Tag Archives: guns

39 years later

Ed03539 years later you look out at me

framed time holds that moment

you were sitting in my car’s backseat

long hair haloed by the sun

full of tomorrows


caught midwink

your eyes are oddly unbalanced

one much larger than the other


you panached that pince nez

that rides your aquiline nose

it was never silly when you wore it

it didn’t matter that you had 20/20 vision

you liked its appearance

the costume value of a minimalist mask

you knew the kind of looks it would provoke


your unlined face never did get wrinkled

you still have all your hair

in the moments that I keep you alive

a few images and memories

you remain caught in our youth


I carry you forward

into the now of 39 years later

your hair reduced to a fringe

your face a roadmap of the intensity of your passions

still ready with a wink and a smile

bearing memories of never weres

and premonitions of yet to be


but that vision fades

I’m left with a black and white photo

and a hole in my heart

punched through with the same force

that bullets punched through yours

in the middle of the night

gunned down

another guiltless bystander

another crime statistic

one more unfulfilled promise

that diminishes this reality

into less than it should have been

less than it should have been



David Trudel    ©  2013

Photo by Art McLeod




Filed under Poetry

Random Killings

Desperate people inflamed by hate

Ruled by frustrated passion

Resenting all they see

So they grab a gun or maybe three

Take aim at others, randomly

Inflicting pain, inflicting death

Spreading chain reactions

Of deepest misery and vengefulness

And the commentators will wring their hands

And go on to say it’s not the guns

And it sure ain’t us

The hateful bile we offer up is just for fun

So when we say that its time to aim

We don’t really mean it

It’s just a game

But clearly things are going wrong

Hot lead flying in schoolyards

And all to make a specious point

About free speech and hate and fear

Underlined in blood

And drenched in tears


David Trudel  © 2012




Filed under Poetry

This Line

This line wasn’t drawn yesterday or today

This line goes way back

Straight through my heart

This line is as red as the blood that

Stained Jackie’s tailored suit

In the shadow of the grassy knoll

This line hangs as heavy

As the rope that bore such

Strange and bitter fruit

This line is the scar on Gabby Giffords’ scalp

This line is the tear falling

Down a mother’s cheek

This line is hot with rage and fury

This line was uttered in Ford’s Theatre

As theatrically as ever

This line is the sting of the whip

This line is the manacle that holds you in place

This line is drawn tight

Tight as a bow whose arrow

Will take flight

On a straight line to death

This line underscores the tally

Of the lost

This line spits hot lead


In chaos

This line kills

This line is not a drawing

It’s a pathway to oblivion

And everlasting dark

David Trudel  ©  2012

This is a response to this great poem by Susan Daniels:


That line

if there is
a line between free speech
& treason

between change
& revolution

between assembly
& rioting

it is fine
it is dark
& it is drawn

in blood

the problem is
it takes death

to tell the difference

Susan L. Daniels






Filed under Poetry