Poem For Poets

The poet
Can risk exposure
Of the naked heart,
For his voice speaks
In dreams of magic,
And no closer words
Are so thinly clothed
Than in the music
Of his being
And the being of his life.

And so he must
Speak his truth
In the written word
And carve
From feelings felt,
Self portraits
Of metamorphosed art,
And tell
The world
Of his only life,
As only he can tell it.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

Pleasing Geometry

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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.

The Cottage Garden Calls

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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.