poem

The Rain Has Come

~ distilledvoice ~ 2 Comments

The rain has come to change the
world, submerging with wetting
breath, all to humid flux of delightful
moistness. Only here do plants
fluoresce in emboldened realness,
vivid as green stars, flushed and
plump as turgid cells drunk to their
fullest.

And though the sky is grey and
misted hazy close, to this speak the
scents of May flowers: all their
headiness poured forth, all their
potent force to the fluid of the air, all
their sweetened voice given: as if
their beings were vaster than the
boarders of their bodies.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

WordPress Fisherman

~ distilledvoice ~ 3 Comments

I cast the net
To the deep
With but my words as bait
And a hope that I might feed my readership.

I haul in the net.
And there, a wriggling Like,
A silver excitement with a life of its own.
And next a bigger catch, a
Follower, meaty and perhaps adoring.

I am a WordPress fisherman. And I
Must write and cast the net again.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

On A Cornish Cliff

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

Crouching in rock gardens,
Among the hardy flowers
Strummed by the sky’s wide wind,
She finds her perfect moment
And is moved to art,

As if the moment had found her
To carry out its wish
To live beyond its simple richness:
Live once in being witnessed
And then again and again
In the paint’s still vivid kiss.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

Think Of The Wonders Yet To Be

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

Think of the wonders yet to be.
Think of the discoveries yet undiscovered.
Think of the possibilities not yet uncovered.
Think of the dreams unborn to our world.
Think of the cures yet still embryonic.
Think of the could be’s, the maybe’s,
the potentials not yet invented,
the time spreading out like an unending road.
Think of the hidden
and all things yet to be conceived.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

In The Foreground And Beyond – A Photograph

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

An overflowing bin blazoned
with a colourful advert,

an up turned ice cream cone
on a clipped lawn,

slabs of concrete paving,

a cast iron fence with shrubs
overflowing and intertwined,

a vine creeping over and on,

bushes expanding,

a row of mature Scots pine
red against the skyline,

the brooding clouds, plump
and heavy eyed, sullen
with imminent rain,

fleeting blue between, high
and shifting.

A gull rides the buffeting
and for a moment glows white as
gold with the touch of the five o’clock
sun gilding is wing tips

then drops away, plummets to
nothing

leaves only
a cold burnt image
indelible on the retinal sky

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

Words Come (for blog – On The Heath – I Of July)

~ distilledvoice ~ 10 Comments

Words come
Definite in the press of his pen

As if his ball point
Calls the very thing

To its truth
And written absolute

And carves a living thing
Upon the mind’s white page,

Then frees it
From the words’ vehicle

So the image
Stands real and proud

And wordlessly
Three dimensional.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

She’s Hot

~ distilledvoice ~ 1 Comment

She’s hot:
So hot she’s taken to shrinking
Behind dark glasses to avoid the
Harsh glare her reflection causes:
She wears her hair as a glossy veil.

In the beginning she sunned herself
In boys clumsy praises, and young
Mens’ too, but then came the daily
Recognition of all men; the staring,
The hungry eyes seeing her beautiful
Status and wanting some of that
Improving brightness to burnish
Themselves, like a ointment of
Loveliness applied to their skin.

And so now she hunkers down
Between her shoulders, shades
Herself in the arms of a celebrity,
Seeks out their star-touched kind,
For her lovely face has made her
Kin to them.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.