What Is This Love?

What is this love

That firms the heart’s placement

And allows the lower guts

A secure knowing I,

For it speaks

Not in words

But in certainties,

Like deep roots

On which feelings

Draw support

For the body’s gross material.

And here there is knowing

That first in the world

Is the evergy body,

Like a current in the energy sea

In which all things are but component,

A dancing trace of a self

More nymph or laughter of light

Frequencing high, high, high

As electric thought


This unshadowed being,

Swiftest eddie of soul untied,

Is our truth

Before the body,

Our elemental self

Free in the zest of freedom’s whole,

Free energy

Illuminating itself

Within itself,

Playfulness playing free

In all being,

The you before

Condensation in to form,

The lightest you

Unformed, unclothed and unprecipitated.


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

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

And soul
Is spirit
Reaching through matter.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

In Her Butterfly Breath

In the air around
In her warm breath
In her aura.
In the space
That she owns,
Crossed by no other.
In her own land,
The country
Of her soul’s endeavour

There are butterflies
In swarms,
In every multicolour
And species creed.

They are
The myth of her lightness,
For on invisible strings
She is anchored
To every flutter
And delicate wingbeat,
And held aloft
As any lucky cloud
Is mystical
In the wind’s drift
And by the sky delivered.

It’s as if
They were part of her
And her body
Were just food stuff
On which the insects
Come to fill and feast:
Her heart
– A chalice –
Nectar deep,
The sweet centre
Of a spirit flower
That she is

In the ether-other
Beyond the solid and tangible
Regulations of the
World we live.

© 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

Pleasing Geometry


The angles on which the eyes rest
offer us a glance of visionary
rightness, like the cool smoothness
of a pebble, millennia milled, yet
contrived by the hand of man.
They please us for they follow the
inward form and geometry of soul
and its archetypes expressed to the
They reassure like the mathematics of
a flower or the formation of a star or
music’s mysterious harmonics, and
sooth our hearts with natural
They remind us of who we are: that
we are born to this whole and cannot
be separated.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.