The Tribe

Who will lead this Army

Crying for the flame to march

Millions strong

Summoned by the siren of death

Suckled by the breast that eats

Its own children?

Our flags are mottled

No longer red white or blue

Showing we are scattered

And delighting unseen eyes.

Our songs are many

Unsweetened of love’s paeans

Telling now of anger

Lamenting broken dreams

Who will lead this Army

Varicolored through the night

Who will lead us to the doorstep

Of the Gods?

Power Failure

it was like trying to hold oxygen

in my hand.

like someone tilted the floor

& told me to stand

 it was like trying to level a mountain

with a rake

like using a spoon

to empty the lake

like falling forever

in a bottomless gorge

or trying to bend iron

without flame & forge

that’s how it was

my friend

when he died of cancer

we had come to the end

without finding

the answer

Tooly’s Pond

When the rain had ceased

the pond was still

till fresh North winds arrived

to free the trees

of moisture’s burden.

Like a grounded cloud

the mist rolled slow

upon the surface of a mirror

and was gone

making hard to judge

where sky and mountains stopped

and Tooly’s pond began

The fish

emboldened since the rain

leaped high from home and grinned

knowing I came rodless,

the flies were hunted now

where sky and mountains stopped

and Tooly’s pond began

Must there come that day

when metal cat returns

to ravage once again the work

He deemed complete in seven days,

or will the pond prevail

to hold in check

the clanking track of monster

and its master?

If the cat must come

let it be in summer after rain

when we shall see who wins

as sight and purpose falter

where sky and mountains stop

and Tooly’s pond begins

E.J. Hudak ca. 1969

That Moment

 

Amazing the things

that work — and don’t work

 

A love that’s given

and not returned

The time that measures

but never stops

That moment wished for

 forever spurned

One hope that lingers

— forget me not

 

**

 

This Dream

 

My pen is my instrument

the letters my band

the readers my audience

each note to command

 

My prose a piano

my verse in the strings

Percussion conducting

— this dream to begin

 

**

 

The Balance

 

As thoughts and feelings

joined as one

A light went off …

I saw the sun

The balance I had

always craved

Enveloped me

— the debt repaid

 

**

 

 

Thoughts On Trial

 

Academic court-marshal

tenure is lost

Degrees are rescinded

peer reviews squawk

 

Doctorate cancelled

fellowships mired

Theories in limbo

— students on fire

 

**

 

Rejection

 

You can’t cry

anymore …

The past ill-begotten

the present in sin

 

You can’t cry

anymore …

Your tears a confession

— rejected within

 

**

 

Estranged Bedfellows

 

Ten years later

both still proud

Sleeping apart

 saying out loud

Threats

of indictment

Fingers

of blame

Marriage

despondent

Sharing

— a name

 

**

 

Forced Recon

 

Seize every

moment

Or others

will not

Your voice

is the trigger

That fire’s

their lot

 

Give yourself

credit

Where credit

is due

But lead

from the front

Intrepid

— and true

 

**

Fear Rewinds

 

You ask me why

I’ve been to lands

that you have

never seen

 

While you refuse

to cross the line

where safety

gives reprieve

 

I marked the trail

in blood and pain

the door behind

unlocked

 

Where you stand fast

while stuck in place

as fear

— rewinds your clock

 

**

 

Their Cost Demands

 

The purchase price

of truth

is life

The purchase price

of truth

is death

Life or Death

their cost

demands

What zero-sum

their will

— commands

 

**

 

Inside The Shadow

 

He didn’t know

he knew it

 until he did

He never took

offense

 at wounds rebled

He traveled

in place

at one fell swoop

Inside

the shadow

— of time’s rebuke

 

**

 

Time’s Regret

 

In tears

I drown

from heartaches

cast

 

And grief

my spirits

sole

repast

 

A memory

ridden

with time’s

regret

 

In search

of silence

to then

— forget

 

**

 

Shadow’s Long

 

Forever waiting …

but then for what

The days retreating

the years untouched

 

A haunting vacuum

shadows long

Anticipation’s

— forgotten song

 

**

 

This Moment Alive

 

The future an orphan

 born in the past

The present dynamic

 destined to last

 

This moment alive

without reference or spin

Set free by the instant

— to happen within

 

**

I may not

like it

Most

au contraire

But writing

it true

Your right

to share

 

Our language

different

Our thoughts

opposed

Yet both

defined

By what

we know

 

Each word

denotes

What pain

would hide

Unto

ourselves

The meaning

thrives

 

With couplets

foreign

And quatrains

skewed

Our Muses

strangers

Respect

— on view

 

**

  

Inception

 

Tomorrow freshly baited

— the future reborn

 

**

 

The Beury Building

 

Art deco

majestic

she waits

in the dust

Broad and Erie’s

‘Grande Olde Dame’

her memory

in trust

Of ancient

glories

from the past

stripped down to the bone

Set to rise

with fate reprised

where boyhood visions

— grow

 

**

 

https://hiddencityphila.org/2024/08/revival-of-north-philly-landmark-slams-to-a-halt/

 

 

 

 

 

 

Never my

friend

Not even

a foe

Death like

a wind

That blows

through my soul

 

Always it

hovers

Forever

on hold

Waiting in

silence

The bell’s

— final toll

 

**

  

Rising Inherent

 

Your fight’s

not with me

Your fight’s

with the truth

That stands

in defiance

To what you

might choose

 

It knows

of no allies

But enemies

plain

And rises

inherent

Itself

— to proclaim

 

**

Moonchild

I held him dying in my arms

As he whispered hoarsely

‘Don’t let them forget;

Remember me

And show them how wrong

That right can be.’

In a second he was gone

His place removed

From the table.

No one would ever know

His talents or how far

His influence could have gone.

Perhaps as a physician

He would have healed thousands.

As an agrarian wizard

He might have spared Biafra

Those swollen stomachs.

He could have found the True God,

But like billions before him

He was sacrificed

By the manipulators of destiny:

The Apache chiefs on the hill,

Braves dying.

Generals in the command post,

Platoons slaughtered.

The Judas goat

And always the 300 Spartans,

The Light Brigade and Pickett’s Charge.

The shield, to be protector,

Or the death slab,

And more await

Packed in the pens of town and city

Like so much cattle

Awaiting the word of the manipulator

Clothed in the worn-out

Hole-ridden mantle of freedom

And another handshake

And another tear-stained kiss

And another ‘We’re proud of you boy.’

And another ‘You’re doing a fine job.

And another medal.

And another flag

And another and another and another …

Christian And The Tiger

Christian returned from church

Feeling worse for the experience;

Sunday!

Restless with nothing to do

Christian decided to visit the zoo.

The people there were strolling about:

Arm in arm, hand in hand, and in places

Mouth in mouth,

Black people, yellow people, white people

And children lost, crying for a policeman

As their mothers instructed.

The hippo yawned at the man in Bermudas snapping pictures;

A thin woman threw peanuts which the elephant ignored;

The zebra defecated, intensely studied by a soldier.

The reptiles were motionless:

An alligator stared mysteriously, like eyes behind sunglasses;

The monkeys were bored, except for the gorilla

Whish put a half-orange in its mouth and smiled — Sunkist

The restless cats all paced their cells

Except a tiger keeping silent vigil on the passing crowd.

Christian stood alone with the cat, saddened in its plight,

Letting remorse wash over him until …

It was even stronger than the smell from the Bengal’s cage.

Then he gripped the rail retainer and cried aloud,

‘Release the tiger! Let him be free like me.’

His voice echoed but went unheard.

The tiger, tilting its head to the left,

Spoke:

‘Weep not for me, Christian;

Know you not that we are both imprisoned?

Your cell is merely larger, with more companions;

I was once free; can you say the same, O sad one?

As you see me, so I see you:

Behind bars.

Tell me, Christian,

For which captive do you weep?’

The truth the tiger spoke

Shocked him more than the situation

So Christian left the beast to his silent vigil.

He roamed the boulevard

Window-shopping with his thoughts

Until the sun was setting.

Then, with gnawing hunger

He paced the silent steps

To his row home and supper

And the remainder of Sunday’s routine.

Back at the zoo — it was feeding time

E.J. Hudak ca. 1969