From all the world out there
I come across you.
We meet
With perhaps a word
Or even just a look.
We join for but a moment
And receive our personal gift:
That others in the world
Might understand
And share our view in this.
© 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.
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.
There are no words to describe
the sky’s deep blue intention,
the free thoughts of clouds,
the trees’ monochrome assertion.
Only an image
conveys the actuality of its imagery
and unburdens itself as it’s seen.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
© Image http://www.theochalmers.com
In the beginning I was sharp:
Hewn and fractured and split.
And there I lay in the elements for an
Eternity, in flicker of night and day.
Little by little I slid, slipped
And was washed to the river
Where I clattered: my edges
Blunted, broken and dulled.
After eons I found the reassuring sea,
Its salt brine sanctuary,
And was drawn in to wave grind
And the constant draw and push
Of each surge and counter rush:
The rolling swish of a billion
Touching stones caressed in fluid
Musicality and thrown high upon the
Tide line, to lie as almost perfect
Spheres; shaped, refined, defined
And rounded to the soothing curves
Of a microcosmic world reflected.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
The angles on which the eyes rest
offer us a glance of visionary
rightness, like the cool smoothness
of a pebble, millennia milled, yet
contrived by the hand of man.
They please us for they follow the
inward form and geometry of soul
and its archetypes expressed to the
world.
They reassure like the mathematics of
a flower or the formation of a star or
music’s mysterious harmonics, and
sooth our hearts with natural
symmetry.
They remind us of who we are: that
we are born to this whole and cannot
be separated.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Something in the heart of the
gardener is drawn to create worlds
in patches of light and shade’s cool pools.
Something calls to make
billowing folds, pockets
and patchworks of flowers, floral
coverings and scented seas
for the lucky summer breeze.
Something calls for the bees and
their burrowing, smothering search
for bliss. Something calls. Something
calls. Something calls.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
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