Monthly Archives: July 2013

Casa De Los Sueños

It’s one of those dreams that you know is a dream

Even as you sleepwalk your way through it

There’s a park

Manicured lawns and cultured trees strategically placed

To offer dappled shade without being oppressive

I walk to the house that isn’t

At the edge, where you can see across the water to the mountains

Mountains that backdropped my childhood hundreds of miles away

A real estate sign has appeared

For Sale

It proclaims

Even though the house looks occupied

It isn’t

I’m with somebody

Or maybe I’m following someone or two in a disembodied state

It’s a dream so I’m not particular

Each detail is exquisite and unique

The house is grand but not oppressive

It has flowing lines

High ceilings

Each feature is unique

There is a massive fireplace that curves and curls

The mantle is a magnificent cedar slab that flows in genial lines

Words are carved into it that seem celestial

Yet are now as distant as any star

The luxury is impressive but not overwhelming

Whoever lived here left only moments ago

It looks lived in still

And perfectly vacant

We admire the features

Then take a catwalk

To the entranceway

Transformed, it has become a theatre

Seats arrayed in a semi-circle reminiscent of a Grecian amphitheatre

I realize that this is a public space

Separate from the rest of the house

But connected by the catwalk

I know it will be my house

I will stage dramas and performances

For the many

A select few will be invited to the inner sanctum

The sun is shining in my dream

On the marble walls of a Janus sanctuary

Reaching out of a retreat to embrace the masses

Perfectly alone in a crowd

It has become my home

I anticipate performances

Plan them

Imagine crowds coming and going

From this theatre at park’s edge

At dream’s edge

At an edge

Where anything might happen

 

 

David Trudel   ©  2013

 

 

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Timesteps

Each moment moves in its own way

Fast as a stubbed toe signaling pain

Slow as a hard chair in a waiting room

Slippery as a half guarded look between me and you

 

Time is a contradiction

From its measured divides

Yet fluid enough for our mystery rides

 

For all of our clocks and calculations

It loops, soft pedals then rockets along

Dragging, flying and slipping away

 

Just when we think it’s unidirectional

A smell or a song brings us back to the past

And we’re right where we were a lifetime ago

Without ever moving an inch or an hour

 

Time, it seems

Answers to some other power

 

 

David Trudel    ©  2013

 

 

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In My Castle

Warfarin

You know, rat poison

It’s something I have to take now and forever

To keep clotted rats away from the mechanical valve

Who knew I had rats running around my cardiovascular system

I didn’t

But my medical team

(if celebrities can have medical teams so can I)

Well, they’re all very earnest about warfarin and the dosage

I have to visit the vampires often

Who draw my blood with whetted appetite

Challenging me to make a tight fist

That they know I’ll never raise

But I’m cool with it

I have been gifted with a small measure of the royal disease

A junior baronetcy of hemophilia

So I’ll line my moat with rat poison to keep the buggers at bay

Besides, I never liked coagulating

Anyway

 

 

David Trudel   ©  2013

 

 

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Filed under Cardiology, Poetry

Bleeding

Bleeding black ink

I spill words as my body leaks blood

On hospital gowns

Inking the floor with my essence

I wonder if the OR staff made wishes

When they cracked open my breastbone

I remember long ago dinners

When wishbones were mysterious

Full of promises

Like wishing wells and shooting stars

Imagining untold fortunes of vague and impossible hopes

Now, I no longer feel the need to wish

Just cope

Taking each step in faltered stride

Wearing the determination of my years

And while I’m grateful for the good wishes of others

I have no expectation of magic

Or celestial intervention

Just faith in a good defense

And the resiliency of my own spirit

 

 

David Trudel         ©  2013

 

 

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Post-Op Second Night

Pain curls itself on my chest

In the night

Like a malevolent cat

Ready to sink its claws deep

Into my sternum

And deeper into my lungs

With each cough I fear

To make

Until I remember to call the nurse

Who brings meds

Just in time

 

 

David Trudel     © 2013

 

 

 

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Broken Hearts

There are no mechanical replacements for broken hearts

No bypasses for a love betrayed or denied

Even when it feels like your chest has been cracked open

And your heart has been ripped out

All we can do is grow scar tissue

Become a little more cynical

In the realization that Hollywood is all about illusion

Camera tricks and crafty angles

Harlequins masquerading as the girl or boy next door

Because we don’t understand what love is

We don’t listen to those vows

About richer or poorer, sickness or health

Or if we do, we don’t believe them

Since we trust in the promise of happy endings

With stirring crescendos of romance uplifted into gossamer clouds

We have been indoctrinated with ideals

Fantasies of impossibilities

Unreal as any misproportioned Barbie doll

Or glossy airbrushed photo spread

So disappointment is a foregone conclusion

When we don’t measure up

To unmeasurable visions of dreams

Based not on love but greed

How can we when we are trained in selfish fantasies

Instead of hard realities

Dragged dirty through a thousand tragedies

Tarnished by time and fate

Until we no longer recognize the truth

Of mutual support and shared attention

Comfortable love whose soundtrack is heard through an open window

Elastic enough to bend, not break

 

 

David Trudel    ©  2013

 

 

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Incision

This angry red line will fade

As will the slow burn of transient pain

Becoming a faint memory that I’ll laugh about

Dismissing the whole event as inconsequential

I’ll cavalierly gloss over the memory

Because it will be as forgotten as yesterday’s rain

But part of me will always live here

Remembering the truth of the thin white scar

How it was when it was raw red

When I was as vulnerable as any Old Testament offering

Finding cruel mercy in a scalpel’s edge

Learning that miracles come at a cost

Counted in a currency of suffering

 

 

David Trudel     ©  2013

 

 

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