1630 Nature poems

I once rejoiced, sweet evening gale, To see thy breath the poplar wave; But now it makes my cheek turn pale, It waves the grass o’er Henry’s grave. Ah! setting sun! how changed I seem! I to thy rays prefer deep gloom, — Since now, alas! I see them beam Upon my Henry’s lonely tomb. Sweet evening gale, howe’er I seem, I wish thee o’er my sod to wave; Ah! setting sun! soon mayst thou beam On mine, as well as Henry’s grave!

The wings pierce as if they were eternity. —Shuzo Takiguchi The Japanese Crested Ibis is now extinct. “To claim as arcane vapour ruination by intrigue by kindled leprosy morays so that I take up in my glottis these moral hallucinogens which actively dim which nourish themselves on behalf of active heavenly terror as if forking my verbs with cryptography with bird interrogation with a haunted crystallography of deception mentally cross-fertilized with defective aural lobotomies so that I momentarily sing with a cosmic catch in my wings floating above a black waterfall of rye dazzled by partial torments by seeming in-seminal scatterings by snow in smoking germinal mazes it could be said that my blood has been scorched by intensive Venusian plasma by updrafts of wheat by molecules that slaughter my throat continuously parched by wild in-secular genetics by unfiltered parchment by incipient nerve cuisines empowered by listless cranial singing carving androgynous shapes with my voice me an ominous fluttering angel kept aloft by diagrams of smouldering electrical truth as a tempestuous solar charisma I can never speak in terms of oceanic remorse or with the temperament of fictitious remedial doves no I am heightened by sudden sociological flaws by prisms of seasoned parallel tornadoes though shattered by various Saxon devices I am the flame throughout the soaring absolute I denigrate I take on sanguine territorial opposition with a force enriched with untoward fertility with a dominate tendency to waver with excessive a-regional metrics with inhaled phantasmics spilled on fortuitous migrational soils there is ermine there is discourse by nugget there is scarification by increase each of my echoes spinning through pictographic parabolas graphic with indecisive incest which abstractly reduces which plummets into the frothing systemic of bees a crepuscular arachnoidal utterance by sun bells by pestilential archive by vivid tourmaline exposure there is expressed interstice flotational temperature by prophet by sun exposed Greek therefore a palace erected in bone plazas to worship each grainy avian heaven each tumultuous spire by detraction so that there exists the one true clarity the cloudy singular beam more blinding than sun noons on Mercury pinnacle by rot by hovering phoneme & tremor by sorcerous frigate & plasma by flaming interior sign by defenseless grenadine morals as with Enoch* I continue my metamorphosis singing in capsized tarantula tree melodramatic by despair cogitation by a sense of entrapment split along the cusp of a-tonal meridians each guttural burst struggling at great odds at hieroglyphical knife point dazed with magnetic electrical fuchsia each of my wingbeats as death as co-existent termination as spoiled rudiment by colour so I splice my lamentations & open the diachronic to spawned confusional rotations amidst the equator of sundogs heated by corrupted memorial sparks my beak aligned with cryptographic cunning with tantric scratches inside my steaming ink well treaties my aggressions in tune with an aching heraldic nopal its coronal glare flashing upon a-clinical watery mnemonics filled with carnivorous morphine & diamonds flying in Bardo* above the scattered wrath of oneiric sesame pontoons eclectic with my knowledge of furious marginal germs & diseases hyper-extended with discord those bony schismatic ghosts fused by synchronic retinal burning drawing from the sky a milk seasoned with phlogiston & Hittite galvanics yes chandas flecked* with sulphurous heretical clauses because I deny & re-invigourate I tear down I re-pontificate the bile from empty animal invasions breaking through poisoned civil cataleptics entangling quotidian farm worlds with my traitorous acids culled from a barbarous daily wine here I am winged with oracular sun-dust flowers my eyes scattered into translated demon like a blue demonic spy sailing across transparent carrion planes so as to re-inhabit the dead so as to scan the weightless centigrade margins in one simple respiration I summon the tendencies of electrocuted corpses the stony wrath of drowned Phoenician sailors my voice drills with North Asian alewahs* akin to compounded rock points on Vesta or Ceres yes I drain from stars pre-glottal alluviums moth ceramics a chalice of rote pestles shaped by incipient hulls of deadly carbon grains I sing across distracted ingress baying with sounds not even the dead can decipher I can only increase funeric confusion the invisible force which uplifts the void which ingests the force of negation & mirage yet I sculpt in weakened anti-negation spasms rampant with fire distorting by quotidian thumb piano by plagues which sustain gregarious verbal gestation subsumed from susurrations extracted from the scattered logistics of Titans from the fevered optical beams spilled from greenish sundial eternities Ramses* or Hatshepsut* or Akhenaton* invading as cherished cyclical spores their luminescence by blankness by swarming alchemical moons by bewildering errata as in rum by higher being by serpentine & flowing whiplash ideology above all I’ve cosmically transmuted the atmospheric bone the dementia enveloped by protest by turquoise weight & somnific solar inclusion singing by eclipse torrent by waves of flame erupting from mirrors & dreams of post- extinction a geneaology of circles beyond aphids’ scribbling & logical strontium dialectic my bleeding unbearable shadows brewing a sumptuous fever of poetic electrical charisma its lightning shafts of snow & rum & blood mixed with the grains of stunning axial omegas”

They have no song, the sedges dry, And still they sing. It is within my breast they sing, As I pass by. Within my breast they touch a string, They wake a sigh. There is but sound of sedges dry; In me they sing.

At the sight of the great light dawning in that glad night, small birds come singing to celebrate him with their sweet voices. And even the imperial eagle, soaring on the wind, sings a melodious song, saying:   Jesus is born to lift us from sin and bring us joy.

Nightingale singing—gale of Nanking Sing—mystery of Ming-dynasty sing ing in Ming Syringa Myringa Singer Song-winged sing-wind syringa ringer Song-wing sing long syringa lingerer

On the other side of this door You are an oyamel native to the mountains of Mexico Rising in a cloud forest of sister evergreens Shedding pollen cones, shedding winged seeds Our lost wings singly and in pairs. This is why the monarchs vanish Raising sienna-hued colonies longer than my arms Hibernating in Mexico where it’s hotter in January than my front yard, where the red bougainvillea raves And magnolias             with a mauve rush on paper And open as though thinking about last year’s novels Read over the shoulders of garden-strollers Obey the apostle’s exhortation And do everything in love.

Sometimes I, I go about pitying Myself While I am carried by the wind Across the sky.

(from As You Like It ) Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.

(from Love's Labors Lost ) When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he: “Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo!” O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, “Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo!” O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring-owl, “Tu-who; Tu-whit, tu-who!”—a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, “Tu-who; Tu-whit, tu-who!”—a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

(from The Tempest ) Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.