A blackbird hidden
Among the high branches
Whittles a song
With the tool
Of its tongue
And sculpts
The undisciplined air
To the fine art
Of a tune,
Whistled and warbled
And finally returned
By the breath
Conveying the voice,
Beautifully transformed.
Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016
A poem inspired and written for the band Perkelt http://www.perkelt.com
Come away,
Come away with us
On wings of the whistle
And the haunting voice.
Come away,
Come away with us
On the guitar strummed
And those notes plucked.
Come away,
Come away with us
On myth’s fast gust
By drums so touched.
Come away,
Come away with us
On heart beats past
And magic not yet imagined.
Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016
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
distilledvoice 