The sun my heart
The sun your heart
The sun our shared heart.
But one sun
In whose radiance we bathe,
One heart
In which we ourselves are,
One love
Lifting every being
Into life,
Filling every being
With its light,
Carrying every being
Into the whole of its wholeness.
ⓒBen Truesdale 2020
The sky is blue
And deep
And impenetrable,
Absorbing my gaze
Which finds no purchase
In its azure nothingness,
Finds nothing
But lazuline, cerulean flawless flatness,
In which the cumulous materialise,
Condense in forever morphing forms;
There in expansion or contraction
Wispiness or burdensome bruising
Clotting before rain drops are birthed,
Or reconsidered by the air’s
Subtle hold, and withdrawn
Into the invisibility of blueness
And the dimensionless constant
Reaching beyond the reaching mind.
ⓒBen Truesdale f2020
Whilst watering the garden pots
In the stilling dusk
I turn
And look,
Take in an unexpected perspective,
An angle from which I have not perceived,
And suddenly my breath
Is swept from my chest
By the beauty of the rush
Of plants propelled springward
And joyously becoming
Their exponential selves.
And in that gathering moment
My heart swells
For their vividness,
For the life sweet in their being,
For their entwining and wondering reach
Into spaciousness,
And for the bud of a poem
Born on the sap-surge
Of my lip,
And giddy with the prospect of flowering.
ⓒBen Truesdale 2020
I breath in
I breathe out
I feel my lungs full
I feel my lungs empty
I feel the life move in
I feel the life move out
I feel my lungs irrigated
With freshness
New as the spring bathed leaves
Are vivid
Spacious as the spring air
Is light
I breathe in
I breathe out
Life is within me
Life is without
I breathe in
I breathe out
I value the life of my being
I value the presence of my life
I breathe in
I breathe out
Life in its essence is simple
I love the simple essence of life
I breathe in
I breathe out
I am alive in existence
Existence is alive in my life
I breathe in
I breathe out
I breathe in
I breathe out
The whole world is my stage
The catwalk on which I pout
Performing My sexy sexy –
Look at Me, look at My life,
Look at My happy happy image
Filled with My stuff, My shiny things,
My tits and My gym body bliss
And all the holidays
I could ever wish
Distilled into one perfect shot:
One contrived glass of fizz
Against a perfect sunset
Where all the angst of life
Is edited out
And brushsstroked clean,
Proving Me special
And different without doubt
In a tsunami of content, this
Bland-sewering-scum-tide onslaught
Of same and same and Noisy same
Ejaculated on to the face of My screen.
🤪👍💪🏼🤮
Fragrant rose
Destroy me with weapon of your scent
Until I am laid bare
And broken into pieces
With but one sense left
And one breath
To offer you wholly.
Then let me die
In your folds,
Loosened from the world,
Myself thrown
Headlong into the softness
Of your beauty.
In the sweet spring wonder
The bud of my life opens,
Synchronised with the buds
Of the earth.
The air contains me
And the quivering bird,
Its heart broken open,
Broken into song.
Morning is beautiful,
Fresh as imbibed breath,
Acknowledged
As spirits subtle vapour.
The scent is the hawthorn
Of my childhood,
When I first saw,
When my eyes were first open.
I am here again,
Bathed in deliciousness,
Open mouthed
That I should be.
The Scots pine glows red-skinned
In the morning light.
He is always there,
Watching over my life.
Sometimes he stands out,
As beautiful as beauty itself,
And sometimes he is invisible.
Today, his presence is called
And warbled by the birds
Hopping among his branches.
The breeze too has its say
In the vibration of a myriad needles.
I walk in reality, breathing the breath,
Feeling the body, seeing with the eyes.
The world is beautiful
For it happens
Despite the thoughts in my head.
The garden grows, expands into spring,
The foliage lush with promise.
The cat sits by the pond, under the
Blossoming trees, and amid daffodils.
He breathes the air too,
Watching, always watching,
Thinking not one moment beyond the
Moment he’s in.
New air,
The first in the world
And light as spirit imbibed,
Holds the scent of morning.
And there is twittering
Of innumerable birds,
Joyous as the magnolia buds
In voluptuous opening.
For all things are expressing
Their being in timeless rebirth,
The song of spring
Once more alive.
