Swathe of
Bracken brown
Entanglement
Stitched through
With Bramble.
A burr enmeshed,
Stalks
In camouflaged web
Lie limp,
Draped seasonal.
A winter tree,
Like a thistle head
Hooking
Loose threads
And dry tendril.
Ground-sink
Draws matter
In degraded death
To fall soil-ward
In depth autumnal.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Clouds,
Gale grey
And hasty
Full of
Wind-thrift
And mischief,
Steal leaves
And flick
Them
Rotational
And tumbling,
Gimballed on gust
And inconsistency
Tremulous in the trees
Bare branch
And sway
And creak
And core wood
Straining in root-sap
Xylem tendons,
Dormant and slow
But rope strong,
Green strong
Foundation
To the earth’s
Sound clag
And sucking
Cohesive force
To hold the winter
Skeletal
And disrobed,
And canvas blank
For next year’s newness.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
First frost
Withers foliage,
Yet a few hardy flowers
Persevere,
Blooming ragged
And defiant
In time’s cool withdrawal.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Under blue-grey clouds
Red kites find
Effortless updrafts
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
He sleeps
Through millennia:
The days and years
Indistinguishable.
His body
Wrapped in a mottle skin coat
Weathers enduring seasons.
Elements
In their raw state,
Abrasive and unforgiving,
Fracture his skin
To cleaved splinters
Sloughed clattering
In scree slips,
Through which
Sparse plants
Eke meagre.
This is how it is
Upon his slumber-back dormancy,
Where heather and bracken
Strewn wirey-wild
Flower purple
And unfurl
In fronded reach,
In nooks
And boggy patches
Between white cataracts
And the slow lichen roses
Tattooed
On every blemished slab and edifice.
Through this
He sleeps,
As time
Flows unnoticed.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Like a water droplet
It buds, bulges
And balloons.
But unlike the split
And silver rivulet
Dashed to multiples
The bud
Breaks its silence,
Stands tall
And reveals.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
In near dusk
Ultra violet
Glows
As new purple
Sheen.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
A chance
Late flower
Matures
Even while
All around
Become wearisome.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
A sieve
To strain gusts
Of leaf fall
And spore heady
Deluge
Strewn crisp
And thick
As winter snow.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Only the cool,
Faraway sun
Diminishes
Age
With last autumnal
Tungsten
Spectrum,
Burnishing
Dying leaves
In beautiful flare.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
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