Month: November 2015

Merry Commercial Christmas

~ distilledvoice ~ 4 Comments

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All aboard
Shouts Santa’s
Tannoy’d voice
In scourge of jingled
Agro-vertisment:
The under thought
Merrily singing
– sell, sell, sell –
To the tinsel touched
Whose endorphin mush
Thinks
– buy, consume,
Oh hello hell of
Dis-con-tent-ments
Purchasing.

Halloween is barely
Rid its mask
Yet machinery
Is yanked to start:
The conveyer belt –
With only 41 shopping days
Panic due –
Has the duped
Of wanting wide
And kids enlisted eyes
Firmly in its
Gravitational yaw
And pull.

Oh Jesus
Kill me
With a plastic sword
Or heal me of time’s crucifixion,
For I fear
I will not last
This carol-blasted
Foe-fun benediction
Of warm sentiments
Twinkling and contrived,
Nor has my wallet
Felt so pauper-ly old.

Maybe someone
Will get me a new one
This season’s opportunity
To retail with impunity
And give it me
With a measure
Of layered guilt
Festively applied.

Merry Commercial Christmas everyone!
It’s barely but November time!

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Violence Of The Self

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

If at the core
There is violence
Of the self
Against the source

All the health thoughts
Conceived
Or applications put,
Won’t alter

Or bring life
To the body,
Who’s passenger
Rejects

The fundamental
Principle
Of love
And murders instead

The energy
As it emerges
In free form
Child emotive.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Brothers In Colour

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

There is something
Victorian
In his whiteness,
A correctness
Disciplining the rest
So regulation
Rules in dry doctrine.

And to his eye
His black skinned brother
Is carnal opposite
To the structure
Rigid in his self
And he fears
The hot power
Of a primitive.

And thus
The black man
Is subdued
For being
The outward heart
With body filled
With blood and vigour

And the white man
Gelds himself,
Separates from his pulse,
His inner fire,
Grows cold and stiff,
And with backstroke
Of his incising knife
Flays
His collateral brother,
So in neither
Is the life found flowing,
And in both
The cut
Equally deep.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Dance

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

I would speak
With you,

Entangle our words
In the salsa

Dance,
Close and breathy.

As partners in art,
In converse

Verbal
And intangibly said,

In the heat
Of closeness

And skin
Touching skin,

I would ask you
To pirouette

So you might hear
My whisper,

And smile
At my music in your head.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015