Tag Archives: social activism

backseat windows

as a child I would lock eyes with other kids

captive in the back seats of station wagons

hurtling down freeways

or slowrolling through clogged streets

 

I would lock eyes

 

trying for some kind of psychic connection

anticipating a future meeting

hoping that decades later

our eyes would remember a moment held between us

briefly as a hummingbird’s visit and just as sweet

 

when we were young it was easy for me

 

seeing the world from inside the safety glass of the family car

innocence was as easy as unlocked doors

knowing who lived in each house on the block

and who’s mother made the best cookies

 

I thought that everyone else was as safe as I was

in those days before I knew about torture

about abuse and cruelty

punches that split skin

and the weight of undeserved guilt

 

perversions frequent as autumn rain

for too many, too young

too terrible

 

now, in this future of punched out walls

I wonder what happened to them

I try to recollect those faces

dredged images from ripped memories

some of those eyes must have been shrieking in their silence

calling for sympathy or salvation

locked in rolling hells

moving closer to the next indignity

while I worried about a music lesson I hadn’t practiced for

if I could return to those moments

I wouldn’t challenge fragile eyes with directness

I‘d look at you obliquely and offer you my passing tears

I’d applaud you for carrying on

holding your head up as you looked out at a world

that held more sins than miracles

 

I would unlock my eyes from the illusion

I would try to see your truth

not mine

 

 

 

David Trudel     © 2015

 

 

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sepia toned

we woke up sepia toned

not drained of colour but transformed into shimmers

 

light lays flat

yellowed as yesterday’s bloodied sun

slipped sideways on a once upon

 

we call each other asking

“do you see it too?”

and words like apocalypse

like endtimes, like otherworldly

fill our mouths as the sky fills our thoughts

 

later, waiting for the ferry

I walk the beach up to and under the dock

crosshatched shadows feed the noontime reek of creosote

triggering memories of campfires

then all I smell is the smoke of a carbon sink

a million trees candled in the wind

a burning world

riding thermals down every seaward valley on the coast

until each wave pushes another dragon under

 

we try to laugh about how strange it looks

as the sun reddens its shroud

 

today is marked in black

this is the year when winter thins its cool

no matter how golden the sky seems right now

or how wonderful splintered light appears slipping through ashfall

this is no celebration

this is not the same as other years

when autumn slashpiles streamed pendants

 

today is amber

a moment to hold long enough to remember

how startled we once were

 

 

 

David Trudel     © 2015

 

 

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bad faith

bad faith has led to this place

the transept holds a draped table

where lawyers pulpit

rights, titles and historical truths

dressed in split hairs

ritualistic applause marks each voice

concepts like terra nullius  lie uncovered

offered up like original sin by unholy courts

whose collective guilt bleeds

as red as maple leaves on white fields

empty spaces left uncoloured

unoccupied by truth

condemned by greed to be torn away

from those who can’t exist

in this place

where faith has been rocked

by fraud and lies

culture quarried and stripped

left for dead

still, there are heartbeats

that call like drums

ascending

 

 

David Trudel  ©  2014

 

 

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spill

there will be beauty in the midst of terror

when light reflects a swirl of colours on the tide

perversely echoing the stained glass of cathedrals

finding one more reason to pray for salvation

not for us

but for the innocent

when greed and complacency foul the ocean

when tarballs creep across tidelines

carpeting creation with black death

ending stories rooted in the beginning of days

a sacrifice to human commerce

papered press releases will talk about dispersants

and highlight spill response teams

until their stench masks that of the dead

seabirds and seastars

and everything else

there will be beauty darkened

by a mask of bunker fuel

or bitumen or toxic sludge

beauty will be found in our tears

saltwater spills running down black cheeks

as we grieve one more assault

one more acceptable risk fulfilled

in service of insanity

 

 

David Trudel       ©  2014

 

 

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unexpected

this was not what I expected

not that I knew what was

around the corner

that presented itself with sharp angles

because there are no soft curves

here

no easy exits

or ways to leave out the back door

this is it

this is looking

into a cold light

into reality

into your own heart

when the defenses come down

into the unexpected

around corners

where every angle is an exit

or an obstruction

 

 

David Trudel  ©   2013

 

 

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