love

Mistake

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

The mind
Tantalised by terror’s
Excitement,
Rubber stamps
Every violence,
Every incident,
And brands
Every normal madness
As terrorism
Born to our physical place.

And to the runaway dream
We add our angers,
And we rage
To do something against
The foe
Clothed
And created,
The anti image
Of our own
Disassociated face:
A glad enemy
Summoned
For us to fight.

And so we go
Hot headed,
The blood
Of foes
Desperate
To be let,
Our minds coalesced
In agreement’s
Blind conditioning
To go
Triumphant
And enthusiastic
To the next
Terrible war
Of mistakes.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Violence Of The Self

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

If at the core
There is violence
Of the self
Against the source

All the health thoughts
Conceived
Or applications put,
Won’t alter

Or bring life
To the body,
Who’s passenger
Rejects

The fundamental
Principle
Of love
And murders instead

The energy
As it emerges
In free form
Child emotive.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Dance

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

I would speak
With you,

Entangle our words
In the salsa

Dance,
Close and breathy.

As partners in art,
In converse

Verbal
And intangibly said,

In the heat
Of closeness

And skin
Touching skin,

I would ask you
To pirouette

So you might hear
My whisper,

And smile
At my music in your head.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

I Could Drink The Mist

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

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I could drink the mist
With inward
Passage
Of breath
Cool and wholesome
To the lungs,
An air
Weighted moist
And though
Still vapour
No less fluid
Deeply quenching
Organs
In their need
To thirst.

Are we not
All sponges,
Open pored,
In-fluxed
And anointed?

Are we not
Osmosed
In love?

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Gifted – A Future

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

When prisons
Are lights
And birth places
Of the newly born.
Sanctuaries
For those in need,
The digressed children
Of the world,
Patterned and learned,
Patterned and learned.

Where time spent
Is rich maturation
In the loam
Of love.
Where all who leave
Are first made whole
And go,
Full of heart
Full of blood,
Gifted all
That they would steal,
Gifted all
That was withheld,
Gifted all
That they would need.

Gifted.
They leave gifted.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Highlights

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

She has highlights in her hair,
The butter kiss
Of summer light
And fragrant breeze
Painted there.

But it’s her thoughts
That wear
The gold
Of lifted mood
And tussle
Beautiful

In halcyon
Of lofty space
And blue sky
Incantation,
Where shine
Is gloss
Upon the body

And soul
Is spirit
Reaching through matter.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Thoughtless Pollinating

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

FullSizeRender

When it wakes
It hears the flowers
Call in scents.
It desires
The ultra violet
Of colours
And the deep
Well of love
In which nectar pools
And collects.
When it wakes
It thinks of nothing else
But the warmth on the wing
And the burrowing head
Thoughtless in the dream
Of pollinating.
When it wakes
It be itself
And thinks
Not a thought
Outside of its being.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015