the living flame
to which life cries out.
For you the mountains happen,
the rivers, the skies, the seas,
all the holy altars,
since you bathe everything.
the stones keep your name,
secret you are for the man,
you and your vast vast empire.
Thank you for this existence,
Green lady, divine flower,
bird of light that trills
in each being and each essence.
From the sea, it is the heart
that beats deep in white foam,
and sneaks through the haze
giving the water its seasoning.
Came with an intention,
the flavor of life,
without it there is no need to ask
that tastes good and with pleasure,
your presence gives the fair,
the point to all food.
Sea or lagoon salt,
come out blessed are you for God,
and there are not two like you,
always good and timely.
There you are, from the cradle,
in our current blood,
in every dish present
pleasing the palate.
How can I not love you?,
If you are part of my people!
Do you see these hands? Have measured
the earth, they have separated
minerals and cereals,
they have made peace and war,
they have brought down the distances
of all seas and rivers,
how much they travel you
to you, little one,
grain of wheat, lark,
they do not reach to cover you,
get tired reaching
that rest or fly on your chest,
they travel the distances of your legs,
they roll in the light of your waist.
For me you are the most loaded treasure
of immensity that the sea and its clusters
and you're white and blue and long like
the land in the vintage.
In that territory,
from your feet to your forehead,
walking, walking, walking,
I will spend my life.
It-the Most Gentle Mother -Nature.
No child irritates her-
The weakest or the most willful-
Your Gentle Warning-
Hey the traveler-in the forest-
On the hill
Talkative Bird or Rampant Squirrel-
On a Summer Afternoon-
In His House-when the Sun goes down-
Pleasant is His Talk-
His voice in the hallway ignites
The Flower Prayer-
Of the tiny cricket-
When all the Sons sleep-
She just walks away
To light His Lamps-
Suspended in the sky-
and infinite care-
His golden finger on her lip-
Suddenly a voice arose from / the bare twigs above / in a passionate song of the evening / of boundless joy; / an old gray, weak, skinny and small / with feathers ruffled by the wind, / had decided to throw his soul / into the growing darkness./ What a small reason for Christmas carols / of such an ecstatic sound, / written about earthly things, / far or near, around, / that I could think that he was shaking / with his song of "happy Christmas Eve" / some blessed hope that he knew / and that I did not know. "
They closed the road through the forest
seventy years ago.
Bad weather, rain, they have erased it.
And now no one would say that once,
Before the trees took root, even,
there was a road here, through the forest.
It is under the heath and the anemones,
the bushes cover it;
and only the old man saves
knows that, where the pigeons nest
and the badger stir, there was a way
that crossed the forest.
But if you go there
in summer, already late, when the air
the night cools in the ponds
where trout and otters swim
they call their partners without fear of men
that they have never seen,
you will hear -if you go there- the trot of a horse
and the brush of a skirt on the wet leaves
through the dark, like
if they knew, they,
the path through the forest,
now that that path no longer exists
that crossed the forest.
To put in writing everything that I contain at this moment
I'd empty the desert through an hourglass,
the sea through an hourglass,
drop by drop and grain by grain
To the impenetrable, immeasurable seas and mutable sands released.
'Cause the days and nights of the earth crumble on me
the tides and the sands run through me,
and I only have two hands and one heart to hold the desert
and to the sea.
If it runs away and dodges me, what can I hold back?
The tides carry me away
the desert slides under my feet.
Season of mists and fruitful seasons,
intimate collaborator of a sun that already matures,
conspiring with him how to fill with fruit
and bless the vines that run through the fences,
bend the orchard trees with apples
and fill all fruit with deep maturity;
pumpkin puffy and plump hazelnuts
with a sweet interior; you sprout late
and numerous flowers until the bees
hot days believe endless
because the summer overflows from their viscous cells.
Who has not seen you in the midst of your goods?
Whoever seeks you must find you
sitting carelessly in a barn
sweetly fanned hair,
or in a furrow not reaped sunk in deep sleep
sucking poppies, while your sickle respects
the next sheaf of intertwined flowers;
or do you stand firm like a gleaner
head loaded when crossing a stream,
or next to a winepress with a patient gaze
you see the last cider ooze hour after hour.
Where with its songs is spring?
Don't think about them anymore but about your own music.
When the day between clouds faints blooming
and dyes the stubble a pink hue,
What pitiful chorus the mosquitoes complain
In the willows of the river, raised, descending
as the slight wind rekindles or dies;
And the lambs swing over the hills,
the crickets in the hedge sing, and the robin
with a sweet tiple voice he whistles in some orchard
and flocks of swallows chirp through the skies.
I have wished that a bird would move away
With its monotonous song from the threshold of my house.
From the door I have clapped my hands
When I thought I couldn't take it anymore.
In part it must have been my fault.
The evil was not from the bird with its music.
And by the way there must be some mistake
In wanting to silence any song.
A field mouse, being pulled from its burrow with a plowSmall, silky, fearful cornered beast What a great panic there is in your chest! You don't have to run away so fast, with so much fuss I don't mean to run after you with homicidal hoe. I really feel that the domain of man Has broken the pact that Nature establishes, and justify the wrong opinion What makes you look stunned poor fellow born of the earth. And equally deadly. I do not doubt, however, that it is possible that you steal What does it matter, poor creature, you have to live! An occasional spike from a sheaf it's small pretense. I'll be content with the rest And I will not miss it! Of your little house, also in ruins, its fragile walls the winds scatter And there is, now, to build a new, Fresh cut grass! And the miserable December winds are coming, as severe as alive! You who saw the fields remain bare and barren And how the harsh winter was getting on And here, warm, safe from the storm You thought you would stay until the cruel peasant passed and tore your shelter. That little pile of leaves and branches it had cost you a few grueling gnawing Now they've left you, after all your effort No home or home To endure the dripping downpours of winter And the cold morning dew.
To you apple,
with your name
you are new like nothing
of the aurora!
A wind came like a bugle-
Among the grass it trembled
And a green chill on the burning
fell down so ominous
That we close windows and doors
To some kind of Emerald Ghost-
The Electric Moccasin of Hado
It happened at that precise moment-
In a strange run over of panting trees
The Walled Fled
And the houses ran in the rivers
That's what those who lived saw - that Day-
Crazy in the bell tower
The winged news said-
How much can come and go and -yet- the World remains!