beauty

Root Question

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

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No less
The channelled stream,
Roots
Pool slowly
Over a hundred years.

To our fast eyes
They seem still.
But to the stone
Looking on,
They are a mass
Of writhing tentacles,
Searching water source
Like whiskered mole’s
Thirsty earthward
Push and burrowing.

Are these living pipes
And strands of cellulose
The captors of water’s
Slip and silver
Or are the trees
The means
By which water
Yearns to alter state,
Transpirate
To lighter, airy
Agitation?

Are my eyes
But liquid desire
To see,
In beauties reflection,
The flow
Working through
The All
And everything?
Am I served
Or do I serve
The blood
Of the fluid earth?

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Flows Over Eons

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

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Flows
Over eons
Work stone,
Fluid polishing
And gullying
The rock,
In summer trickle
Winter lock
And spring gush,
Carving bowles
And scoops
And sockets
In edifice
So cool pools
Dwell transparent
In blueness,
And shimmer
Soda bubble fresh
Where cataracts
Endlessly burrow.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

The Low Angle Sun

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

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The stream breathes
Cool and damp
To the foliage hues,
Moist to the hollow
And bank,
And Shadowed
By the lateness of the hour.

Only in a patch
Of borrowed light
Do poplars glow
Golden on every leaf,
Their high thoughts fluttering
In the low angle sun.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Highlights

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

She has highlights in her hair,
The butter kiss
Of summer light
And fragrant breeze
Painted there.

But it’s her thoughts
That wear
The gold
Of lifted mood
And tussle
Beautiful

In halcyon
Of lofty space
And blue sky
Incantation,
Where shine
Is gloss
Upon the body

And soul
Is spirit
Reaching through matter.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Flawless

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

angel

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

Drunk In The Thistle Head

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

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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

Beauty Happens

~ distilledvoice ~ 1 Comment

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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