In the ether of our dream
We meet on the streams
Of our being,
Find each other In the light,
And like stars in the night
We burn
As heart songs
Forever Sung,
Collecting
On the togetherness of intention.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
In the ether of our dream
We meet on the streams
Of our being,
Find each other In the light,
And like stars in the night
We burn
As heart songs
Forever Sung,
Collecting
On the togetherness of intention.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Whether tended rose, vine
Or weed in bramble entanglement
We yearn the same dream:
And equal upon the earth
Take sustenance
In sunshine on the cheek,
Leaf or flowering petal.
We are the same in love
And level in our needs.
We are not different in our beings
Or our brotherhood.
We are one under the sun
And one in our differing.
We are together in our reach
For the sky blue expansion
Of life’s meaning.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
First the intent.
Then crouching down,
Amassing, compiling, collecting
Energy in the spring of the self.
Then the trigger point, unlatched…
Then the uncoiling of the self
A N D
T H E
S U D D E N
W H O O S H
As what was contained
Is released
In
A
Wondrous
Expansion,
Where
What
Is
Yet
To
Be
Conceived
Is
In
That
Instant
Possible,
A moment high
And without contrasting force
Or opposition.
The creative act:
The Freedom
To be oneself
And fly
Like we were meant to.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Inspired by and dedicated to Jump for Joy! Photo Project
All the energies of man
In cold swirling maelstrom:
Chosen fast to power’s grip.
All the energies of man
In warm loving expansion:
Choosing now freedom’s release.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Mid May cow parsley
Dematerialises in the lightest points
Of its flowers,
Alters reality with Hubris cologne,
Reaches with molecules:
Heaps and loads
The air
With sex,
Sweetens and fills
Sweetens and fills,
Purfumes to intoxicated mix
Of heady, pungent scentliness.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Oh WordPress
And your innumerable
Rising stars,
How can I please
Your, oh so, fickle heart?
Perhaps, it is folly to even try.
And one should only make art
To satisfied the I,
Seeking purely the joy
Of creating it.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
In to my phone
I look
As if there was
A life
Held magically inside,
A world
Interesting and full
Of images
And lives lived
So fast
And so newsworthy
And so,
Ever so, momentarily brief.
My eye
Caught for but an instant
Before the
Next colourful thing
Arrives in
An excited flickering
And is
Gone with the very next.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.