From the prevailing west
Cyclonic lows
Push
Wet faced
Across
The foot scuffed
Rough,
Browning upon
The boundary rock,
Greying the low sky
And darkening every
Thoughtful perspective
To a buffeted corner
Of the wind swept mind.
© 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
Miasma condenses
Heavy blue
In the brooding
Underbellies
As if the cauldron
Were full
At a point of boiling
And might only ease
In manifestation
Of tearful rain
And reservoir’s
Releasing cascade.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
