Tag Archives: memory


Each moment moves in its own way

Fast as a stubbed toe signaling pain

Slow as a hard chair in a waiting room

Slippery as a half guarded look between me and you


Time is a contradiction

From its measured divides

Yet fluid enough for our mystery rides


For all of our clocks and calculations

It loops, soft pedals then rockets along

Dragging, flying and slipping away


Just when we think it’s unidirectional

A smell or a song brings us back to the past

And we’re right where we were a lifetime ago

Without ever moving an inch or an hour


Time, it seems

Answers to some other power



David Trudel    ©  2013



Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry


This angry red line will fade

As will the slow burn of transient pain

Becoming a faint memory that I’ll laugh about

Dismissing the whole event as inconsequential

I’ll cavalierly gloss over the memory

Because it will be as forgotten as yesterday’s rain

But part of me will always live here

Remembering the truth of the thin white scar

How it was when it was raw red

When I was as vulnerable as any Old Testament offering

Finding cruel mercy in a scalpel’s edge

Learning that miracles come at a cost

Counted in a currency of suffering



David Trudel     ©  2013



Leave a comment

Filed under Cardiology, Poetry


It’s all about fragments

Small pieces of everything

Becoming and unbecoming

Randomly mixing

Fixing into stasis momentarily

Until transformation happens inevitably


We all know the solitude of raindrops

A journey from birth to death

Falling from the heavens to the depths

But we forget the ocean we came from

And to which we’ll return


We look around entranced by illusions

Thinking that there’s permanence in this collective delusion

Forgetting that matter is mostly space

When you look into it


And in the long thrum of the ages

The most monotonous beat is change

Blending everything that ever was

Into everything that will ever be


The particles that make us real

Come from everywhere

Inside us all are memories of primordial seas

Mysterious creatures that we’ve never dreamed

Rocks and trees and dinosaurs

All live on inside our cores


Not just the past

But every future possibility

Echoes in our veins

We just need to learn to listen

To the eternal resonance of creation



David Trudel  ©  2013



Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Chez Victor

Chez Victor

I was about ten years old when Chez Victor opened

A fine French chef in a greasy spoon on Davie Street

My dad took Thursday afternoons off

Every now and then I’d go along

When school got out

On his trip to the University record library

Where he’d select the next few albums to serenade Sunday

We’d glide into downtown in ragtop cool

MGBing overbridge into urban madness

Inside this grimed café a door opened into Paris

They would flower into Brel and Becaud

Sliding into a fraternity of francophone

We would feast on boeuf bourguignon

Drink Mouton Cadet

Of which I’d sip


But with the borrowed insouciance

Of the 14th arrondisement

Whose child I wasn’t

But might have been

Traveling across possibilities into fractured reality

Quietly soaking up Gallic truth

Like the French bread in the broth

At the bottom of the bowl

David Trudel  ©  2013


Filed under Poetry, Uncategorized

Time Travel

Most of us are time travelers

Not just moving in a linear way from moment to moment

But anticipating and planning

Imagining alternate futures that are optimistically biased

Forgetting other imagined futures that fell short of reality

Since memory isn’t a very accurate recording device

Its core function not to scrapbook our pasts

But to foretell our futures, flexibly constructing scenarios

Likewise we reconstruct our spotty pasts from grime to gleam

Hope and happiness keep optimistic minds at ease

While the pessimistic fearful suffer side effects of low expectations

We all live with illusions and delusions

Make mine optimistic

I’ll wallow in happiness

Travelling to a brighter future



David Trudel  ©  2013




Filed under Poetry

Best Before

Al Capone is responsible for best before dates

He hated the sour milk he had to drink as a child

So when he wanted to buy some goodwill

He donated a million dollars on milk for school kids

But insisted on the date being printed

Not wanting to leave a sour taste on young palates

He settled for whiskey sours for their parents

For tartness to march on

And so when you laugh at tired clichés

Like every cloud has a silver lining

Remember the old gangster

Who wanted to freshen up

And did

And does


David Trudel  © 2013


Filed under Poetry

Inner Dialogue

I hear scenarios playing in my head

Of conversations with you or without you

Anyone really

Anticipating next encounters

With dialogue that sparkles and dances

But disappears into the dark abyss of that mine called memory

Sometimes I’ll bring something back

A memory of a chance encounter

I rerun the scene editing out the bad bits

Take two, take three

Cues up the inner dialogue again

Then for a second I rewrite history

Imagining futurepasts and might have beens

Instead of the present where reality intrudes to tie my tongue

The present, where my verbal gift is reticence

I try to be in the moment

But not necessarily this one



David Trudel   © 2013



Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry