nature

In The Foreground And Beyond – A Photograph

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

An overflowing bin blazoned
with a colourful advert,

an up turned ice cream cone
on a clipped lawn,

slabs of concrete paving,

a cast iron fence with shrubs
overflowing and intertwined,

a vine creeping over and on,

bushes expanding,

a row of mature Scots pine
red against the skyline,

the brooding clouds, plump
and heavy eyed, sullen
with imminent rain,

fleeting blue between, high
and shifting.

A gull rides the buffeting
and for a moment glows white as
gold with the touch of the five o’clock
sun gilding is wing tips

then drops away, plummets to
nothing

leaves only
a cold burnt image
indelible on the retinal sky

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

Risen Early

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Risen early with spring dawn;
Light is at the perfect golden angle
And the air is newly formed.

Footsteps on the cool, dew touched
Lawn and ears filled with bird chatter
And twittering: a wood pigeon cooing
With sweetening purr.

Where the sun has made a glade
Among buddlia foliage a hover fly
Alights a leaf and basks for a delicate
Moment: then again to the
Shimmering air.

God is near
Not in the far flung heavens.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

The Very First Beginning

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been living in the cave of winter
and only knew it fully when spring’s
pulse flushed first in snowdrops and
buds bulging on the stems.

I’m awakened to the ground rush,
natures upsurge and levity behind
each tender shoot: the whole earth
intent to leaf and reclined to the
photon sun, its matter poured
eternally.

Like this my new garden arrives to my
eyes: a new flower gift each day, the
unexpected brought on spring wave
as herbaceous kind are called and
charmed, powerless on the tendril
energy.

With the scent of first flowers and
the colour of first butterflies, and first
bumble bees quick on the first sun
blasts, I realise the spring and wake
once more, as creatures wake from
their hibernation. All of us drawn from
the darkness to the light, new
warmness, the air crisp and perfect
as the very first beginning.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

The Evening Is Still

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

The evening is still:

But for the blackbird bold on his
chimney pot promontory, his
conversation a shrill and beautiful
song.

But for the wood pigeons clumsy,
erotic flapping.

But for the silent gnats dancing in
scriptures and fine invisible writing.

But for the red setting sun behind the
silhouette of new spring trees.

But for the purr of a distant car
comfortable on the road.

But for the gurgle and murmur of a
conversation in a garden two fences
along.

But for the imperceptible growth of
plants.

But for tulips drawing closed with
nights subtle encroachment.

But for all that is happening.
But for all that is happening.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.