Feed Me

The eyes are haunting, hungry and begging.
Reflecting decades of terror and sadness.
Each generation repeating itself,
as they listen to the world
preaching to their souls.
When all they want is a bite to eat.

Beyond What I Know

Who is putting these thoughts in my head?
Questions with answers I can't comprehend.
Explainations unseen before the eyes.
Intuitions with the gift to change.

Alert and receptive for that inner voice
urging the quest for wisdoms forgotten,
for powers unused and potentials untapped.
Quelling fears of the misunderstood.

The mind now open to miraculous possibilities.
A world beyond the world we know
where human dimension intersects with celestial.
The consciousness shift has begun.

No More

The words on the page of the book blurred,
as the music broke through her concentration,
to the part of the mind where
recollections are shrouded in mist.

Closed now the book and also her eyes
as thoughts only that song could call forth.
Smells, sounds and sights spring from a night
not that long ago.

Fresh cut flowers in a vase by an empty wine bottle.
Perfume mingled with sweat on the pillow.
Steam off the water from a shower together.
A tug on her heart as he pulled her close.

"I'll see you soon", he would say with a kiss at the door.
"Please don't leave me, please stay with me", she always requested.
Yet his answer remained the same.
With resolve in her voice she finally replied
"Don't bother, I want you no more".

Set Free

Naked, disguised beneath the paint.
Dancing, swirling, parading
through streets,
down the now crowded alley ways.
Trinkets flying, revelers shouting,
wandering, weaving, laughing, pointing.
Libations freely flowing.
Bodies moving to different rhythms.
Sexual ambiguities abounding,
masked in whimsical array.
Nocturnal stillness is obscured.
The bacchanal now unrestrained.

Untitled

All your years upon this earth,
going through life
as those before you.
Looking back, moving forward
sharing what you had to give.

Keeping dreams inside yourself,
hiding thoughts, desires and cares.
Not letting us see
who you are,
only who you were taught to be.

Untitled

Match me if you dare.
Just don't think
that you will change me.
You can't rearrange
the way I am.
The pieces won't fit
any other way.

Untitled

We were not meant
to be lonely souls.
To be by ourselves
in our own company.
Without intimate growth
of another mind and body.
No one else
to share our life space.
Our hearts yearn to be claimed,
to be couples entwined.
In solitude we wither,
our purpose denied.

untitled

Please stop and stay,
don't pass on by.
Give me a change to be part of you.
I have so much I'd like to share,
I've been saving up.

All I am I offer you,
and hope that you allow.
That to me you'll do the same
and never break my trust.

untitled

The old woman watches
the boy acroos the street.
Sitting on the tailgate,
strumming his guitar.
Singing songs to a girl,
far too young to understand.
Love you, want you, need you,
we will always be.

She was also once desired
by young men just like him.
All professing to her their one true love.
All saying similar words,
love you, want you, need you,
we will always be.

She never embraced a lasting love.
Now withers away a lonely soul.
Who will miss her when she is gone.

So she sits in a rocker on the empty porch
in front of her house.
Watching the boy across the street,
sitting on the tailgate strumming his guitar.
Singing songs to a girl,
far too young to understand.

The Encounter

Another light poem. This is a true story by the way. It occurred in 1986 in Tennessee. When the bear decided to leave us be, we continued on the hike. We still don't take hints well.



Once we hiked Cades Cove Trail,
my dear Sister and I.
When up from the bank
sprang a lone brown bear,
we're clearly in his way.

Oh Shit! oh shit ! oh shit I say.
Grabbing her shirt as
backward we do hasten.

All the while she snaps her camera.
Not one picture comes out taken!

Rearview

Get over yourself and out of your way.
Allow yourself to live.
Don't cling to regrets, they belong in the past,
and as such you cannot change.

Make a note to remember,
contemplate a new path,
turn around and travel on.

Or over the present you might stumble
and completely miss whats ahead.

What May Come

Quiet whispers riding forth.
Gently knocking, knocking, knocking.
Unremitting, unrelenting,
in the arousing of the minds.

Thoughts awakening, rising up,
bursting dams, crashing through skulls
flowing out into the awaiting.
Rushing to join legions of others,
also rushing onward, forward.

Faster and faster, dissimilar yet similar.
No discord exists in this diversity,
only unity in the differences.
Stronger and stronger the many become,
until the many become the one.

The Gift

No need to look behind again.
Back to the entrapment,
the deepest, darkest abyss.

All before is clear and crisp.
Hungry to let all drop away,
ready once again to fly.
You gave wings to all within.

Words of my Father

My Father served in the infantry during WWII and fought in the European Theater. This is a poem he wrote after one difficult battle.

Prayer of Thanks

Father we send a prayer of thanks,
for thy protection through the attack,
and Father give us guidance in other battles,
protect the Divisions to which we are attached.

You've cared for us through the darkest hours
and lead us around traps and mines.
Where comrades died, you gave us life,
lead us forward through the lines.

In foxholes cold and sounds of war,
you gave us courage, you gave us light.
We want to thank Thee once again,
Father, for thy protection day and night.

E.V. Hudson 1945

I Have Evolved

Age has produced a serenity,
of which I had not in youth.
A growing, deep contentment,
with whom I have evolved.
A quiet determined
peace of mind, offering patience
to create what is in me.
Desire to share
the joy I have found.
Ability to calmly dismiss,
the trappings of a common world.

Moving On

Change has taken place in me over the past few months. Not a remarkable change nor an amazing change or even a visable change to anyone but me, but nonetheless a change. The will to create with words has become stronger than the desire to create on canvas. I am still painting, just not as frequently.
My Father instilled in me, at a very early age, the importance of words. My work as a graphic artist and advertising executive depended on words. But those words equated profit. Until now I have not been driven to write what is inside me. Be it words or paint on canvas, I create by compulsion not by choice.
It is said, sometimes you have to go home to go on. My home is not a physical place on a plot of dirt. The journey to my home took several years. The visit was fruitful, it enabled me to move on.