Writing

Writing

In Your Purest You

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

When she cycles she enters the dream of her belonging.
Her vintage bicycle with sun-silvered basket, well rung bell
And leather saddle warped to comfort’s fit, conveys her to an Elysium
Of country roads, wildflower verges, hedgerows brimming
And the golden wheat of harvest-time, strummed by a playful wind.

In her basket there are flowers: a pose of fresh picked beauties.
And in her delicately platted hair there are entwined stems.
In her mind there are flowers instead of thoughts. And all
The day is yellow-flowing with myriad light. A realm
In which she finds herself and all the happiness therein.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

The Touch

~ distilledvoice ~ 4 Comments

It is enough
That the poem is opened
In the writing of it

And the truth
Is found and understood.

It is more
If the poem is read

For the gap is breached
As souls touch
For the briefest, beautiful instant.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

WordPress Fisherman

~ distilledvoice ~ 3 Comments

I cast the net
To the deep
With but my words as bait
And a hope that I might feed my readership.

I haul in the net.
And there, a wriggling Like,
A silver excitement with a life of its own.
And next a bigger catch, a
Follower, meaty and perhaps adoring.

I am a WordPress fisherman. And I
Must write and cast the net again.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

In A Parallel Universe

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

A spell of introversion has settled upon the land and humans are gardeners of the heart. Human needs are met in the home, being small and easily administered to. Happiness is the peoples’ occupation and time is their friend. Space is a fluid and is known to expand. No one really travels much because of the comfort of home: so many are artists and musicians. The world is a village. There are unnumbered country roads, beautiful grottos, silent places, sanctuaries of mind, laughter filled spaces. Nature abounds in colourful denominations of kind.

Each human mind is a node of abundance and creator of wonder. This is the world’s equality. No place is the same or even different. There are just endless wellsprings and outpourings of creativity. Much is manifest and much more is left to the imagination. Wholeness is thought important beyond other principles but no one speaks of such matters of fact, as fun’s subject is more pleasing and much more interesting than that.

Every day is richer than the last. Every day understanding widens. Every day appreciation warms and grows. Everyday the sun rises and allows all the wide open eyes to see the true reality of things.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

On A Cornish Cliff

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

Crouching in rock gardens,
Among the hardy flowers
Strummed by the sky’s wide wind,
She finds her perfect moment
And is moved to art,

As if the moment had found her
To carry out its wish
To live beyond its simple richness:
Live once in being witnessed
And then again and again
In the paint’s still vivid kiss.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

Think Of The Wonders Yet To Be

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

Think of the wonders yet to be.
Think of the discoveries yet undiscovered.
Think of the possibilities not yet uncovered.
Think of the dreams unborn to our world.
Think of the cures yet still embryonic.
Think of the could be’s, the maybe’s,
the potentials not yet invented,
the time spreading out like an unending road.
Think of the hidden
and all things yet to be conceived.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

In The Foreground And Beyond – A Photograph

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

An overflowing bin blazoned
with a colourful advert,

an up turned ice cream cone
on a clipped lawn,

slabs of concrete paving,

a cast iron fence with shrubs
overflowing and intertwined,

a vine creeping over and on,

bushes expanding,

a row of mature Scots pine
red against the skyline,

the brooding clouds, plump
and heavy eyed, sullen
with imminent rain,

fleeting blue between, high
and shifting.

A gull rides the buffeting
and for a moment glows white as
gold with the touch of the five o’clock
sun gilding is wing tips

then drops away, plummets to
nothing

leaves only
a cold burnt image
indelible on the retinal sky

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

The Endless Chain

~ distilledvoice ~ 1 Comment

For each poem written
The whole mind is changed,
The landscape altered,
The new terrain reworked
And remoulded.

The whole self flowering
As an unknown bloom,
Expectant to be re-known
And found again,
And yet again.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

WordPress And My Mind

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

Each time I Press
I take a step
And reach out
Far in to the mists

Of the unknown.
For Me it feels
As though the cutting edge
Of art arrives

And happens now
As I reach
In to the mists of mind
And bring back

All that I find there.
And then I Press again,
And wait.
And just like the mind

Beautiful things emerge,
Personalities materialise,
Worlds unfold,
And I realise

The myriad forms
The myriad souls
The myriad stars,
A billion hidden constellations

Out there,
Awaiting discovery.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

The Dream Of Her Self

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

She finds the dream
On spring days, in old villages,
In gardens and in flowers.
Something happens
As if reacting to the sun
For she shines like yellow petals
And smiles, her face upturned
And her eyes closed.
She absorbs
And then offers back her radiance.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.