Tag Archives: social commentary

Sports redux

at times all that’s left

is a retreat into sports

not relevant

at all

but as primal as ancient Rome

in wired arenas

when teams coloured in

screaming adoration

or dismay

become an Australian Blue Heeler

of collective heat

outstretched

pulling centrifugally

against your impulse to say

Stop!

in which there is no

enough is

no safe place under the bleachers

to watch it play out

until thumbs are

outstretched

 

 

David Trudel      ©   2013

 

 

 

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Chores

Today is a day for small chores

Bringing water like some forgotten sky god

For my green prisoners

Next, I vacuum

Stirring the dust and detritus

Harvesting peanut shells and dust bunnies

For memories and lost thoughts

My routines are commonplace

Comforting in their normalcy

Giving me the illusion of some fragile permanence

That might stand against the intransigence of power

Forgetting that state control is as prevalent here

As it ever was in war zones and dictatorships

Where terror slams like bullets into unarmed crowds

And poetry is bloodwritten on pockmarked concrete

By the dying

Who no longer water houseplants

But bleed out their innocence on city streets

 

 

David Trudel    © 2013

 

 

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Mainstream

It’s all distorted

The news

Facts pushed and pulled into rumors

Truth’s elasticity stretching beyond is to isn’t

Until we are left to question everything

 

Trust is collateral damage

When journalism disappears

Beneath a tide of economic interests

Suppressing any story deeper

Than the shallow but well dressed puppets who read

Soft spun press releases

Promoting depredations of resource extraction

Or the need to cut more social programs

To pay for tax reductions

 

So the stories we are fed

Are cats being rescued from trees

Stormy weather

The twin circuses of sports and entertainment

And the illusion of being included

In the bogus democracy of global corporatism

 

 

David Trudel    © 2013

 

 

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Non Sequitur

Even a harmless snake

Is a perceived threat

When a brittle stick becomes animated

Beside your foot

 

The closer to downtown

The slower the road repairs

 

Even if you are all alone at sunset

You share that moment of transcendent beauty

With countless others

 

Ripping out native plants for lawns and flowerbeds

Is horticultural colonialism

 

Sidewalk etiquette is a moving target

 

Hearts beat louder at midnight

 

I can’t recall ever seeing anyone sitting around

Doing advanced mathematics for fun

Not even quadratic equations

But the education system sure treats that shit seriously

Seriously.

 

Life is process

 

 

David Trudel        ©  2013

 

 

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What Is Truth

If I could talk about beauty today

I’d talk about whirligig seedpods spiraling down from maple trees

Whose leaves lie yellowed and rusted

Beneath the green canopy that has begun its fatal turn

Anticipating the fall

Or the smell of the forest moments after a rainshower

Evoking distant memories

Walking along the trail

My feet play an arpeggio of crunches

But I’m not listening to that song

My mood is as gray and ponderous as the clouds

Massing like warships off the coast

There is little room for beauty

When the ugliness of war is imminent

When the ugliness of violence is prevalent

And the mean spirits of the convinced

Crush any non-conformist view

With the finality of the fallen

Yet even though I ache with empathy

For the lost and beaten

For long lost spirits vanished in genocidal flames

That is not my truth today

My truth is my own pain

The dull ache of bone regenerating

A scabrous tug of congealed tissues beneath a zippered line

Of reddened welts

Ascending my chest like angry punctuation marks

My truth is stolen by my self-absorption

I isolate chaotic messages of a disrupted nervous system

Comprehending metallic intrusions

Listening to the mechanical insistence of the new valve

Then, drained and enervated I fade

Into somnolence

Unable to maintain the illusion of reality

I slumber unconcernedly

Aware of nothing beyond my next breath

Finding a solitary truth

 

 

David Trudel        ©  2013

 

 

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Filed under Cardiology, Poetry

Naked Sky

There were other summers

When miles would roll by

Cliffs and undercuts

Screaming here I am

Here I am

Today

In those half forgotten days

I would trust in

The reality of whatever gods presented

Today

I listen to

Murmurs

Of your heartbeat

I listen to you

Under the naked sky

Even if you are cloaked

With the fetters of your generation

I listen

To the beats

You don’t hear

To the messages that are always

Intercepted

By your sense of propriety

Or mild revulsion

Under this sky

That holds its own revelation

Waiting

For

A rhythm to follow

All I can offer

Now

Is the mechanical whir

Of a machine

Saying thump

Thump

And thump

With the insistence of a chapel house

In the night

 

David Trudel © 2013

 

 

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This Is Not A Poem

This is not a poem about love

Or yearning for love

This is not a poem about relationships

And all the shit that transpires between us

This is not a walk

Down memory lane

Into some childish backwater of a mind that plays tricks

This is not a poem

About social context

Communities

Interplaying like some dissonant chordal structure

This is not that kind of poem

This is a poem that hands you a towel

When you enter this room

Dims the lights

Speaks softly to you

Listens to your heart

Intently

Echoing every nuance of feeling

Transcribing

That moment when you look into the abyss

With more excitement than fear

Because

This is it

Here

Now

Forever

David Trudel    ©  2013

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Filed under Cardiology, Poetry