The Likes
Stamped
On my offered work
Are certainly
Gratification,
But
When you, genius friend –
Whose work
Is masterly
And touches
The substance
Of the wide eyed bridge
Between mind
And beautification,
– Like my words,
I am enthralled
With the closeness
Of creation
And I wish
Our touching
Was a friendship
In the real
Matter of the world.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Nothing as delicious
As the idea’s arrival
At the pen scratch
And nib of newly unfolded time.
Here is creativity
At its cutting edge.
New and fresh as dew
At risen light,
As momentary
And transitorily alive,
For a spell’s duration,
Before soon subsided
And dimmed by
Pristine light’s creation
And the joy of thoughts,
Freshly Pressed.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
Oh WordPress
And your innumerable
Rising stars,
How can I please
Your, oh so, fickle heart?
Perhaps, it is folly to even try.
And one should only make art
To satisfied the I,
Seeking purely the joy
Of creating it.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
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.
Each time I Press
I take a step
And reach out
Far in to the mists
Of the unknown.
For Me it feels
As though the cutting edge
Of art arrives
And happens now
As I reach
In to the mists of mind
And bring back
All that I find there.
And then I Press again,
And wait.
And just like the mind
Beautiful things emerge,
Personalities materialise,
Worlds unfold,
And I realise
The myriad forms
The myriad souls
The myriad stars,
A billion hidden constellations
Out there,
Awaiting discovery.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
distilledvoice 