Monthly Archives: July 2012


Looking out from my balcony, I can see four houses in the dim light of night.  The sky is a deeply purple black velvet colur, studded with just a few stars since we are at the edge of the city’s light pollution.  Still, it’s serene and framed by the tall slender trees that punctuate the view from the hillside.  I scan for deer but don’t see any, nothing appears to be stirring, not even the neighbour’s evil cat. From this vantage I’ve seen lots of wildlife in the past, but tonight, looks like I’ll have to be content with serenity. And I am.  Content.



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Word Job

Word Job


I give good word

At least that’s what I’ve heard

I fondle dangling participles

Use my tongue to unleash

A torrent

Caress alliterative consonants

Go down on vowels

I give good word




In the dark of night

Touching each adjective and noun


Teasing you with false starts

Drawing closer to a crescendo

Pleasuring your mind

Getting you off

On thoughts

Made flesh through words

I swallow it all

Giving word

How was it for you?


David Trudel      © 2012



Filed under Poetry


I am a shadowboxer of distinction

But I know I’ll never win

Going toe to toe with my reflection

Is bound to do me in


Yet I step into the ring again

Think I’ll box another round

Every time you leave me hanging

Each time you turn me down


It starts with second guessing

All that stuff that echoes in my head

And soon enough it escalates

Till I’m fighting me instead


Yes I’m just a shadowboxer

Throwing punches in the air

Landing knockout blows on nothing

Just grasping straws that never were


My arguments are all inside

The dialogue is pointed

The things I did I now regret

And too many disappointed


I am a shadowboxer of distinction

But I know I’ll never win

Went toe to toe with my reflection

And its left me all done in



David Trudel  © 2012













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A freely given gift

Is a rare thing


Or any day

Since most aren’t, when you think about it

Most gifts are exchanges

Providing tit for tat

Implicit with strings

Attached to some obligation

Some gifts announce themselves


Look at me!

Look at me!

I’m pretty!

I sparkle!

I shine!

But birthday gifts and Christmas baubles

Stop arriving

Unless you give back, in return

Some are bribes

Part of a promise or some kind of trade


Part of the game

Even a natural talent, or a skill

Isn’t a gift at all

At least one that’s free

Since they come with the responsibility

To live up to the gift

And if you don’t




Come calling

Come to remind you of what might have been

No, freely given gifts are rare

Spontaneous and just because

No expectations going forward

No strings attached behind

No this for that

Or mine and yours

Just an impulse

A thought that gets released

Between friends



David Trudel   © 2012


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Let the games begin

Just as two thousand years ago

The roman crowds were dazzled

Bread and circuses

And we are sucker punched

We suck it all in

Forgetting missile strikes against civilians

Forgetting melting glaciers


Riders of the apocalypse

It’s pretty


We’re about as smart as a kitten

Playing with a ball of wool

Even if it’s the trademark rings

We’re dupes

But we watch it anyway

Drawn moths to watch the flames

That burn away

Consuming our humanity


Watching jingoism conspire with competition

To engender a distraction

While the world hurtles down the path



But we anticipate a good medal count

Which will trump survival

When it comes down to it


In your lazyboy, tonight

David Trudel  © 2012

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Casting Off

I never did like going to fitness centers or suburban gyms.  All those cheerfully slim twenty year olds flirting and preening just never made me feel like lumbering around in stretchy cotton walmart wear, sweating like a pig while watching them covertly smirk.  Fortunately I have one of those Bowflex home gyms, the kind with the power rods that work with pulleys and cables.  This gives me the freedom to have a workout whenever it fits, and no need for a twenty minute drive to get there since I have it set up in my bedroom.  For quite a while I’ve had a rolling target of having a workout five days out of every seven.  This gives me the option of taking a day off but I try to never go more than two days between sessions.  Lately I’ve increased the frequency by adding additional sessions in the mornings on some days. In addition to the physical workout, these sessions provide a “close to” meditative space as the repetitive exercises roll along and I find it to be mentally quite refreshing.

For about half of each session, I look out through the sliding glass door that opens on to the balcony, to the house that my ex-wife and I and our two girls used to live in for close to a decade.  There’s the big leafy maple that I fell out of and broke my leg.  There’s the past, which I look beyond, at the Sooke Hills off in the distance.  Every so often an eagle soars, and then perhaps a seaplane or a helicopter carves its way across the sky. When we sold the house and divided the assets, there were a number of big heavy objects to pick from and I chose the Bowflex, for one of my spoils in the war we called a marriage.  Thanks to a favorable real estate market we both made out well and the spoils of war erased a lot of what might have been rancor and bitterness.

This morning I was about to prepare for a morning workout when the phone rang, or strummed, to be more accurate.

“Hi Dave, its Doris”

“Hi Doris, what’s up?”

“Bob’s finally ready to move the boat, can I get you to move your car?”

“Sure thing Doris, I’ll be right out and hey, congratulations!”

You see, the thing is, this large boat had been parked in the driveway for some four or perhaps five years; the matter is under dispute, as Bob rebuilt virtually every single part and fitting on the craft, as well as on the trailer.  It had only moved for a few weeks last summer when it went to a shipyard to be repainted.  Today it looked sharp in gunmetal gray and shiny aluminum itching to be launched.  As it turned out, it took a considerable while to line up the truck and drop the hitch onto the ball.  Just when it appeared that the moment of departure was at hand, yet another delay occurred as Bob discovered that the safety chains were too short. But Bob is nothing if not resourceful and sure enough he had more chain and a hacksaw and before long, all was well and good and the boat was on its way down the hill, on its way to the sea.

Now some of you might be asking what I’m doing renting the suite, in the house across from where I used to live.  Well, I’ve always tried to be an engaged citizen, somebody who steps up when there’s a call, and as a result during our time in the suburban dream, the two car garage five bed three bath prize and anchor, I joined the local initiatives.  I was committed to the local park and community hall and when I resigned from various positions Bob and Doris, or BoDo for short, said,

“Dave, you can’t leave the street, why not move into our suite?”

“”I’d love to but your suite is nowhere near finished, you’ve been working on it for years now!”

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time, it’ll be ready in lots of time”.

It wasn’t, predictably.  I ended up spending about six weeks in BoDo’s guest bedroom, as a series of delays forestalled my installation into my bachelor paradise.  In the end it worked out well. I resumed my activities with the park and the community hall and was able to enjoy the same sounds and ambience as my life morphed; some continuity counts for a lot at times of stress.  And now I’m fully reconciled with my past, and watch the seasons work their magic on the property that I once thought was mine, an illusion of time and space.

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When the sound crowds out the crowd

The eyes will have it

Electronic feedback or cacophony of cocktail chatter

Matters not

Aural receptors crash, so

A look, instead

Turn the head, yes

That way

Hint of a smile

Yes, that way

Body language being unilingual


While I,

Attempting to refocus on the performance

Concentrate, for at least a moment

As yet another brave soul stands and delivers

A song, earnestly Canadian

Good for the patriotic contest tonight

Which earns a cheer


The words flow and spin their charms

As do the darted glances

Which pierce like medieval lances

Beribboned, in the lists

Yet again in the here and now

We engage

Minor repartee, to begin

Thrust, parry

The dance

Begins, again


David Trudel  © 2012







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How can we ever know an other one

When we don’t even know ourselves

How can I ask you to believe me

When I can’t even trust myself

I guess it’s just the way it is

And I’ll just have to play along

Trying to get over

All the things that went so wrong

And I want to make it better

Better than it was before

Closer to the truth I guess

Like it should have been back then

But regrets are for the foolish

The innocent and naïve

Regrets don’t count for much tonight

See my heart upon my sleeve

And I never really knew you

And you surely didn’t me

Masks and illusions hid us both

From the real you and me

No, two people never merge

They’re finally apart

Each of us is separate and complete

Within ourselves



David Trudel  © 2012





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