On The River

For Mima

She drifts on a dream
That is a river,
One hand playfully trailing
In her wake,
Fingers idly
Tracing the ripples
At her fingertips.
She hums in sweet mellow moods:
Time unravelling
Like the gentle welling
Of the slow current.
She thinks:
Some live their lives
Adrift the river,
Holding nothing
Of the passing life
But the feeling
Flowing on meander’s
Subtle pondering.
She thinks:
I should like that life
And the peace
Found in the waltzing leaf,
In its slow and submerged tumbling
And ever rolling motion forward,
Drawn on always by the river’s irresistible pull.

 

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

 

The Way We Behave

As if
The mind
Were idle fascination,
Full of dreams,
Full of inconsiquencial
Speculation
And non-participation
In the formation
Of the physical world.

As if
Our behaviour
Were cut loose,
Let loose
Unrestricted,
To roam free
Upon the earth
Without ownership
To count
The scores
Of futures conceived.

As if
We were vagrants
Who’s vagrant belief
Were not owned
In the body
But put out
To all visible peers
In blames
Savage hand
And life’s
Absent redundancy.

As if
The mind
Were not
Conceiving machine,
Coating every idea
In touchable cloak,
Transmuting
Idea’s ethereal stream
From unseen secret
To the solid matter
Of the corporeal.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Waking

Warm as I wake,
Still clothed
In the arithmetic
Of dreams;
A few sentiments
Found
Like gold flecks
In the pan,
Tangible and inert
To oxidising approach
Of the fast and probable day.
Yet there they are,
Untarnished evidence
Of my mind’s wandering,
Its sinuous, filamentous
Questioning
In to that untapped,
That mystical
And incorporeal.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Her Summer Dream

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Her summer dream:
To fling open the shutters
And find a cobble stone morning
Already bustling
With early light
And amblers
Foraging for breakfast.

From her dwelling
In a stone cottage
Fronting the harbour
There is no better moment
Than when the sea air infiltrates
And she hangs loose
On the window ledge,
Smoking a long, cool cigarette
And sipping coffee
As her eyes quiz
The holiday makers lives

While her mind wanders lazily
In the light of a summer dress
And in the passage of time
That might steer aimless
Towards lunchtime
Or even a sun dosed nap
In the hot afternoon.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

For Mima

Think Of The Wonders Yet To Be

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.