I yearn
For deeper blue
Of fathoms deep
And bottomless,
To which my thirsty skin
Might imbibe
The cool
And my heart
Might drink it in,
As if it were an oxygen,
Aqueous and limitless.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
mind
Cycle
In the end
All structural forms
Are thus dissolved
By the greater medium
And the volumetric urge
And momentum
To level
Before inevitable cyclic rebirth.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
We Are Of Two Minds
These days
The lonely words spoken in your head
That seem to shout, condemn
And measure you
Against just about everything else,
Pronouncing you lacking
In all of what you could, would and ought to be,
And thus leaving you
Feeling quite sorry
And down about the mouth,
Can now be named
As
The modern day, 21st century singular self,
So – individual
Yet
So – off the peg,
So – go it alone
Yet,
So – going along with everybody else,
So – I don’t need anybody
Yet,
So – in need of every other one.
Where speaks the other language,
The older self beyond the singular
Where love is prolific
And condemnation
Is past magic
No longer used
In the mind’s
Spacious vessel
Of new beginnings
And things born
To freshness
And the moods
Of kindness
Flushing the body
Energised and clean?
Where speaks the other mind?
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
So Speak The Ancients
They speak
As they have always spoken
For in the long lost,
To be man was to listen:
For the ancient’s song
Was to the heart first given.
And in that time
There was no loneliness
For all together
Could hear:
The words brought warmth
To those alone
And feelings
Were gently administered to
By man’s depth
Of understanding.
And fear was diminished
By the mind’s wide aspect
And reach across the heavens
That the free may walk,
Just as self embodied
Walks free upon the earth.
And love was easily found
And so the needs were few
And the people were happy
And the living good
As ever could
The living be
With voices
Always speaking
In kindness decree.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
For Patrick Jennings http://pixtowords.com
Beyond The Crowding Thoughts
Beyond the crowding thoughts
And all that shadows
Freedom’s choice
Glows blue sky
Width and dimension.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Night After Sunshine
I walk barefoot
And feel the sun’s memory
In kiss of warm concrete.
And then to the cool grass
To which I feel the earth’s body,
Lumpy and imperfect
But encompassing
The gentlest hug.
And there
I perceive personality
In night-sweet
And night-flush,
The scently gush of roses
Dripping the pollen of their love,
Feeding nocturnal bug and drab
Moth alike, just as butterflies of day’s
Light take their nourishment.
For the dark is full of giving
And the rose seeks no commitment
But gives
To all those wishing
To sip the nectar of its life,
Knowing them as equals
In the wholeness
Of the wholesome day and night.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Where The Poem Is Found
In the flutter-eyed trance
Of scent moods,
And in the gland of salivation
And sensation:
Like snake-tongued
Understanding of the air around,
The taste of unseen elements
From beyond the earthly realm:
To the hither of the after-ever
And where-ever
Of information in its purest form,
Sensed in electricity
Or a substance
Quite like it.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Receiver Of Poems
I don’t know how to write poems.
I only know the place where they emerge,
As urges clothed in the form of words.
And there in a sacred place
I collect the words like ripe apples
Plucked straight from the tree:
Gifts I have neither planted nor tended,
Just simply received.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
If Only I
If only I
Could grasp
The ineffable spirit,
Harness in all the times
Of my life.
If only I
Were buoyant bright
In every instant
Of my being.
If only I
Could alight
The serendipitous mood
And be there
With its lucky light,
Never once outside
Its kindly,
Luminescent beam.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Despite The Tumult
Despite the tumult
Of the clouds,
The erratic moods,
The distractions
And the cauldron of emotions
Fitful and bubbling,
There dwells always the sun
And the blue sky,
Fresh as warmth upon your skin
And a summer morning’s in-breath,
Waiting, behind it all
For your homeward bound
Acknowledgement.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
distilledvoice 