Fishes

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In the miraculous fish
That come again and again
Like tide to the table
Forever sustained
And always providing
A predictable nourishment,
We encounter
The earthbound principle
Of abundance
Found in habitat
The world over.

If only we could open our eyes
To the reality of the fish
And discard
All those meagre imposters
Who swim the dark waters
Of our fearful minds,
Whispering demise
Instead of flourishing
On currents
Of forever replenishing
And upwellings of bringing
That swell in offering
Despite our reluctance to see.

 

Copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & distilledvoive

Self Indulgent Poem

 

for pure indulgence
of the word
on the white plate:
 –
the way it works,
tempting
my mouth to salivate.
 –
it’s a freshly cooked crab
still incapsulated red
but crackable
 –
and meat sweet juicy
as carnal love
and oysters’ tide
 –
and drunkenness
in the self indulgence
of the body’s desires.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Old Butcher

Unafraid of the white
Rind
Of sweet fat
Wound around the ham joint,
He cuts a handsome slice,
Layers it against a wedge of cheese
And closes the well buttered bun,
Offering it
Like it was a generous food,
As rich and fulfilling
As cream atop the milk
And the wheat’s
Golden milling
To finest workable powder.

He will die a good death
Before his mind
Thinks these precious gifts
Are otherwise
Or contra to
The land’s harvest
And man’s festival
In receiving its pleasure
And its goodness.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015