Tag Archives: divorce


on the occasion of my ex-wife’s remarriage

I find myself taking care of my ex-dog

we stare at each other


not quite sure what to say

until he pees on the carpet



David Trudel   © 2014




Filed under Poetry

Harmonic Balancer

A harmonic balancer is connected to the crankshaft of most engines

To reduce torsional vibrations and to be the pulley for the drive belts

I had never heard of such a thing

Since one had never needed to be replaced on any car of mine

Which is the only way I know about car stuff

By having to pay outlandish bills for parts unknown

I happened to see Bob my neighbor with the hood up

We started talking and he mentioned harmonic balancer

Whoah! WTF

Harmonic balancer made me think of some kind of Tibetan temple

Resonating with the thousand prayers of the robed faithful

I learned it’s true that at certain engine speeds the torque from the cylinders

Becomes synchronized with the vibrations in the crankshaft

Resulting in the phenomenon of resonance

Resonance that the crankshaft can’t withstand

I understand that cranky process

Having had both a marriage and a career suffer harmonic catastrophe

I get the chronic impact of torsion and tension

Of being twisted into an unbalanced state

I know the horror of watching cracks develop

As energy builds up through lack of dissipation

Age, heat, cold, or exposure to oil or chemicals play their part

In the inevitable crankshaft failure

Which can be pretty spectacular

So I am developing my own harmonic balancer

Damping vibrations rhythmically

As I fire on all cylinders, barely resonating at all

Stress free



David Trudel   ©  2013




Filed under Poetry


I deduct the years of my failed marriage

From the age on my birth certificate


So now I’m only 28

Just 28 years old

Despite the rust and wear and tear

I’m only 28 today


That worrisome bald spot has disappeared

Beneath this cascade of golden locks I’ve unleashed

So I jump back

Performing spoken word in raucous rooms

Sending letters to imprisoned anarchists

Listening for music, everywhere

In the wind


My friends are many

Across the globe, on Facebook

Or down the street, in person


I work the smartphone to mensa beats

Multiple conversations going all at once

Cryptically commenting


Everywhere and nowhere

Ubiquitous buzz


There’s a lot to do

Before I hit thirty again

And once more can’t be trusted





David Trudel  © 2012







Filed under Poetry