Tag Archives: language


My Cain and Abel are my words

Battling for the give and take of perception

They circle themselves

Poised to lash out or swiftly defend

I have used words as shields

I have hidden behind their illusion

Used the ambiguity of meaning and intent

To prevaricate and dissemble

Not from deviousness

But unconsciously

Or to mask my own fear and insecurity


Yet I find great joy in words

They are my playground and delight

Dancing meaning into dialogue

Reinventing clouds into rain

Or mining seams of elemental truth

I turn words into bouquets

Or scrawl them on signposts and sidewalks

Like some mad tagger

Illuminating the gray sameness

Of blank canvasses at midnight


Eventually the words turn me

Into a question

That I cannot answer

Feeling walled in

By the discreteness of each definition

Stamped out by our shared accommodation of

Conventional language

Which isn’t drunken shouts of expense account delegates

But a common delusion

That we can trade perceptions

Without trading our inner selves

Uncentering from each private strand of individuality

Into some union of sameness

Believing that words can be shared with exactitude

Forgetting the magical glow of transitory sunsets

And how impossible it is to grasp that moment

Let alone use words to describe the indescribable



David Trudel    © 2013



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It’s no bother that my words are hollow

Nothing is ever as solid as it seems

Meaning is always elusive between us

Each interpretation derives from its perspective

I’ll never know just what you think

Words are only approximations

For things we never truly see



David Trudel   © 2013



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Second Half

This is the second half of the poem I started to write

The first half has been deleted

Try to imagine those empty words yourself

Self-indulgent words that were so shallow

They dried up and blew away

Cliché ridden

Devoid of original thought

Ultimately not worth editing

Except to throw them out

And reset baseline standards



David Trudel  ©  2013




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I am at ease with my words and all their inadequacies

That barely express my half formed thoughts

Shredded memories and momentary reveries

It doesn’t bother me that only a part of what I want to say gets through

From somewhere between my ears through my fingertips to you

Knowing that I can touch you with an emotion

Push a button or create an impression is a powerful thing

Even if it’s only an echo of what my mind is trying to shout

Still, I am happy enough in the attempt

To try to convey a truth or truthfully create an illusion

So I share what I can

With weathered words on roadsigns to other places

Promising a destination of sorts

Somewhere up ahead where I’ve mapped my own steps

With the comfort of being at ease with my inadequacies



David Trudel  ©  2013




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These are not the right words

Write words

These are just approximations

These are consignment store words

Worn by others and cast away

A little threadbare and faded

The words I’d like to use don’t exist

I need to cut new cloth and stitch them together

But the closest thing to an atelier in my mind

Is memory

So I take the easy way and use these indicators

To proxy my feelings and perceptions

Instead of inventing new words

New language

To transmit the feelings that flow through and over me

Or the look in your eyes when we’re nose to nose

A blink away from eternity

I can’t capture a sunset or a surprise

Not that I’d want the responsibility of taking prisoners

I prefer wild freedoms to careful domesticity

So I use wrong words for write reasons

Approximations of shadows rounded up or down

Calculated words that hold a caricature of truth

Approximations of what I’d like to say



David Trudel    ©  2013




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My naked thoughts wear these words loosely

These words aren’t haute couture

They’re jeans and a tee shirt

Covering my imperfections and strengths

My thoughts aren’t tourists

But they travel

Boxed by language

I send them away

Stripping down to nothing

Immodest, shameless and proud

Until I remember Eden and try to cover up

Stitching dissimulations into rags

Weaving barriers against your clarity of sight

I clothe my truth to ease my anxious fears

Obscuring the purity of perfection

With imprecision and misdirection

As language turns clean thoughts to soiled words



David Trudel    ©  2013




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My Words

My words are fragile as periwinkle stalks

Snapping apart when I grab them

My words are bubbles of gas that ascend from depths

To burst upon the revelation of surface plane

My words are leaves in the canopy I see overhead

Until they desiccate and float back down to earth

My words are proxies for the vote I’ve yet to make

Signed over in a blind trust to otherness

My words shuffle, stumble and fall

Homeless as the crazy-eyed binner that no one stares at directly

My words approach but never quite arrive

Never make it past the lobby to where they aren’t authorized

My words feed vending machines like a handful of change

Dispensing instant gratification if the price is right

My words are signposts to a destination

A mapless place positioned beyond terrestrial coordinates

My words are a journey and a joy

Carrying their burdens in a caravan of mystery

My words are just words like anyone’s

Trying to get the mind’s inside outside for once

My words are everything and nothing

Emblematic and ephemeral as graffiti in a back alley



David Trudel   ©  2013



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Not Quite Right

Had an appointment

With happiness

A sure thing


But was dissed



David Trudel  ©  2012



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