Sometimes
Things just burn
So vivid
With spectrum
Energy,
Almost more
Than the very light.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
beauty
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.
Beautiful Snail
Expressed in whorls
And soft tissue encased
And the fluid foot
In muscular reach,
Elegant as any
So long limbed
And herbivorous.
And what a beautiful
Tactile face
To sense
Moisture’s
Slick vehicle
And slide in silver grace:
The known world tasted
Through a moving salivation.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
To The Deep Blue
I yearn
For deeper blue
Of fathoms deep
And bottomless,
To which my thirsty skin
Might imbibe
The cool
And my heart
Might drink it in,
As if it were an oxygen,
Aqueous and limitless.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Lateness Of The Hour
Bark touched golden
And green needles
Bronzed
By the lateness of the hour.
Our outer heart
Reddened by atmosphere
And light speed
Through it.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
A Faraway Gaze
She finds sweet-bitter nostalgia
And the succulent melancholy
Of a faraway gaze,
In her wondering
At the grandeur:
And her place within it.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Beyond The Crowding Thoughts
Beyond the crowding thoughts
And all that shadows
Freedom’s choice
Glows blue sky
Width and dimension.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
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