Branches burned black
to silhouette
of a carbon footprint.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
© Image by Ann Truesdale
weather
Horizon
A sea wind
Strafes the land
With sun scold
And cloud shadow,
And skylarks hunker,
Warbling in the low gorse,
And bluebells weather
On the seaward slope,
And foxgloves sturdy in the verge
Allow bees their leeward staircase.
The sea is to the full horizon.
And beyond, there is likely
More for thought, for the nothing
In the globe’s curve holds the eyes
To distant possibility: and to the mind
bestows its ponderous question mark.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
In The Muted Blues
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
Fresh After Evening Rain
Fresh after evening rain
snails awake
to dine on tender shoots
and all that is moist
and dew washed.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
No Words
There are no words to describe
the sky’s deep blue intention,
the free thoughts of clouds,
the trees’ monochrome assertion.
Only an image
conveys the actuality of its imagery
and unburdens itself as it’s seen.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
© Image http://www.theochalmers.com
distilledvoice 