Gnats Rise

Gnats rise
To their dusk dance:
Life in transient, delicate form
Upon the stillness of mist
Dewing in the blue
Of copse and dell’s hollow.
An echo of the spring warmth
That touched the ground
And energised
The display upon the dim edges
Of the nearing night,
Bringing lives
To delicacies and finesse
With hardly a wingbeat
To keep them buoyant
And borne on sunlight’s shadow.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

September Spider

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Somehow they are flowers too,
Plump and central
To their strands
And gossamer petals.
Bodies worked at
And made in secret
Through the summer months
Among loam and beneath leaf,
Until the garden
Grown golden and fruitful,
Leaves crinkled
With the sum of age,
Boasts beasts
Materialised to the cradle
Between stems:
Their worldly wears
And accumulation manifest,
Their nets
Set to the bountiful breeze,
Their fingertips poised
For the flower forms of insects
Borne on sunshine
And wingbeats.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Beautiful Snail

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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.

Bees Are Litmus To The Land

Bees are litmus to the land.
In their contentment
Is our milk
And sustenance,
For they are single minded
In nature’s plan
Of balance in the gathering:
Their Society
For the benefit of all within,
And kin and neighbours too
Are thus glad
For their best harvesting.

Bees are litmus.
They speak now
About man
On Earth.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.