buddha

Magus

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

We are world
of lost magicians,
forgetting
the alchemy of our hands.
But look at the gardener
who with wands for fingers
summons the sweet ethers
of seasons
and coaxes lush forms
from the fine architecture
of mind, planting ideas
in soil’s enchantment
under the sun’s command.
Is he not creator above and beyond,
shaping reality to match
the deep archetypes
of his green heart’s desires:
a God, as any on high,
for in perpetuity he reins
among the beauty
of his earth bound legumes
and gifts of highfalutin flowers?

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

For All My Muses

~ distilledvoice ~ 4 Comments

Upon your mortal flesh
my eyes, excited to new seeing,
find windows
in which the script
unravels like quicksilver ink
heart-fast across the page,
and sees off
the mood mundane
written boring in to static fact
of joyless unbecoming,
and instead
thrills the moments in their chain,
and makes them
stones for stepping,
and feet, light for skipping,
as if life, after all,
were not ceaseless, aggravated toil
but flight, free upon the wing.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

Moss World Within The Gift

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

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In millennial silence
beings conceived at the very beginnings
unfold as they have timeless
known revolutions diurnal
and the cyclic swing of earth
in its year long voyage
in praise of wisdom
gifted by the star sol.

To know a billion years unaltered
and be in generation’s span
of always true to sun –
receiving the endless flow
of time’s nourishment
and the gracious matter
felt by every quivering leaf
as heat’s warm bosom
and light’s so gentle hand

– is first and only truth
within the kingdom
of father in heavens certainty.
To flourish is birthright
upon the world’s good earth;
and moss, guiltless in the whole,
takes its rightful place
among the children,
and thoughtless absorbs elation
as it was so lovingly sent.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

Husband

~ distilledvoice ~ 5 Comments

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With March pleasant in the air
My gardener’s fingers
Find soil smudge
In their ready tips.

And the light footed heart
Of daffodil magic
And sunshine breath
Skips like lambs

To the work of seeds
Pregnant in their trays.
And I think:
On days like these

It’s not only the lungs that breathe
But the skin
And the brain
And the body,

And I feel that with the mellow rays
Of springtime in the bird’s announcing,
Man really could be
True husband to the world

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

Drift Dive On A Coral Wall

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

A fan worm spreads out its feathery tentacles to collect the plentiful nutrient.

Coral polyps reach in to the current
and grab minuscule particles, while in symbiosis with the sun, they feel green algal blood oxygenate their livelihood.

Palatial sponges sift and gulp
vast quantities of the plankton soup.

Encrusting species cling to every
projection, cliff face and under hang, ever tasting blue movement.

Flecks of fish in sinosoidal pulse
weave and dance on the constant
flow, and shoal in bodies of mirroring.

Anemones and soft corals loose in
the waft, put up their ploom and
await sustenance borne upon the
liquid conveyor.

And more fish flutter in plethora of
colour and swim like May cherry petals fall.

One might infer trust, if a thought
were at all buoyant on the coral wall but thoughts aren’t currency
underwater, and to think is to divide from the source of it all. Yet the coral wall endures as ever it has. And millimetre coral growth spans perfect meters in a statement of enrichment sustained.

Only man conceptualises a synario in opposition to what the corals and the fish simply know.

 

copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & distilledvoice

Bougainvillea Cascade

~ distilledvoice ~ 1 Comment

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Over most the world
She cascades,
Ever and always
Downward she falls,
And yet sometimes
In her ramblings she climbs,
With rings on every single finger
And butterflies in dreams,
Settling as momentary flowers
And garlands lifted beyond.
O she’s beautiful in her fringes
And ethereal reaches,
Beautiful in her bow
And salutation to the sun.

 

Copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & distilledvoice

End Times

~ distilledvoice ~ 1 Comment

Still the dogged pioneer spirit
Owning protocol and government.

Still the époque of first footsteps
On the shore of the new world.

Still strident explorers
Followed by makeshift populous.

Still the gold-rush
For buried commodity.

Still value of money
Above the the richness of place.

Still the dampening
Of primitive voice.

Still the damaging hand
Assassinating loveliness.

*

These are the end times
Of carelessness,
The deep tectonic shift
In the solitary man,
In the mind
Of every man,
From rootless
To gia-joined:
The umbilicus revealed
In waking of earth
In the feeling body
And connection
To all that was disembodied
And heartless pushed out.

These are the end times
And times of new beginning.

 

Copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & distilledvoice

Coriolous

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

image

Flowers
Like all things
Unwind from their beginnings
Curved by the spin
Of worlds
And helices underlying.

All the earths children
Are so marked
By coriolous force
And inescapable laws
Holding us snug to our place
In time revolving.

 

Copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & Distilledvoice