Only Our Thoughts

Only our thoughts

Deny the lifting spirit

Holding us buoyant

In the being alive.





Only our thoughts

Cage our minds,

Eclipsing

The wealth

Filling us

Until brimming,

Until our hearts

Are overflowed.

Only our thoughts

Obscure the love

Streaming out

Through ever cell,

Streaming out

Irrepressible:

Infinitely giving,

Infinitely wise.

Only our thoughts,

Our harmless thoughts,

Our transient

Substance-less thoughts

Believed to be strong,

Believed to hold

Power over us,

Believed for so long.

Only our thoughts

Are burnt

Under love’s internal sun,

And brought to nothing,

Our bonds loosened

As thoughts are seen

In freedom,

Seen for what they are:

Just fleeting thoughts,

Not owned,

But passing through

Unhindered, unclaimed, unchained

From who we are.

Spring Morning

I step into absolute stillness.

On the horizon

Mist shifts in ethereal veils.

The houses on the hill disrobe

Slipping from their misty dreams

As the sun begins in the East.

I step into absolute stillness.

The oranges of early morning

Warm my cheek and raise

A fresh scent from the succulents

As they absorb the first light.

The stillness pervades

Holding all things:

Beauty arises

In all that is worldly,

Both natural and made

Are vivid in the same way,

Reality seems to have a texture I can taste,

One which my eyes drink in.

I breathe a luxurious breath.

I exist

And I step into absolute stillness.

Ⓒ Ben Truesdale 2020

My Friend

The Scots pine glows red-skinned

In the morning light.

He is always there,

Watching over my life.

Sometimes he stands out,

As beautiful as beauty itself,

And sometimes he is invisible.

Today, his presence is called

And warbled by the birds

Hopping among his branches.

The breeze too has its say

In the vibration of a myriad needles.

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

 

Sunset

image

In the last hour
When the setting sun
Elongates our shadows
And en-goldens our skin,
There is stillness
Of last long light
In the gentle stroll,
And quiet in the wavelet’s
Sodary pulse,
And timelessness
In the lulling
Of seawater swishing
Upon the cushioning sand.

 

Copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & distilledvoice