Voracious Hunters

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Intent on the new leaf
They hunt
By gliding night,
Sensing every
Quivering first bud,
Every glimpse
Of a shoot
Emerging
From the earth’s
Protective coat.
And in slow,
Slow pounce
They are voracious
In their work
And in their appetite,
Stripping their prey
To the tattered
And skeletal
Ragged flags
Of a former glory.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Grandfather Seaweed

Foremost
Is the tidal law,
For it is ever commanding
And in some ways stronger
Than the day’s diurnal yaw
And opening and closing eye.

Half his time
In soporific muse
And daydream,
With his cheek
Wet to the grey glutin
Of sediments
And the cool sulphur stink
Of mud layered greasy.

There are birds in his daydream;
Seagulls and waders patterning
The slick shiny surfaces
With criss cross footprints.
If only he could raise himself up!
But his body is limp to the rock
And deflated on the mud flat.

But then on the turning tide:
First joy to his lifted toe tips,
In salt water push.
And then to his green weed calves,
And then his body
And his weighty sargasso clothes.

Soon the daydreams seep away
And all is bluegreen oxygen
And the free thoughts
Of kelp
Suspended in the water column.
He is fully awake
When his bladder rack fringe
Lifts from his barnacle face
And shimmers and depicts
The current flow
And the playfulness
Of water’s irregularity.

Now he breathes
His water-lung
Saltwater full,
And is bright in his octopus eye,
Excited in saline energy,
Full as the moon,
Full as Equinox:
His mind
Teaming with ideas
Of fish
And aquatic snails
And colourful sponge
And the jewels of anemones,
And the bright eyed shrimp
And the lobster’s wariness
And the majestic conger eel,
And the multitude nameless
Who peak tentative from beneath:

All of which he collects
With silver brown hands
And algal finger-leaves,
Adhering them
To his stone skin
And the nooks and crevices therein,
Making himself beautiful
And decorative.
The under-garden home,
His living benthic cloak,
Gathered up
And to the underworld
Unfurled,
Given
To his legacy
And grandchildren,
In wet plethora
And numerous cold blooded.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

https://distilledvoice.com/2015/07/20/father-greenseed-and-his-work/ ‎

Family Friends

You know those
Family friends
Whose house
Nestles deep
Within a rural village;
Where time follows
Its own wholesome course
And wellies are never far
From being worn
On Sunday walks
Through fields
And quiet footpaths;
Where afternoons
Are your own,
Comfortable in arm chairs
Or at the long lunch
Where the food
Is as fresh as the company
And somehow tastier
For being plucked
From gardens near
And in harvest’s
Flush of giving.

Well,
This is us.
In our thoughts
And in our place,
And in our home
From home.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Dedicated to and inspired by Pig Hotel Nr Bath http://www.thepighotel.com

Drunk In The Thistle Head

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Drunk in the thistle head,
Bees become
Comforted
In the leisure
Of the drug
Emitted like scent
And colour.
No longer
The wary leg
Raised
And body tilted
In defensive
‘Keep away’
For heads
Burrow deep
As forgetting.
And what was happy work
Is just the blissful dream
Of being
Carefree and abundant,
And being so very drunk
On the utter taste of love.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Inspired and for la petite maison bijoux http://grahy.fr

In Her Butterfly Breath

In the air around
In her warm breath
In her aura.
In the space
That she owns,
Crossed by no other.
In her own land,
The country
Of her soul’s endeavour

There are butterflies
In swarms,
In every multicolour
And species creed.

They are
The myth of her lightness,
For on invisible strings
She is anchored
To every flutter
And delicate wingbeat,
And held aloft
As any lucky cloud
Is mystical
In the wind’s drift
And by the sky delivered.

It’s as if
They were part of her
And her body
Were just food stuff
On which the insects
Come to fill and feast:
Her heart
– A chalice –
Nectar deep,
The sweet centre
Of a spirit flower
That she is

In the ether-other
Beyond the solid and tangible
Regulations of the
World we live.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015