Tag Archives: truth

I am Grateful

I am grateful for the privilege that lets me live on Vancouver Island

I am grateful to be a visitor on the traditional lands of the Lek’wungen People

I am grateful for the freedom to walk on the beach at dusk in safety

I am grateful for being a white male

in a world of violence towards women

I thank the creator for all the gifts I share

I thank the creator for all of you

I’m grateful

for the privilege of sharing

this moment

this now

with you

 

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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ambiguous

some days are like that

 

what?

 

ambiguous

 

not quite a total fucking disaster

but not bad either

 

gotcha, says he

 

it’s the middle of winter

but when the sun shines

even a grey day

shows some colour

like a redwinged blackbird

on a fenceline

 

tenuous as hell

 

when its raining and cold

it all gets to be

ambiguous

like that

 

 

David Trudel       © 2014

 

 

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sunset

this day there was a choir

singing

as we approached the beach

for real

in a circle

entoning celestial voices against

moist slurps percussively

arriving

 

there was a rock

to shelter against

in the brilliant light

of cadenced winter

 

there was your face

reflecting the wind

the crows paid no attention

as they chortled their way across tideline buffets

 

manicured dogs careen along this margin

we disregard the others

absorbed

in a dialogue that dances into

yesterday

until we enter the present

capturing moments

with precision and obliqueness

 

entering into a realm where colours shift

with each tilt of the head

where land slips beneath the waves

and rocks turn into sand

beneath our feet

 

as dusk purples distant mountains

gulls cry

I look at you

thinking

that sometimes sunsets have supporting roles

 

 

David Trudel  ©  2014

 

 

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eyes

some moments are so beautiful

they melt

like I do

when you see me

like that

 

 

David Trudel  © 2014

 

 

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Dionysus for dinner

I had Dionysus over for dinner

it was a disaster

he seemed so nice on the internet

posting all these great memes with classical metaphors

we became Facebook friends

messaging back and forth with ribald wit

which should have tipped me off

I assumed he’d evolved

become a 21st century hipster

heavily invested in the wine industry

holding a controlling interest in all the Ecstacy sold at all the raves

a bankster druglord

a modern god

but no

instead, suburban calm was disrupted

to the point where the neighbours all came out to gawk

holding smartphones over their heads to record the spectacle

as Dionysus arrived by chariot

not just any chariot but one pulled by lions and tigers

roaring in frenzied exaltation

some old dude with a beard was with him

I thought it might be Willie Nelson at first

but he belched, said he was Silenus and pointed over my shoulder

I turned around

up the block came a group of half-naked hippie chicks

well, it seemed that way

right out of fucking Woodstock

flowers braided into their hair and dancing just out of reach

of a bunch of randy old goats

flashing shocked onlookers with penile magnitude

impossibly proportioned

they tore through my house

grabbed all the wine

a bottle of brandy, the gin and vermouth

even the hidden bottle of 18 year old Macallan

it all disappeared

they found my stash in the drawer upstairs

gone within seconds

boring! they chorused

they dragged me along

back out and back onto the street

they started playing a reggae tune

that I knew but had never heard before

I danced with them

shedding all self-control

partying through middleclass suburbs

subverting those who looked interesting

emptying their basement bars

sparking up herbs liberated from mancaves

freeing souls from polite restraint

until the goats had their way

the dogs began barking

as middle-aged wage slaves screamed their release

of a lifetime’s fear and repression

while we drained every bottle

until the only thing left to find

was sleep

I woke up on the front lawn

snuggling between one of the hippie chicks

and mrs smith from down the block

the paperboy was nudging me with his foot

it’s almost dawn, he said

still night for another moment

I replied, with a wink

 

David Trudel  ©  2014

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39 years later

Ed03539 years later you look out at me

framed time holds that moment

you were sitting in my car’s backseat

long hair haloed by the sun

full of tomorrows

 

caught midwink

your eyes are oddly unbalanced

one much larger than the other

 

you panached that pince nez

that rides your aquiline nose

it was never silly when you wore it

it didn’t matter that you had 20/20 vision

you liked its appearance

the costume value of a minimalist mask

you knew the kind of looks it would provoke

 

your unlined face never did get wrinkled

you still have all your hair

in the moments that I keep you alive

a few images and memories

you remain caught in our youth

 

I carry you forward

into the now of 39 years later

your hair reduced to a fringe

your face a roadmap of the intensity of your passions

still ready with a wink and a smile

bearing memories of never weres

and premonitions of yet to be

 

but that vision fades

I’m left with a black and white photo

and a hole in my heart

punched through with the same force

that bullets punched through yours

in the middle of the night

gunned down

another guiltless bystander

another crime statistic

one more unfulfilled promise

that diminishes this reality

into less than it should have been

less than it should have been

 

 

David Trudel    ©  2013

Photo by Art McLeod

 

 

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