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
An Anthology Of Perception 