Nature Poetry Quotes

“no moon
the dark sky glad with stars
first crocus pokes winter in the ass”
― John C. Waugh, busted haiku

“Such aching mystery hides,
in your stardust-glimmer eyes.”
― John Mark Green, Taste the Wild Wonder: Poems

“I feel you calling, in the autumn sweet transformation.
I have reached my brightest green to the gold burning sun.
I have folded my colours into the wind,
bright colours taken to the sky.
My silk has gone to moisture in the rising atmosphere
and I am your colours again, deep and warm.
I hear your calling and I answer,
I come back to you, to slip inside the dark.
Will I be found by the decaying things?
Will I be found by the roots and drunk by tree and flower?
Will I slip and mingle and roll along,
find my way to a river and with it dance,
and give myself in a sigh to the ocean?
Will I scatter, a few fragments of sand –
my body to glisten beneath a caress of moonlight
as I make my way towards no more
as I find my way to forever”
― Tamara Rendell, Mystical Tides

“Morning's Serenade by Stewart Stafford

Stirred by a magpie's auction bids,
I opened up our curtained eyelids,
To pale dawn's reverential blinking,
Beyond my lady's distant inkling.

Anointed by the infant sun's rays,
I stand in regal morning’s praise;
Surveying virgin domain’s expanse,
Before the hatchling public dance.

The early-risen owl hoots carried far,
The songbirds played off fading stars,
Cockcrow drew in a loping red fox,
Scattering fawns and sheep flocks.

My lady spent, sports a drowsy crown,
Her chest rises, then slowly down,
Cityscape visions to last night's desire,
Golden tresses tossed in oriole fire.

To the kitchen, a connoisseur's start,
A lover's labour, a chef's work of art,
Crack avian treasures, new life's motif.
Ground coffee, perfumed weekend relief.

© Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“White blossoms on cold sheets;
Roses outside the garden's wall.

Falling feels easier than growing
Once you've reached each peak.”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“40

when failure and death and further instructions
finally are forgotten from your senses

when miles are to go, the stones begin to glow,
and you’ve for sustenance only breath

when finally exposure takes you, naked and exhaling,
and knowing is a feeling almost physical

listen… the whole world is speaking— can you hear
those trees, these poems, the sun’s light, the quiet?”
― Mark Kaplon, The Windswept Verses

“36

All week long
been weeding this field plot, planting the bean crop.
It is a shame for me
that I can't keep from watching those moths
who hover, past the rows in the goldenrods
landing in, drinking, and billowing off again
in the direction of cloud-torn, vaporous cliffs….”
― Mark Kaplon, The Windswept Verses

“34

I sat thinking in the scattering dusk
of distant coasts and the meetings there
until setting my feet I found myself
in a world of starlight—

the sky'd fallen, all dewy, into grass”
― Mark Kaplon, The Windswept Verses

“39

Walking in a going gust of air—
and to know the windswept way of the soul”
― Mark Kaplon, The Windswept Verses

“15

Words wander out
by breath to the edge of the sky
where, with time enough
alone, they range over and there— and
fledglings no more
migrate finally back to fall
effortless, into place”
― Mark Kaplon, The Windswept Verses

“... in sunshine both space and time expand

where was I? coming alive on my birthday
breaking to pieces on the rainbow islands

and who is she? a girl today
staying and straying on the rainbow islands

from a sunlit sea
see mountaintop to mountaintop arising
hear the crackle of rocks
in the bright light that falls
everywhere into place
forget your knees
to the breathlessness of peaks
and find them again by some pebbles

… seize me, release me, leave me
everywhere in space to be dispersing

and the colors of the wind parade
on the windswept way of the senses…

crunching over the rough-country cliffs
a cold drizzle begins—
inhale huge drafts
of water in the air
sizzle to the sprinkling feeling
of drizzle on skin
watch the surf pour
to crevices it has worn, hold—
and back out the black rock pushing

… whisk her, brisker, drop her
swifter over the crags like swift rains

and the rainclouds and the fierce winds howl
after the raging of the waves…

and to know every foot
of the land that holds you—
and, with soiled-brown hands,
set against the green of the land
and blue of the sky
sign the earth in gentle, rolling lines
loose with your tines
the living, pulsing root
of a carrot plant
bury the plants
in their beds to live
and bury me insensibly
over the earth from your open, rolling cart

lying on rock, drifting with the clouds
— the only constant is constant change—
ripples of flame, patterns in the waves
— paradise and creation are only sensations—
spearing reef-fish, inflating with the stars
— and heaven and earth forever simultaneous!

and the wheeling colors celebrate
on their way without a destination

wandering islands roam until they die—
with footsteps wrapt and dwelling
in whatever kind of weather
we live our lives with the space to be free
find in our eyes horizons on horizons”
― Mark Kaplon, The Windswept Verses

“lying on rock, drifting with the clouds
— the only constant is constant change—
ripples of flame, patterns in the waves
— paradise and creation are only sensations—
spearing reef-fish, inflating with the stars
— and heaven and earth forever simultaneous!”
― Mark Kaplon, The Windswept Verses

“How long
to go wandering
through the forest,
like a river stream
past bamboo groves
and paths lined with blossoms,
flowing with the wind
carrying echos of birdsongs
across mountains,
radiant with sun beams
sparkling in the spring afternoon.”
― Meeta Ahluwalia

“How I long
to go wandering
through the forest,
like a river stream
past bamboo groves
and paths lined with blossoms,
flowing with the wind
carrying echos of birdsongs
across mountains,
radiant with sun beams
sparkling in the spring afternoon.”
― Meeta Ahluwalia

“Pilgrim’s Progress by Stewart Stafford

Solitary steps in silence grim,
As waters lapped the lakeside’s rim,
In our time, before and aft,
Magpies cackled, crows laughed.

I drew level with a miasmic curtain,
In vapour folds, to views uncertain,
Sound grew thick in compensation,
I took each step with trepidation.

Sweet breath wind, fog dispersed,
Marvelling at the ground traversed,
The garden path to a shelter trite,
As hailstones on my windows bite.

© Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“The Birnam Oak by Stewart Stafford

Medieval guardian, limpet oak,
Reinforced branches, sunlit soak,
Gnarled limbs in supplicant pose,
A statuesque deity in thorny repose.

Set up tent 'neath a canopy deep,
Where my pilgrim forbears sleep,
Midges swarming campfire's glow,
And drowsy me, to slumber go.

May roots prosper far from sight,
Defying storm, flame, chainsaw's bite,
Give verdant breath to creation's plan.
Until Earth falls from human hand.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Wicklow's Bounty: Ode to the Irish Strawberry by Stewart Stafford

The Garden County's ruby hue;
Juicy gush with tart aftertaste,
Seeded cream teases the palate,
A Summer afternoon without haste.

Eireann's pride swallowed so well;
Sunburst flesh, chilled bitterness,
Enveloped in richest dairy pillows,
Feel the divine fingerprint finesse.

Amass nature's brief treasures,
Don't wait, dear brother/sister,
Before frosted breath chokes,
Turning land's song into a whisper.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“A Magic Hour’s Dreaming by Stewart Stafford

Is there a sight more fair than wheaten fields,
Awaiting the sun's ambush to potently ignite?
Colour vibrates beyond the eye revealed,
To live, dance and breathe in honeyed light.

Nature’s palette, painted hues so bright,
Invites the bees to sip and man to dream,
Of engineered art, dazzling to the sight,
Authored lightning in a celestial seam.

The creator’s canvas, mint beyond decay,
Invites the inner child to replenish at source,
Where Nature’s staff casts shadows away,
Friendships bond as a trickling stream's course.

An eyeblink flash carved in history's tree,
Treasured riches pooled of those by our side.
For in sepia’s sunflower memory,
We court the hand of an agreeable bride.

Fading birdsong underscores this bottled time,
In butterfly hearts, the hourglass stilled sublime.
Autumn's leaves, ochre embers, curtsied fall,
Farewell Summer, until roused in New Year's call.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“The Reaper's Harvest by Stewart Stafford

Vast underworld gates open on Samhain night,
The grail Sun winters there, in paling sight.
Unquiet spirits swarm forth in feral misprision,
Trick-or-treat landlords knock in spectral vision.

Autumn, perennially-early to Death's season,
Winter's welcome overstayed in icy reason.
Spring's distant wave thrills in emerging seed,
Summer's blush in full alignment decreed.

Snowflake to blossom, and greenery to withering;
As effigy reminders of cyclical dithering,
Seasonal standing stones sink to shifting sands,
Saplings of the forest’s new strength, in nature’s hands.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“God's Grand Weather Machine by Stewart Stafford

Some say: 'Send storm clouds back to sender;
Into God's omnipotent weather machine.'
Let them come, I say, and cleanse me,
Reborn for the second time as a teen.

Improvising with nature's gifted props;
Perspective in motion, despite the scene,
To go without sleep for fear of nightmares?
Insomniac strike - we're dreamers, not the dream.

Skies beyond our grasp caress down;
As raindrop punctuation marks careen,
Spin your watery partner on the floor,
Absent of weather critics venting spleen.

Thunderous applause greets our every move,
Hoping lightning's ovation strikes the forest trees.
We shuffle and shimmy as sky spray slicks steps,
Dancing to judges' scorecards of degrees.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“You say a flower doesn’t dream? I say not. Every day the flower lifts her head to the skies, as she gazes at the rays of the sun. She looks at the sun in admiration; she looks within at her beaut. Every day the flower lives in her essence and shines it boldly to the world. She daydreams of love, she makes love with the sun. She is connected to the rest in her garden. Through love and community, the flower lives in beauty. The flower lives in an eternal dream of beauty.”
― Natalia Beshqoy, Awakening: Spiritual Poems for Humanity

“You say a flower doesn’t dream? I say not. Every day the flower lifts her head to the skies, as she gazes at the rays of the sun. She looks at the sun in admiration; she looks within at her beauty. Every day the flower lives in her essence and shines it boldly to the world. She daydreams of love, she makes love with the sun. She is connected to the rest in her garden. Through love and community, the flower lives in beauty. The flower lives in an eternal dream of beauty.”
― Natalia Beshqoy, Awakening: Spiritual Poems for Humanity

“But the flower can be no other. And in its natural state, it is fragile. It is vulnerable within a dangerous environment. However, despite its fragility and vulnerability, it continues to flourish throughout nature. Its seeds move in ways that can't be controlled and it grows fields of flowers.”
― Natalia Beshqoy, Awakening: Spiritual Poems for Humanity

“Beachcomber by Stewart Stafford

Sundial straight, I strode onshore,
Waves pulsing like a foetal lullaby,
Canine companion nestling my knee,
A chef's kiss-of-life breathing space.

Looking glass shimmer at the cliff's base,
Tranquility’s wellspring beneath my feet,
Sanctum of meditation, a paused life retreat,
My seagull eyewitnesses hovering above.

The seclusion sought yielded rewards,
A hit of joie de vivre in its purest form,
The sky’s spotlight and the humid wind,
Senses alive with the lapping, busy tide.

Nascent cloud veils gather at magic hour,
Amber inferno, foretaste of paradise,
Welcomed, savoured, and appreciated,
Driftwood floating home on sunset waters.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“do you hear them?

they sing like their hearts might burst

the trees sift their tunes

weaving a sacred dialogue between the land and the other

won’t you stop and listen

this is what joy sounds like

effortless

free”
― Malebo Sephodi

“Shiuli blooms in the rain,
white petals kissing mud,
like forgotten prayers
on a monk’s lips. I stand barefoot,
letting the downpour
wash the city from my skin.
You are not here,
yet your scent
lingers in every drop”
― Avijeet Das, A Handful of Shuilis

“El viento de otoño silbó su inestable cancioncilla y ella, abstraída, comenzó a bailar.”
― Amara Muhurta, Momentos que se esfuman para crear otros

“Meet me at midnight
in the forest of my dreams.
We’ll make a fire
and count the stars
that shimmer
above the trees.”
― Christy Ann Martine, She'll Find the Sky: A Collection of Poems

“The April Maiden by Stewart Stafford

April’s reticent light emerges,
Pilgrim companion of the ways;
A restored year’s castle steps
To vantage battlement days.

Heatwaves or hailstorms flip,
Ovum time to tepidness imposed;
Turbulent banquet or ravenous hunger,
A fairy door mirage open/closed.

Flailing April showers scratch,
A searing baptism filled with ire;
Hatchling white-flags the oncoming year,
Childhood spark kindles maturity's fire.

© 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Isn’t it trust
that lets the river give itself to the sea
not knowing if its name will survive the salt..
that lets the moon surrender to darkness
certain the sun will one day find her..
that sends roots downward
into what they cannot see
sure the unseen will answer..
that carries the wind
to rest against the mountain
knowing the stone will not turn away..!?

Isn’t it trust
this primal covenant beneath all motion
where yin carries a fragment of yang
and yang holds the shadow of yin
each completing the other
without asking to be assured..!?
©
”
― Monika Ajay Kaul