This poem was inspired by a photo by Steven Schwartzman.
https://portraitsofwildflowers.wordpress.com
As if
We needed more proof
Than this
For worldly significance
Of the microcosm
In the macrocosm
And the fractal maps
That return again
And yet again
To the shapes in our eyes.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
In the cool
Beneath the dappling,
Groves of wild garlic
Grow lush:
Flowers thrust
To the damp and shadow
As wanton spires
Of creamy white petal
And green, sweet scent
Speak of soil, rich
With root bound nutrient
Of the earth found hollow.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Not in the stone
Or the frame of the flowers,
Not in the lawn or the trees
Or the generous borders.
Only in the eye
Who perceives,
The I
Who perceives.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
In the muted blues
And metal greys
Of sea and skyscape ranging
Wide and windless rippled,
Purple flowers
Strew the tussock,
Guiding light footsteps
Through the hummock greens
To the ways of the coastal path.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
There but a breath from here
Flows the ever stream
Of loveliness.
There in the body
Flows its warm mist,
Delightful as spring energy.
It says without words.
It says
If listened to or ignored.
It says nevertheless
And cares not for being heard
Or even acknowledged.
It is gift
For it is given without clause,
No distinction
Is Required, demanded or extorted.
It is a gift for all,
Without division
Or judgement imposed.
All may quench their thirst:
Worthy or unworthy
Good or bad as they come.
It just comes
For it is given to all.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Mid May cow parsley
Dematerialises in the lightest points
Of its flowers,
Alters reality with Hubris cologne,
Reaches with molecules:
Heaps and loads
The air
With sex,
Sweetens and fills
Sweetens and fills,
Purfumes to intoxicated mix
Of heady, pungent scentliness.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
She finds the dream
On spring days, in old villages,
In gardens and in flowers.
Something happens
As if reacting to the sun
For she shines like yellow petals
And smiles, her face upturned
And her eyes closed.
She absorbs
And then offers back her radiance.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
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