5 o’clock sun
Paints
Water colours,
Touches white flecks
With delicate
Brush strokes.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Author: distilledvoice
In The Meniscus
In the meniscus
The whole reflected world.
Even in the shine
Of the pebbles,
Glossed wet,
There are mirrors
Two fold:
In the painted light
And in the seeing.
*
And In the sheen
Of the sea’s damp hold
Stones gleam transformed.
Surfaces everywhere
Like shields,
Like barriers
To hold the selves
Of things,
Make them impervious
And themselves
Entirely.
Stones are whole
Behind their skin,
Behind the thin film
And that,
Reflected on its surface.
And the sea too
Is deep
Below it’s meniscus.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Cycle
In the end
All structural forms
Are thus dissolved
By the greater medium
And the volumetric urge
And momentum
To level
Before inevitable cyclic rebirth.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Fringes Of Light
All in the world
Is fringing
Something else
And matter
In spectrums
Pronounces the light.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Bumble Bee Friend
If there was a word
Better earned
By the bee,
Than friend,
I do not know it.
For friend
Is as warm
And yellow
In it’s gift
Of honey
To the land,
And comes symbiotic
With sunshine,
And plenty’s
Open handed flower.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Hoverfly
Settles to the sweet
And pollen clad
Heart of the world
Sun bathes
On quivering petal,
Voluptuous ruby shades.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Lateness Of The Hour
Bark touched golden
And green needles
Bronzed
By the lateness of the hour.
Our outer heart
Reddened by atmosphere
And light speed
Through it.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
We Are Of Two Minds
These days
The lonely words spoken in your head
That seem to shout, condemn
And measure you
Against just about everything else,
Pronouncing you lacking
In all of what you could, would and ought to be,
And thus leaving you
Feeling quite sorry
And down about the mouth,
Can now be named
As
The modern day, 21st century singular self,
So – individual
Yet
So – off the peg,
So – go it alone
Yet,
So – going along with everybody else,
So – I don’t need anybody
Yet,
So – in need of every other one.
Where speaks the other language,
The older self beyond the singular
Where love is prolific
And condemnation
Is past magic
No longer used
In the mind’s
Spacious vessel
Of new beginnings
And things born
To freshness
And the moods
Of kindness
Flushing the body
Energised and clean?
Where speaks the other mind?
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
So Speak The Ancients
They speak
As they have always spoken
For in the long lost,
To be man was to listen:
For the ancient’s song
Was to the heart first given.
And in that time
There was no loneliness
For all together
Could hear:
The words brought warmth
To those alone
And feelings
Were gently administered to
By man’s depth
Of understanding.
And fear was diminished
By the mind’s wide aspect
And reach across the heavens
That the free may walk,
Just as self embodied
Walks free upon the earth.
And love was easily found
And so the needs were few
And the people were happy
And the living good
As ever could
The living be
With voices
Always speaking
In kindness decree.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
For Patrick Jennings http://pixtowords.com
A Faraway Gaze
She finds sweet-bitter nostalgia
And the succulent melancholy
Of a faraway gaze,
In her wondering
At the grandeur:
And her place within it.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
distilledvoice 