Tag Archives: dreams

unknowable

when I wake with fog draped all around

the view drawn close

mysteries emerge from shadows

magic flickers

spirits rub up against me

I wonder if the sun will burn away promises

like kicking covers off of a warm bed

or if this is a day for embracing

what we can’t see

holding onto feelings that never begin or end in clarity

but dissolve from or into a place that’s always just out of reach

unknowable as your thoughts when I reach out my hand

unknowable as any tomorrow

 

 

David Trudel         © 2015

 

 

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worries

3:00 in the morning

 

alone in silence

it’s dark

 

I wake to worries

worries about myself and what I’m doing

and not doing

 

worries about those I love

and what’s happening to them

 

worries about those I know

but not well enough to love

and their troubles

 

in the dark it’s easy to worry

 

each small concern

unavoidable as a 3:00 a.m. heartbeat

 

it’s easy to worry in the small hours

thinking how big the problems are

how powerless I am

 

at 3:30

the dark deepens

now it’s worries about the wars

the earth

the rivers of blood

ignorant hatred

while I’m bothered by my lack of sleep

 

so at 3:45 I worry about selfishness

how my first world problems

are inconsequential but persistent as mosquitoes

 

I’m feeling guilty about worrying needlessly

but I can’t sleep

the silence is too loud

loud enough to drown out my heart

 

loud enough to echo in the dark

 

in the dark

where I lie awake

full of worries

about all the disappointed yesterdays

and fears about hopeless tomorrows

 

 

4:00 in the morning arrives full monty

in my face

as unavoidable as the seagull shit

splattered on the oversized bronze statue

of a long forgotten fool

who slept through his worries

until they called him hero

 

staring at nothing

it’s dark and quiet

at 4:15

 

my heart races itself in circles

until time doesn’t matter

 

all that’s left is everything that isn’t right

and that’s enough for one night

 

 

David Trudel   ©   2014

 

 

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Haiku – January 16

in darkness I wake

to the light of your soul

illuminating mine

 

 

David Trudel   ©  2014

 

 

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siren calls

sirens tear open this day

softpillowed dreams crumpled

pinned by each imagined shriek

flying up from blood soaked gurneys

remembering that we are seconds away from a 180

recalling acute pain and trauma shocked eyerolls

focusing on the ambulance ceiling

not quite able to disassociate

tethered by a thousand nerves to now

I listen to cries that I’ll never hear

feeling empathy for the agony of strangers

torn from their routines into the brightness of disaster

as I lie awakening to reverberations of machine screams

wondering about final moments

about what’s behind the next door

and if I should get out of bed

to dance with sirens

 

 

David Trudel     ©  2013

 

 

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fogwalk

skykissed, the earth seems shy

muffled by a ragged net of condensed cloud

everything goes quiet

 

earlier it burned off

now it rolls in off the straits

leeching colours and shortening views

 

each drop holding a cemetery scent of early dawn

when spirits slide sideways into the melt

each drop a stitch in the shroud

 

this fog sleepwalks through empty rooms

while shadows punch slivers of distraction

into softsilvered rivers

 

each drift a tangible intangible

never quite in reach

never quite vanishing

 

floating wordlessly

with all the effort of nothing

drafting tailwinds of an idea

 

 

David Trudel   © 2013

 

 

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Dreaming

Some dreams don’t matter

Beyond the skewed beauty of their inspiration

Maybe that’s why we don’t remember them

Like some midnight story

But catch fragments

When the light is just so

Memorable

Or something

That brings us back to some impossibility

That made sense in the context of

Insensate dreaming

When surrender was a condition

Of being

Where veils become wings

Walls turn into doorways that give way

To freefall diving

Wind riding

And you are conscious of

Being there and not there

In that place where matter

Doesn’t

 

 

David Trudel     © 2013

 

 

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Traces

I dream of tracing your voluptuous curves

With my fingertips

Trailblazing the way for my tongue

I hear the quiet rustle of fabric

Pulled up and over

Feel the slide of silk

Downy thighs

My tongue remains tied

Eyes downcast

I fixate on your open-toed sandals

Your toes are ruby jewels I think

Nice toes, I say

With a smile

Which you return

 

 

David Trudel   ©  2013

 

 

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