We Were Kids

We set out as kids
On summer days,
Rummaging through
The undergrowth
Beneath sycamore and elder,
With mists of cow parsley
In the balance of our eyes
And swathes neck deep
On every side.
We were explores
Cutting the pungent stems
With machetes made from sticks
And the magic designed
In childhood minds,
Mapping uncharted banks
And the untended nooks
Behind garages,
Where cut grass
Disgorged from the garden’s arse
Sweated in heaps,
And old bikes
Were colonised
By wild grass
That rustled as we pushed by
On days that ranged so broad
We couldn’t perceive their endings.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

Husband

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With March pleasant in the air
My gardener’s fingers
Find soil smudge
In their ready tips.

And the light footed heart
Of daffodil magic
And sunshine breath
Skips like lambs

To the work of seeds
Pregnant in their trays.
And I think:
On days like these

It’s not only the lungs that breathe
But the skin
And the brain
And the body,

And I feel that with the mellow rays
Of springtime in the bird’s announcing,
Man really could be
True husband to the world

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

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

Wish

To the tight
To the tearless
To the dried
And desiccated
To the dead
Who still inhabit

I wish
The hot breath
Of Aslam
The gentle touch
Of Jesus Christ
The Buddha’s smile
Mohammad’s light
And the unsung strength
Of every mother
Who loved their child
And the fathers
Who stood
Strong and watchful.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Siblings In Mind

For all of us
Who write
There is kinship
In the pen
And a pleasing
Camaraderie of spirit.

Yet such
Are the plethora
Of minds
That being this
Is like belonging
To a wide
And diverse continent.

The best
Is when understanding
Traverses time
And space,
And a bond
Of likeness
Joins

In selfness
Expressed:
Like looking in to the mirror
And seeing the real
Familiar
Of a brother
Or a sister,
Newly found.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015