I am not a nature poet. There is almost always a person in my poems.

Never discuss the poem you contemplate writing. It's like turning on the outside spigot. It takes all the pressure off the upstairs bathroom.

Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.

Lord, I have loved Your sky,Be it said against or for me,Have loved it clear and high,Or low and stormy.

I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.