wildlife

In Her Butterfly Breath

~ distilledvoice ~ 3 Comments

In the air around
In her warm breath
In her aura.
In the space
That she owns,
Crossed by no other.
In her own land,
The country
Of her soul’s endeavour

There are butterflies
In swarms,
In every multicolour
And species creed.

They are
The myth of her lightness,
For on invisible strings
She is anchored
To every flutter
And delicate wingbeat,
And held aloft
As any lucky cloud
Is mystical
In the wind’s drift
And by the sky delivered.

It’s as if
They were part of her
And her body
Were just food stuff
On which the insects
Come to fill and feast:
Her heart
– A chalice –
Nectar deep,
The sweet centre
Of a spirit flower
That she is

In the ether-other
Beyond the solid and tangible
Regulations of the
World we live.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

In The End

~ distilledvoice ~ 3 Comments

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Our paths
Seem so solid,
Yet with the seasons
Even the most meagre
Stone strewn soil
Grows vast
With fertile grasses,
And weeds
Rampantly colonising.

Our roads
Are temporarily cuts
In the swathes
Of verdant magic,
That will one day
Draw closed
To absorb our footprints
In the luscious gloom beneath,
As if the soil
Was never once
Touched or trodden
Or even impacted
By the swish
And speed
Of our passing by.

.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Wildflower

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

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Amid the stalks’ voice
And rustling breeze,
And upon the gently swaying stage
A perfect purple plate
Delivered
So sweetly to the need
Of butterfly, moth
And bees:
A flower for all
On which to feed
And burrow deep
Within its pleasure.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Worlds Within Worlds

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

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There are worlds
Within the world
Spheres within spheres
Expressions expressing
Fractals in patterns
Again and again
More and more
In the deepening
In the depth
In the giving
In the breadth
In the repetition
Of real realness.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Importance Of Swallows

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

What is more important

Than summer swallows,

Blue on the wing

Hot on the lifting air

Fulfilled by rising insects

Swarming on scents

And invisible particulates:

The blooms of the sky

The language written hieroglyph

And aerodynamic,

And perfectly attuned

To being –              – almost weightless?

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

Collectors These

~ distilledvoice ~ 6 Comments

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Collectors these,
Unsteady flyers free
And amiable
In the gathering task
And work
To sip the draught
And honey heart
Of flowers
In their ripeness.

And somehow,
More the summer
For their busy
Singleminded focus
And adherence
To the well heads
Of fragrant,
Floral syrup.

And somehow,
More the flowers
As if fluoresced
In admiring presence,
For they ‘are’
For the bees,
Just
As the bees ‘are’
For the flowers.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

Butterfly Love

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

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After rain,
A moments solar respite
On the hydrophobic leaves.

Next,
To the light as wingtip air
And figures of flittering,

To the updraft
And the couplet spiralling
As high as love

And the mesmerisation
In mating’s
Centrifugal force.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

Beautiful Snail

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

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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.