introduction to poetry

Collected poems

I’m not really sure what I was originally looking for that afternoon out in the garage, but whatever it was, I never found it. Instead, I came across several ragged manila envelopes filled with handwritten bits and pieces of my poetry and prose from 30 to 40 years ago. For the next two or three hours I was absorbed in reading all those things and trying to comprehend that I had, indeed, written them.
I have no problem remembering those times of my life . My early twenties, dating, college, even high school and before. I can see my life as a stream of consciousness across an increasingly longer lifespan and for the most part I can retrieve a fairly clear copy of a specific memory. In fact, these long-term memories are more easy to call up than my short term or working memory I know all that but the reality for me is that sometimes I experience a strange detachment (or disconnect) when trying to experience an event or time from years ago. I look at the words , remember the time period but for the most part find it hard to put myself in that moment or even experience much of an emotional connection with these memories. I suppose I am just experiencing a repressed memory , for that matter.
Luckily , I am not really writing to answer the question of memory. It is interesting and , for that matter, I think with effort I might get better at reliving some of these times. I’m certain, I could develop more focused introspection ability and perhaps I will. What really interests me is how incapable I now seem to be at writing even a few lines of poetry. I read line after line that Sunday afternoon a couple of weeks ago, sometimes cringing in disapproval sometimes nodding in appreciation. I was actually impressed a couple of times with a quick thought that , surely I didn’t write that!”
I got out a clean sheet of paper and a pen and set out to begin anew my poetry avocation/passion. Nothing much happened! I began a line with something like, “ I sit here tonight with pen poised and a mind as blank as my paper!. Me, the poet, actually couldn’t find any words to use, I continued pushing words around on the sheet, looking very much like a first grader sliding unwanted peas around his plate. Finally, I let it go and just read the poems the same way I would read Shelley or Keats, or, more likely, EE Cummings, with the one possible advantage being in a first name relationship with the author. I very tentatively concluded that poetry , like language acquisition, must have a developmental window of opportunity in which to be expressed in a life. Learning can happen outside the window but it is so much easier to do inside ! Another term I drag up from long lack of use, is ’zone of proximal development’ if I remember correctly. Again, there is a optimal time in a child’s life when they have the readiness , skills, etc to learn a task and the teacher is also in place and ready to walk through the learning with them. I can think of no more appropriate zone for learning poetry than during the loose and unstructured time of college. Idealism is at its height and responsibility and reality is almost nonexistent. Moods joyfully range from manic to depressive overnight and if you add love to this volatile mix, it is easy to see how you might get poetry, or a reasonable facsimile , there of.
I don’t know the answer to why I can’t extricate rhyming words at the age of sixty. Maybe I am trying too hard; maybe I’m not trying hard enough. I just thought of the similarity with my desire to do creative works as an expression of worship to God. I’ve often thought of doing paintings with a Biblical theme or message but most of my attempts appeared less than satisfactory until last Easter and a specific request to produce paintings for a Good Friday service at church. I suppose I need a mission or a challenge to push me or an incentive of some kind to pull me in the right direction. I will keep trying until I am either successful or have proven to myself that it is hopeless. While I am waiting for the outcome of this literary challenge, my goal is to put into some readable format the ‘early’ and so far only poems of Tom Hudgens. While I am at it, I also plan to include in this venture selections from the ‘Ostrich writings’ which I will explain later.
Who knows ? Before I’m finished, I may find new insights and abilities into this rhyming dilemma.
Enjoy
R. Tom Hudgens spring 2008

More Poems'

Morning Prayer

My 'things-to-do' list has been
neatly penned and with that done
I sit down to pray-

I plead my case, I list my
needs and seem to hear God
clearly say-

Ask, seek and knock, if you will-
I love to hear my
children's heart-

only next time come early when
nothing is planned,
and talk to me before you start.
tom hudgens

My first motivation for writing poems was unlocked by falling in love. I had it bad; still do after thirty nine years! I think this was one of my first ones.
To Andrea

What wonders can my eyes perceive when still
the dawn is hiding,
I gaze into her sleepy eyes and find all
nature seems abiding.
Upon her skin, the moon reflects to form a
tranquil sea,
and in her eyes, a moonlit sky, with thoughts
for only me.
She breaths, and if i listen well
i seem to slowly hear,
a summer breeze that brings me love
and hope instead of fear.
In restless sleep, her hair cascades to
blanket over all,
a rushing stream that falls to end
in a golden waterfall.
Life's drama gives a new fanfare, the
dawn is waking now,
As critic of the nights small part I feel
my love deserves a bow.

Tom Hudgens, 1969

Two quotes on Anger

I came across a bunch of good quotes on Anger today. Here are two:

A 'different' version than the Biblical verse for sure-
"Never go to bed angry; stay up and fight"
Phyliss Diller


"When angry count to 5; when really angry swear"
Mark Twain

Well, the real reason I started this thing was to start collecting my old poetry and getting put down so that it wouldn't be lost in some forty year old notebook, so I want to put a couple more down today:

Since my last post was on my funeral I will start with a short poem called Death. Catchy title , don't you think.............it was written sometime in the mid seventies, while on duty at the fire station I believe.I just remember working with D. Collins and E. white and joking about the old southern comedian Brother Dave Gardner. One of his lines, ended with 'send his saddle home' , meaning he had died.

Death

His up is time-
His numbers dayed,
His foughts have all been battled.

His dones are journeyed
His lightened loaded,

His sent home has been saddled.

Preaching my funeral: Fiction, but only a little bit !
I got to thinking tonight how I would like to have my funeral done and a little bit of humor always comes into a subject like this.’’
Here is the ‘line up’ I thought about tonight . You’ll have to decide what order they come in because I won’t even know there batting averages for that year.
Dave Crandell………….John Paraell……….Liney Himes………..Steve Merritt (to represent the laymen)
Liney could do all scripture reading from the King James; John could make sure there would be an alter call,,,,,,,,,,,,,,Dave could teach on the ‘theology of Death’ and ancient Presbyterian doctrines of heaven…………………Steve could tell stories in the way only he could tell them and entertain the small crowd.
No kidding, I did ponder the scene with this unlikely group and found it a little humorous to picture,
If each could be given permission to speak from their heart it would a great service..
Of course worship would be a great park of it; and I would love Matt Duren and his group; Nathan and Sam with Don and any other kin who want to join in
Special music would be important: I’d like Keith Green “Don’t you wish you had the answer, well I do” and selected World wide message tribe…………jumping in the house of God

An open mike time would be nice if anyone wanted to share anything (like at Neils’ funeral_ you could have Dave Lomax and Rick Marson host that
I don’t really have a preference of specific Scripture; I’d just like lot’s of it read…………….
I don’t have a preference but if you want me cremated that is fine. I used to laugh about having my ashes put in a booster tank and squirted out somewhere in conyers but I’d probably run into to many regulations there so you could do with them what you want……….just a thought………….along the AT in north Georgia Liney and Nathan could do that grave side!!
Speaking of the fire dept. you might see if David Rhodes et.al would be available to tell stories………….you decide if david’s Elvis imitation should be part of it………………
That’s about it………..I would like to work on a message which could be read and maybe I would but the jest would be:
Tell my friends and love ones I’m in a great place; no more tears or pain and you should see the place I moved into this morning. And wait until you see our Lord and sit down and talk with Him and worship,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,wow.
I don’t know how God did it but there are no tears of sadness only joy! Especially tell that to my love of a life time Andy………now I can pray and cheer her on……………I married up…………..I’ll see you in a while hon………………..
More later!
Don’t try to make me out a perfect anything, You all know I’m not! At least not until today……………… but seriously its real this life and death……………….press into the the Kingdom
Life is short!! Your husband, father, brother, friend you get

The Expert

It wasn't even a phone call, it was a short email which would have been easy to ignore. No persuasive, human voice pleading with me to say yes to the offer which once again labels me as expert. Send is way too easy to hit and there it goes; I have agreed. On the surface it sounds easy enough. They want me to teach a short seminar around the topics of stress and anger management. Its short and it will be part of a community event sponsored by the foster parents association. All of that is valuable and well intended and will most likely work out fine but not without my going through a laboreous process of anxiety, doubt, and self imposed pressure as the date gets closer.

Parkinson's will not get the victory but it will slap me around for a while trying! When it starts to work on my thinking process I then take over and run with the ball and , in no time, I am crippled, mute and afraid I will most certainly fail or at best, come across as anything but an expert.. There is that word. Everyone knows that an expert is a 'washed up drip' ha,,,,get it; ex spurt washed up drip. What does it take to join the ranks of these experts? An advanced degree? that would certainly help. A book or two you have written; Excellent choice! I really think that if you have any of these or a reasonable substitute you might just qualify but even without the degree I just thought of another condition. If you know more about your topic then anyone in your audience you are close but even more important thna the knowledge is the belief that you know more. That attitude alone get many a professor through the day.

My primary thought in writing this down, however, was to explore just how much pressure one can put on themself by agreeing to speak on any topic in a format like this. There are many factors which modulate personal stress and one that comes to mind is control. Control over the stresser,( the event, task, demand, etc.) .........blah....blah......

Guess what, I had intended this to be funny and then lost my sense of humour. You will just have to come to the class next month if you want to actually learn anything else As for me, I am exercising my personal control and ending this thing now...........he spoke, and drank rapidl y a glass of water.

see ya

tom

Untitled

Made in His image but tarnished; remade in His image......... but didn't notify my will; -- under construction , a slow process....got family, got starvy, got job, got sick , got healed
and here I am. Now I'm
running, no I'm walking, and I'm walking it out
.....................but I'm-

Still amazed at my natural born capacity to mess up, to screw up
to fall short, to miss the mark- to sin.