diaspora

the diaspora of my thoughts

leaves me unpopulated at core

where there was a city

now, only mud huts remain

my words have become refugees

sheltering in desert tents

scattered across borders

this dispersion has left me burnt and derelict

my riches have disappeared

I am nothing but a beggar now

I wait for renewal

but my thoughts are stillborn

even naked truth ceases to arouse my passion

winds raise a curtain of dust around me

each mote a memory of a death

each mote a misdirection

a barrier standing between perceptions

until I am invisible and alone

unhampered by surroundings

unable to hear the cries of the many

I confront the emptiness of solitary freedom

and find peace

in the tranquility of disengagement

 

 

David Trudel   ©  2013

 

 

Hunt

It’s as if I’ve been bled once too often

Leaving me hollow and indifferent

I am bemused by the lovestruck and the lovelorn

Who brandish their heartfelt emotions

Like Tibetan prayer flags

I try to listen to my own heart

Then get distracted by the noise

I try to make sense of distant wars and rebellions

But I can’t

I appreciate the natural beauty that surrounds me

Even if I can’t find words to reflect that beauty

Superficial thoughts pop into my mind like cheap firecrackers

Leaving exploded promises smoldering

I string letters into words

Words into phrases

They don’t satisfy me

So I delete them

I listen

I watch

Waiting like a hunter in a blind

For an unsuspecting quarry

Nothing comes

I am patient, knowing that I am on a game trail

I only have to wait a while longer

Before the prey returns

 

 

David Trudel   © 2013

 

 

Blanked

Some days when I stare at the next blank page

All I can think of are tired clichés

Or banal expressions of surface clutter

And then I think of all the misery that plagues us

Or the corruption at the top that keeps us infected

Which leads me to a heavy sigh moment

That sends a chill into my fingers

So I stare out the window and it’s raining

There’s no bright ray of sunshine illuminating the garden

Just like there’s no bright spark of love in my heart

Although it keeps sending out reconnaissance missions

While maintaining a cordon of armed sentries

So that blank page with its high-pitched whine starts to be irritating

I make a false start with ill-chosen words

Check Facebook and like a half dozen memes that friends have posted

Share two of them

I try again and still the page remains blank

I deal a hand of solitaire

I lose

I go to the grocery store

Hoping to find inspiration in the produce aisle

But I don’t

Even an endorphin-stirring workout

Produces sweat but little else

The page stays blank

I pray for inspiration

Nothing comes

So I write about blank pages and frustration

Nothing magical or inspired

But enough to spill a few words

Unblanking the challenge of emptiness

 

 

David Trudel   ©  2013