1630 Nature poems

1 mudstone crumbs shell fragments finest sand tidal grind every day every night a medium of crawling life compressed baked lifted blown away salt marsh shallow soil shingle marram grass fescue grass tidal path creek of pollen falls in whispers in the clay in the loam in the top of  the soil in the sand in the molt of  the sea in the light sand the light sound of shift in the swash zone waves burrow for release in the bend of  the body I balance my current only takes me back when seawards seawards is the call of my curve & no turning 2 Two large cormorants flew rapidly and very low across the water heading directly towards Langstone Rock, where Dawlish Warren joins the coast just beyond the western edge of the Exe estuary. Their wing tips were almost touching the choppy water. This must have been about 7:45 on Friday morning; I was thirty yards or so out in the sea, only my head visible between the waves that the cormorants flew in among as they powered along one behind the other. I had come down the concrete lifeboat ramp and taken just a few steps on wet sand scattered with various shells, little gleaming stones, and scraps of seaweed, getting quickly into the cool water. The sky was piled up with dark gray cloud overhead but clear and bright at the horizon. The two birds passed close by and continued on their way indifferent to me watching them from the water and they gave no indication if they saw anything unusual. she swam only at night on the spring tides in the silk light of water slipping her over the mud flats when they studied why she did it drifted far beyond her limits though it made her vulnerable to prey several theories came but none swam at night in a spring tide in the silk light unsure of itself becoming only what is left after breaking 3 herring gull black-headed gull arctic tern oystercatcher turnstone sanderling carrion crow jackdaw white wagtail rock pipit peregrine kestrel buzzard brent goose cormorant kingfisher farther out gannet stomach of fur coughed up at low tide stranded snowfall of fur dusting the mouth sanded out of this worms fall soft as whispers coiling into faun- ing “Aphrodita” & out of her hair come the corpses of a swallowed sea 4 mussel shell oyster shell clam shell cockle shell whelk shell limpet shell winkle shell razor shell crab shell lobster shell prawn shell sea lettuce she windblown sand seashell sand shifting sand she sea sandwort sea rocket sea holly she half sand she both sea she half sea she both sand she is a both-formed thing she wool sand cotton sand wood sand she sea leather sea crystal sea skin she half wool she both skin she half skin she both wool she is a woollen skin she asphalt soil nylon soil sandy soil she landscape escape seascape she half soil she both scape she half scape she both soil she escapes 5 And swimming my slow breast stroke out to the channel I saw a darkwinged butterfly come flying in above the waves, moving with the breeze, heading for the dunes. Was this a migrant painted lady, third generation, from Africa? drifter           on the surface upside           down dead water floater             upper                  sheltered on the littoral fringe lower                  very sheltered swimmer upward                 of hundreds    of thousands of hundreds    of thousands of hundreds   of thousands   of hundreds   of thousands   of hundreds of thousands   of hundreds   of thousands   of hundreds   of thousands        of hundreds        of thousands       of hundreds             of thousands of hundreds of thousands of hundreds             of thousands        of hundreds        of thousands       of hundreds             of thousands        of hundreds        of houses             of hundreds             of houses of          of hundreds        of houses             of hundreds             of houses of          of sands               of houses             of sand                      of houses of          of sand                 of hums               of sand                      of hums                 of sand                 of hum                 of sand                      of humming

How slow an approach when viewed from a distance. How more likely the encounter if the ground is clear A voice saying always “go ahead” calls it freedom Above the 27th parallel is the heat I know as home, in my bones always untouched by city’s cool centrifuge that refracts a kind of light which bursts and vanishes on the spot Heading North, I escape the fray Green hem of the outskirts, roadside façade of forest, hiding a casement of burnt earth, silent as myself Outside, a poet ghosts a window Writing back into life his night parrots. I drive lines from water to water, guzzle roadhouse coffee Warming up, there is a conflict of appetite, a suburban tree, black with cockatoos shucking almonds A dolphin trapped in a rock pool Cane toads storming the Kimberley in wet, find it planted with sugar An olive python curled under a van belly beaded with feral kittens After three days of seated travel I lunge from the car, sprint the length of jetty, deaf to the man screaming warning. Only in midair do I look down to the sea, the time it takes to panic Two yellow-and-black krait, vivid bandwidth of danger, turning on the turquoise surface, and all I can do, is fall

I.  Spring We burst forth, crisp green squads bristling with spears. We encircle the pond. II.  Summer Brown velvet plumes bob jauntily. On command, our slim, waving arrows rush toward the sun. III.  Fall All red-winged generals desert us.  Courage clumps and fluffs like bursting pillows. IV. Winter Our feet are full of ice. Brown bones rattle in the wind. Sleeping, we dream of seed-scouts, sent on ahead.

Summer-long the gulls’ old umbra cry unraveled ease but certain waves went by, then by. The sky shook out the days. The seabirds’ hunger rose in rings, flung rock-clams to their shatterings, raked gullets full, the bone-bills scraped. High noon: oceans of time escaped. * All winter we slept benched together, breakers, sleepdrunk children in a car not conscious where they go. We kneaded bread, kept out the weather, while old suspicions huddled by the door, mice in the snow. * In spring, the leaving bloomed— oak leaf unfurled, a foot, resplendent vigorous, aching to shake loose but still dependent. One morning moongreen loaves rose into bones that rose to lift our skin like sleeves, our time together’s revenant. * Perennial fall, come cool the cliffs, bring quiet, sulfur, early dark. Represent as you must: dusk, dying, ends and row us into winter’s water: The body, wind-whipped, forms stiff peaks, ice settles in the marrow bone. At the chest, the live stone breaks against the beak, beak breaks against stone.

1 Clouds so thick they put down roots Young aspen practising quakers Incoming geese Periwinkle sign passports brings remission with a V of the blues Feel the sun butting the buds open Blossoms Trout lilies nod expand they know the sky they know Lilac a scent by which we mark the calendar Weather report May? showers By all means and fresh rainbows Yes. You May 2 Crickets ventriloquists of summer Loon cries increase the loneliness of lakes It’s untrue They leave that that bats to the silence make it darker of owls Morning warblers refresh the joy of hearing Comes the hedgehog And the bumblebee who lives on pins non-aerodynamic and needles existentialist Horses stand awash in the setting sun Anticipate Nighthawks if you can swoop the firefly’s flash gathering the evening 3 Prophetic winds fill the graveyard with signposts Then a scurry of stormspurred sparrows A lamentation of geese Hummingbird leaves in the early to cruise dusk the Carribean Squirrels pad their acorn accounts Cedar waxwing Blue jay insists feathered scholar it’s never too late knows his berries to scold Grackle predicts a turn for the worse Flies buzz in this cast-iron against the chill autumn pane stained with rust 4 Fly husks on sills reflect the year’s demise Ptarmigan advises “kuk-kuk-kuk go back-goback” Deer bundle Coyote lingers in the laurel to school us thickets in survival Fashionable spruce knows how to wear snow Strange angels Frostfeathers leave their three-D lace shadows the cabin glass Cabin Fever medicine runs low As Days does begin the woodpile to lengthen

It was a blessèd time we were at the beach Go out early in the morning no shoes no hats no ties And quick as a toad’s tongue can reach Love wounded the hearts of the mad and the wise Did you know Guy when he galloped along When he was a military man Did you know Guy when he galloped along When he was an artiman In the war It was a blessèd time At mail call We are squeezed in tighter than on a bus And the stars passing by were mimicked by the shells In the night when the cannons came rolling up Did you know Guy when he galloped along When he was a military man Did you know Guy when he galloped along When he was an artiman In the war It was a blessèd time Days and nights blending The stew-pot shells gave our trench dugout Aluminum shrapnel that you set about Smoothing all day into an unlikely ring Did you know Guy when he galloped along When he was a military man Did you know Guy when he galloped along When he was an artiman In the war It was a blessèd time The war goes on The Gunners have filed for part of a year Safe in the woods the Driver can hear An unknown star repeating a song Did you know Guy when he galloped along When he was a military man Did you know Guy when he galloped along When he was an artiman In the war Translated from the French

It started about noon.  On top of Mount Batte, We were all exclaiming.  Someone had a cardboard And a pin, and we all cried out when the sun Appeared in tiny form on the notebook cover. It was hard to believe.  The high school teacher We’d met called it a pinhole camera, People in the Renaissance loved to do that. And when the moon had passed partly through We saw on a rock underneath a fir tree, Dozens of crescents—made the same way— Thousands!  Even our straw hats produced A few as we moved them over the bare granite. We shared chocolate, and one man from Maine Told a joke.  Suns were everywhere—at our feet.

Don’t worry, spiders, I keep house casually. New Year’s Day— everything is in blossom! I feel about average. The snow is melting and the village is flooded with children. Goes out, comes back— the love life of a cat. Mosquito at my ear— does he think I’m deaf? Under the evening moon the snail is stripped to the waist. Even with insects— some can sing, some can’t. All the time I pray to Buddha I keep on killing mosquitoes. Napped half the day; no one punished me!

A moth lies open and lies like an old bleached beech leaf, a lean-to between window frame and sill. Its death protects a collection of tinier deaths and other dirts beneath. Although the white paint is water-stained, on it death is dirt, and hapless. The just-severed tiger lily is drinking its glass of water, I hope. This hope is sere. This hope is severe. What you ruin ruins you, too and so you hope for favor. I mean I do. The underside of a ladybug wanders the window. I wander the continent, my undercarriage not as evident, so go more perilously, it seems to me. But I am only me; to you it seems clear I mean to disappear, and am mean and project on you some ancient fear. If I were a bug, I hope I wouldn’t be this giant winged thing, spindly like a crane fly, skinny-legged like me, kissing the cold ceiling, fumbling for the face of the other, seeking. It came in with me last night when I turned on the light. I lay awake, afraid it would touch my face. It wants out. I want out, too.

The grasses are light brown and the ocean comes in long shimmering lines under the fleet from last night which dozes now in the early morning Here and there horses graze on somebody’s acreage Strangely, it was not my desire that bade me speak in church to be released but memory of the way it used to be in careless and exotic play when characters were promises then recognitions.  The world of transformation is real and not real but trusting. Enough of these lessons?  I mean didactic phrases to take you in and out of love’s mysterious bonds? Well I myself am not myself and which power of survival I speak for is not made of houses. It is inner luxury, of golden figures that breathe like mountains do and whose skin is made dusky by stars.