Death of a Naturalist

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Islanders too are for sculpting. be aware the pointed scowl, the mouth carved as upturned anchor and the polished head packed with drownings. There he comes now, a difficult pen scraping in his head; the nib filed on a salt wind and dipped within the keening sea. Saint Francis and the Birds whilst Francis preached like to the birds, They listened, fluttered, throttled up Into the blue like a flock of phrases published for enjoyable from his holy lips. Then wheeled again, whirred approximately his head, Pirouetted on brothers’ capes, Danced at the wing, for sheer pleasure performed And sang, like pictures took flight. Which used to be the simplest poem Francis made, His argument actual, his tone mild. In Small Townlands For Colin Middleton In small townlands his hogshair wedge Will break up the granite from the clay until crystal within the rock is bared: Loaded brushes hone an side On mountain blue and heather gray. Outcrops of stone agreement, outstared. The spectrum bursts, a vivid grenade, while he unlocks the protection trap On morning dew, on cloud, on rain. The splintered lighting fixtures slice like a spade That strips the land of fuzz and blotch, Pares fresh as bone, merciless because the ache That moves in a wild center assault. His eyes, thick, grasping lenses, hearth This naked bald earth with white and crimson, Incinerate it until it’s black And outstanding as a funeral pyre: a brand new global cools out of his head. the people Singers Re-turning time-turned phrases, becoming every one weathered track To a new-grooved concord, They pluck slick strings and swing a tragic heart’s equilibrium. Numb ardour, pearled within the shy Shell of a rustic love And strung on a frail song, seems to be sharp now, moves a pose like several rustic new to the brilliant city. Their pre-packed story will promote 10000 occasions: faded love Rouged for the streets. buzzing Solders all damaged hearts. Death’s part Blunts at the narcotic strumming. The Play means solar pillars via glass, probes every one table For milk-tops, consuming straws and outdated dry crusts. The track strides to problem it, blending reminiscence and hope with chalk airborne dirt and dust. My lesson notes learn: instructor will play Beethoven’s Concerto quantity 5 and sophistication will show themselves freely In writing. One stated ‘Can we jive? ’ while I produced the list, yet now the massive sound has silenced them. better And more impregnable, every one authoritative notice Pumps the study room up tight as a tyre, operating its inner most spell in the back of eyes That stare vast. they've got forgotten me For as soon as. The pens are busy, the tongues mime Their blundering embody of the loose note. A silence charged with sweetness Breaks brief on misplaced faces the place I see New seems to be. Then notes stretch taut as snares. They journey To fall into themselves unknowingly. own Helicon For Michael Longley As a toddler, they can now not retain me from wells And previous pumps with buckets and windlasses. I enjoyed the darkish drop, the trapped sky, the smells Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.

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