Monthly Archives: November 2012

No Time To Mourn



There is no time to mourn

This brutal passing

This silvered flash

This sacramental transformation

Before this salmon had respite from its journey

Eagles tore it asunder

Feasting on the choicest morsels

Cleanup gulls sweep up the rest

Bringing fishfragments to new life

High above, circling

IMG_1454 While rain drums down

River overspills lawn

Everything a lot more fluid

On this gray day

Cloudcleansed and riverscoured

Nature serves holy communion

All around

David Trudel    © 2012


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Marcus Aurelius

I am reading some Marcus Aurelius today.  He was the Roman Emperor from 161 to 180 A.D. and was one of the great Stoic philosophers.  Here are few passages that particularly resonated for me:


“The perfection of moral character consists in this, in passing every day as the last, and in being neither violently excited nor torpid nor hypocritical.”


“When you are troubled about anything, you have forgotten this, that all things happen according to the universal nature, and that a man’s wrongful act is nothing to you; and further you have forgotten this, that everything that happens always happened so, and will happen so, and now happens so everywhere; forgotten this too, how close is the kinship between a man and the whole human race, for it is a community, not of a little blood or seed, but of intelligence. And you have forgotten this too, that every man’s intelligence is a god, and is an efflux of the deity; and that nothing is a man’s own, but that his child and his body and his very soul came from the deity; that everything is opinion; and lastly that every man lives the present time only, and loses only this.”


“It is in your power to live free from all compulsion and in the greatest tranquility of mind, even if all the world cry out against you as much as they choose, and even if wild beasts tear you limb from limb.”



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Catch and Release

This rare fish needed no bait

To swallow your smooth hook

But you slipped the hook out deftly

Tossed the fish back

Not wanting to deal with the guts and innards

Too messy you thought

Not realizing that this fish

Self-eviscerates, commits ritual seppuku

Over piscatorial honor


When you trailed your fingers in the water

This fish returned to digit nibble

Tried to coax them

To a tummytickle

Which would have resulted in a netward leap

And a net gain


Instead, a splash of cold water from your hand

Sends the fish back upstream

Where you see it breach the surface

With a rainbow’s flashdazzle brilliance


David Trudel     © 2012




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A chorus of owls fills the night

So frequent I feel close to cracking the coded information

In their fluted hoots


They’re hunting

As the moon cracks the clouds

They launch

Usually for nothing


This time I hear a faint yelp

The owls quiet down

The owls are not what they seem

The snowys have moved in from the mainland

Crowding the barred and the screech

Tonight they all seem to be on the hunt

For fresh meat


The owls are not what they seem


David Trudel   © 2012





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Love’s Language

They say French is the language of love

But it’s inadequate for us

We create our own language

Written in golden flames

Of spontaneous combustion

When our smoldering passion is fueled

We speak in tongues

And with our tongues we write poetry

On each others skin

Spoken word in raw extreme

Our language is fluid, slippery

Soft as a feather brushing a naked thigh

Sharp as teeth tugging on swollen flesh

We spread applebutter erogenously

On the blank pages of untanned skin

Organic appetizers before the mains

We speak a language of sighs and silences

Of breaths inhaled

Our punctuation is done with looks and touches

Ours is a complex grammar

That brooks no shorthand

But longs for the shortstrokes of a conclusion

Our language is incendiary

Evaporating in the heat of our love

Leaving a faint trace of smoke in the air

Burnt passion etched into each look


David Trudel  © 2012




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Sometimes you exasperate me

With your half responses and ambiguities

Leaving a myriad of inferential


Long silences

Unanswered questions trailing away


And then you reappear




And ultimately contagious


There is no vaccine or antidote

To your exposure

A topical disease

Of some renown

Is the usual outcome


I am not immune



David Trudel    © 2012



Filed under Poetry

Thank You

Thank you for your interest

In these words of mine

Thank you for comments

On those posts I made online

Thank you for the likes you clicked

On stupid things I posted

Probably I put them up

When I was pretty toasted


David Trudel  © 2012


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What we think of as reality

This plane of existence

Is but one in a continuum

That extends into infinity above

Likewise, each piece of us

Contains a universe of universes within


My life is full of strange coincidences


Much more than random chance


Good trumps evil

By supporting the forces of good

I’m supported and shielded from harm, to a degree


Other planes of existence are outside of time and space

Where life is not like here

Discretely limited individual consciousness

But is instead a vast collective awareness

A wave not just a drop

Transcending our understanding

Into truth


The alpha and omega of the great wheel

The wheel of physical space and linear time

Is a platonic ideal of the pantheon of the gods

A council of twelve,

Within each of us is a link, a key

A path back to one of those ultimate beings

Presiding over each reflection and shadow of reality


Music can open the door to transcendence

Harmonic vibrations can send sacred messages


Love is all


Everything, everyone is worthy of love


The more you give away your love

The more you discover you have


Love is the ultimate motivator


David Trudel   © 2012



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Holy Cow

I knew things were special

If only because of the names

Father Angel, pronounced angle

Was the first priest I had

He was succeeded by Father Masse

Who only abused the bottle, not us boys

Our undertaker was Mr. Whitebone

Whose funeral parlor sign turned the heads of unfamiliar visitors driving by

What strange novel am I living in?

I questioned my young self

Who passed out the scripts and why didn’t I get one?

I’d think

This is so weird

Somebody must have made this up

But at least they have a sense of humor

I’d conclude with a chuckle

David Trudel  © 2012


Filed under Poetry