The heart burns
With molten love
Disintegrates
All matters arising.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
beauty
Flawless
Clouds
So touched
By sunlight
And it’s setting
In the west
That they might
Harbour cherubs
In soft folds
And angels blushing orange
Upon the gilded edge.
In vapour robes
Of salmon pinks,
Moist in cirrus’s
Spiritual clothes
And cumulus draped
Upon their bodies
Like light
And sky blue complexions
To make their face
And eye depth
Flawless.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Simplicity
Sometimes
Just the simplicity
Of blue air
And the golden
Ripening in to it.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Drunk In The Thistle Head
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
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Beauty Happens
Time
Comforts us
With its work
In sweeping curves
And the pebbles
Refined
To grain equality,
Sorted
In gradual conformity
To the long shore laws
Of water physical
And air scouring
And light,
Daily ultra violet.
As the globe spins
On smooth mathematics
And physics
Impregnated with a spark
Of living light
Beauty
Just
Happens.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
The Very Light
Sometimes
Things just burn
So vivid
With spectrum
Energy,
Almost more
Than the very light.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Wildflower
Amid the stalks’ voice
And rustling breeze,
And upon the gently swaying stage
A perfect purple plate
Delivered
So sweetly to the need
Of butterfly, moth
And bees:
A flower for all
On which to feed
And burrow deep
Within its pleasure.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Importance Of Swallows
What is more important
Than summer swallows,
Blue on the wing
Hot on the lifting air
Fulfilled by rising insects
Swarming on scents
And invisible particulates:
The blooms of the sky
The language written hieroglyph
And aerodynamic,
And perfectly attuned
To being – – almost weightless?
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Collectors These
Collectors these,
Unsteady flyers free
And amiable
In the gathering task
And work
To sip the draught
And honey heart
Of flowers
In their ripeness.
And somehow,
More the summer
For their busy
Singleminded focus
And adherence
To the well heads
Of fragrant,
Floral syrup.
And somehow,
More the flowers
As if fluoresced
In admiring presence,
For they ‘are’
For the bees,
Just
As the bees ‘are’
For the flowers.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Now Buddleia
Now buddleia’s
Lit fuses
Burn purple
For all
Denomination
Of kind bee
And for any
Which
Nectar’s flower
Is sweet and fragrant
Must
In the gathering need.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
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