Tag Archives: knockan hill

dark

it’s dark on the hill

even though city lights peel away secrets

below where I stand lonely

listening to urban din hammered into songs

remembering to look up

scanning for planes diving across memories

picking out constellations as cop cars provide the horns

I remember that insectalien rising out of the floor

planetarium lights dimming

a sonorous sky guide

and highbacked reclining chairs

modern as open the pod bay doors, Hal

open the pod bay doors

remembering to look down

looking for secrets in polished glass

burnished metal and an artillery of light bulbs

now its dark

now there is no up

now the past is the hunter

on the hill in the dark

remembering the loneliness

there is between each of us

 

 

David Trudel           © 2015

 

 

 

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Last night, my after-dinner walk brought me through the forest up to the hilltop. At this time of year it’s a transition getting used to the earlier darkness and learning to hear the sounds of the night. But it’s also the time when the hilltop view sparkles with lights as the city opens up, becoming a magical tapestry of distant reflections. Overhead ragged clouds play striptease with the universe and the half moon radiates her silvery charms. I stand there drinking it all in, letting my mind settle and letting go of all my small thoughts and distractions until it’s just me and the universe. I sense a presence and turn around. There, in the dusky shadows is a family of deer, pausing for a moment to look at the same lights. Eventually they melt into the dark and I make my way downhill.

 

 

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looking for the aurora

toes curl

gripping rock through shoe and moss

pressing brief bones against a plunge of denseness

my tongue tastes endurance

more feeling than looking

then up, inevitably

up into the great whatever

not into riddles or faded histories of starlight

catching yesterday’s plasma

high flies

against the big black fullness

high flies

rippling daggers slice the empty

 

this point a singularity

 

under it all

holding on to nothing

holding nothing in

until the next point is less than something

nothing is left

but the rock

the sky

and me

 

 

David Trudel       © 2014

 

 

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Doe

her eyes catch the final glimmers of daylight

drawing my attention to the doe

ruminating trailside

I hold her gaze and say hello dear

with a smile

we look at each other, her shoulders relax

we share this moment

not quite trusting each other

but less than wary

close enough to hear each other breathing

shadows close in

our eyes, different enough

seeing mysteries

both recognize a moment of peace

worth sharing

 

David Trudel   © 2014

 

 

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Shin

Of all the things I’m privileged with, one of my favourites is being able to go on nighttime Shinrin-yoku  walks in the hilltop park behind my house.  Armed only with a flashlight I walk the darkened hallways of swaying trees, listening to arpeggios played upon their upper branches.

I walk by myself but I’m not alone, I’m here with each fir and oak, with the forest understory with its many tiny insect and bird kingdoms, and I’m with the morphing clouds that race across the sky, ambered by the city that spills its way towards this hilltop redoubt. I listen to the song the wind is singing and I look at the scimitar pureness of a new moon.   I give thanks for a moment of standing on a rocky outcrop at the edge of a city watching its lights and the sky overhead, feeling the wind surge around me and feeling at peace.

 

 

 

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tree song

needles on each dancing branch

pull keening sounds from the wind

singing regrets that they can’t fly

like empty exiles

doomed to restlessness

each sound a friction

between immovable and unstoppable

wistful and beautiful

as silhouettes of trees against the night

rooted into place

but longing to take flight

 

 

David Trudel  © 2014

 

 

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