First Utterings
by
Michelle D. Hudson
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PUBLISHED BY:
Michelle D. Hudson on Smashwords
First Utterings
Copyright � 2010 by Michelle D. Hudson
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work. All material is the original work of Michelle D. Hudson.
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Dedication
This ebook is also dedicated to the people who visit my blog and motivate me to write when I lack confidence and cannot find the precise words. It is through their comments, critiques, and advice that I take the first step to sharing my work with a broader audience. I am eternally grateful for their correspondences via Twitter. Therefore, I extend heartfelt and sincere thanks to: Florence Iyinnbo, Liz Mnari, Khakjaan Wessington, Emmett Wheatfall, Steven M. Grant, Nevone Blount, Theron Kennedy, Evelyn N. Alfred, and Kerryanne Layne. Never underestimate the depth of your kind words.
I thank each of you but, above all, I thank God for every blessing and every adversary.
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First Utterings
A Ballad for My Students
It may seem corny or even creepy
But I have loved you since I first saw your name
Printed on white paper.
Permanently etched in my mind:
Henrietta Jones, Erin Plasiance, Maya Jones,
Christopher Holloway, Justin Jack, Kierra Hart --
The list is infinite.
Even when your names escape my tongue,
Your prepubescent faces remain.
Stained upon my heart. Unchanged by time.
There is just something about a teacher's students.
Once assigned to a specific class,
The teacher in me quickly searches for your potential,
Which I am confident exists.
Offering an earnest, clean slate
I beseech you,
Whoever you were last year -- for better or for worse --
Is no more.
The door is open.
And open to more than learning.
Take advantage of this opportunity to be whom you envision.
To be the person you desire. To simply
Be
Yourself.
And when you are ready,
Ready to be more than your mind can comprehend,
Ready to allow God to work in your lives,
I will be there as your teacher.
In the sacred space of the classroom,
Where I am entrusted with your futures.
I invite you to reach for greatness, for
There is just something about a teacher's students.
Letter of Comfort
Dear Youth,
Thought I'd drop a line
to let you know you've got time.
So many cares cast upon lack.
Never fulfilled, you worry that you're fat
or unattractive or dumb.
Persecuted by every thought, your life becomes humdrum --
the same old routine.
Doubt. Want. Envy. Where's your self-esteem?
Your will to live rather than sit still?
Don't tell me you're going to permit this kill!
Don't you know you're all you need
to succeed
and�soar beyond your wildest dreams?
You've lost your way or so it seems.
Luckily, you can change your fate in an instant.
Start by relying on the One that the Father sent --
Jesus the Redeemer. He only asks that you believe
for the things of this world you shall one day leave.
As temporary as the flesh,
this life is but a test.
So, right now I challenge you
to be bold, self-assured, and among the few
to scoff at mediocrity and sloth.
Baby, you're a boss!
More than that,
As you are, you're all that.
Love always,
Your Conscious
The Task
Twenty-four here.
Seventeen three times a day.
Thirteen there.
Highest in rank; least in number:� a mighty eight they say.
In sum, I am charged with sixty-three souls.
Responsible for educating them,
But it always goes beyond books to setting goals.
Teaching them to stand on God�s word. To trust Him.
A daunting task indeed.
Each child a blank slate.
Oh, but so great is the need!
How does one fill a hollow vessel? Find the precise bait?
Soon-to-be doctors, lawyers, athletes, and actors are among the brood.
Potential sparkles in their eyes,
Yet resolve and drive are limited and crude.
Deficient in desire but wroth in attitude.
Yes, children are the future,
But they are ignorant of their past.
Brawny in faith, I know nurture can overcome nature.
Though the forecast is bleak, I am up for the task.
The callous child wants freedom to accept love.
The seemingly dull-witted student blossoms with independence:
A chance to do-it-by-myself rather than be handled with kid gloves;
An opportunity to develop worth; to know one�s substance.
However, it is not easy; that is, the path to success.
I�ve raised my voice in anger and diminished in esteem.
Feeling desperate when sincerity becomes cheesy.
Heightening my frustration and lowering their self-esteem.
Luckily, it is never too late to start anew.
The rising sun blots out despair,
Giving us another chance to win. To be true
Sirens of Christ�s love ... to clear the air.
In teaching, the teacher is a student always.
Discovering that learning is not about reading, �riting, and �rithmetic alone.
It�s about valuing a person, not parting ways.
Assuring him or her that the classroom is everyone�s home.
Our Fear
There is something perversely unjust about sending
children into the world. Away from the
loving gaze of our watchful eyes. Estranged
from our protective embrace. For we know,
that no one can love our babies as
unconditionally as we do. We
fear that even at school � the one place that
should be a second home � our kids will be
neglected. Abused, devalued, dismissed.
We expect our precious children to
learn the ABC�s and 123�s. To
use �arboreous� in a sentence and
quote extensively from
We want this � all of this � even if we
know that our children speak too loudly.
Repeat themselves until acknowledged. Write
letters backwards while looking directly
at them. We want more for our children.
Though they pronounce the silent �k� in "knife"
or learn better by tapping or standing.
Unable to sit quietly with feet
on the floor and eyes facing straight-ahead.
We want ... No, we demand nothing less than
the very best from our children�s schools.
Second to parents and sometimes in place
of us, children seek the love and safety
believed to be the foundation of schools.
Willingly, children hug teachers. Laugh at
jokes they do not grasp. Ignore remarks that
weaken the spirit and rob the soul. Yes,
there is something perversely unjust about sending
children into the world. Compromising
their humanity and their dignity.
Freshmen Year
Richard � the College Student
descendant of an African tribe
whose name i cannot pronounce
and whose culture i am unfamiliar
black but not as the night
more akin to a tinge
of creamy caramel latte
american through and through
breathing life into every patriotic syllable
of francis scott key�s battle hymn
yet i am seen as something
so very foreign to me
labeled the degenerate, the robber, the nigger
standing on the outside of your judgment
scholastic prowess ignored
potential and worth underestimated
accordingly, you do not understand why
a grade of �b� is not good enough for me
whom you regard as the dark one
for your sake, one day you may see,
that the black man � even in diversity �
is merely a man�and�as worthy as any man
Soul Food
My mother wore patches of white flour
as badges of honor.
From her ruby cheeks
to her sweat-stained blouse,
the light dusting promised
a feast
of fried chicken, collard greens,
and pecan pie.
A simple dinner in our home
served with fanfare of the heart.
Lapping the juices
from�my shiny fingers,
I saw love mirrored in Mama's eyes �
chestnut orbs that hid
the pain encased in her heart.
Always sitting the table for three.
Hoping that might be the night
dad returned
to us �
to her.
Before Dawn
Slumber dissipates as dawn approaches.
Quiet sails along the cool breeze
Pouring from the window ajar.
Dew dampens the room
You lie content and unaffected.
Tangled locks � dark and soft �
Repose upon the pillow.
I kiss your tiny forehead
And pray to the remaining stars above.
My inadequacies aside,
Let me be a decent mother
To my only son. My only priority.
The heart captures this moment.
Keeping worry at bay. My love,
Enjoy your dreams before daybreak
Wrangles your bliss and it is time
For us to brave the world.
The Annabel Lee Conspiracy
Who knew Poe's beautiful Annabel Lee?
Through and through, the ideal mortal lover.
Unfortunately, she died by the sea.
Body gone from this world, her soul hovered.
Distraught and wounded,�part of�Poe died, too.
He lived for the love of that girl -- so fair.
Shattered by her death, Poe knew what to do.
By god, he'd drag those angels by their hair!
But, did the winged seraphs kill Annabel
Or did she fall prey to Poe's psychosis?
Whether by pen or strife, it was Poe's hell
That took Annabel's life�without notice.
Ah, Poor Mr. Poe. An ill-fated chap
With the grave stain of guilt upon his lap.
Football Sundays
Rise before the pelican to give God his due.
In the heart of the Crescent City beyond the bayou,
We peel off club rags and reach for church attire.
Praise�the Lord and watch the Saints baptize foes in pigskin fire.
From heaven, �Who Dat!� alights the sky in a black and gold hue.
Pregnant with Pride
pregnant with pride
you shrink
from responsibility
of your reckless�and callous
words
Latrine Epiphany
Regurgitation spews forth.
A wasted life
Expelled.
Clearing the path
For unfettered renewal.
The Plea
You say you�ll give me the world.
Really? The world? Can you do that?
Start smaller. May be a wide-brim hat
For a beach side walk to watch the water pool and swirl.
I want much but need very little:
Your kiss, your touch, your attention, your love.
Yes, it�s that simple! As simple as a hug.
Love can be complex but it�s no riddle.
Shall we start with truth? With the real?
Save the, �Roses are red / Violets are blue.�
I�d rather get to know you.
Be brave. Show me how you feel.
Fragrances, flowers, and fanfare are nice
But honesty, sincerity, and subtlety are better.
Do anything but please ... let communication tether
Our union, allowing a genuine connection to take flight.
So what will it be?
Will you risk giving of yourself instead of the world?
It is all that�s needed for this girl.
In the glint of the sunrise, I await you by the sea.
Seductive Sadie
Everyman�s mistress, they pine over Seductive Sadie.
Her studded cotton bloomers are a far cry from her heyday
Of silk pantie girdles adorning luminous, feathered costumes.
Now, a toothless strumpet � contemplating her beckoning tomb �
Hoping the inscription reads, �Good Ole Sadie was such a fine lady.�
ain�t easy
From my perspective,
I'd say being black
ain't easy.
Neither is being female,
but the truth is life
ain't easy.
Struggle precedes categorization.
It is universally human and it
ain't easy.
Frail and penetrable,
the flesh buckles and cries, "It
ain't easy."
Heed sage biblical advice.
Be of the Spirit�though knowing�being a Christian
ain't easy
either.
The Things We Do
The things we do
for men
to love us.
We transform ourselves �
repeatedly and unsuccessfully.
Transparent incarnations of men�s desires.
The whole while praying
that our devotion satiates their
insatiable fantasies and realities.
The things we do
for men
to love us.
From inception, we are taught
to forsake and to sacrifice.
For men.
Indoctrination that boasts
feeding men�s appetites for food and sex
guarantees their love.
For that love!
Oh, the things we do
for men!
We neglect
ourselves. Our God.
Our children.
We make men the priority.
Worship their beings and relinquish
our babies.
Regrettably, the things we do
for men
to love us.
We open our legs. Wide. Give what�s inside:
our femininity, our soul, our peace of mind.
Savagely, we thrust and grind.
But, there is no crime, no sinuous fault
in carnivorous pleasing. Unless
it devours one�s soul.
My God, the things we do
for men
to love us ...
We, we women, are taught invisibility.
Unaware that we should be acknowledged.
That we � within ourselves � are worthy.
Ignorantly seeking love in the darkest recesses
of insanity.
Finding neither love nor ourselves.
The things we do
for men.
To love. Us.
In March
In March, I was born �
barely escaped being April�s fool.
In March, I celebrated womanhood
in honor of�National Women�s Month.
In March, I found love
in my eighteenth year.
In March, I found love again
in my thirtieth year.
In March, my father
died.
In March, I wore Dunbar�s mask
to smile through the pain.
In March, I transformed
from a child into a woman. All ...
In March.
I Love You
During childhood years of playing
Jacks, UNO, hopscotch and Connect 4,
The thought of boys turned us girls into blaring sirens:
�Ewwwww!� We proclaimed with great disdain.
For everyone knew that boys had cooties.
Yet, something about you illuminated. Before I could comprehend it,
my heart sang �
I love you.
I still remember the date and the place:
March twelfth. Two blocks from Carrollton and Canal Streets.
Beneath the cool shade of aging maple trees,
You kissed me � a teen apprehensive about her first kiss.
Warmed by your embrace and the silk of your tongue,
my body murmured,
I love you.
My quivering chin betrayed me.
Tears streamed forward, I could not believe you deceived me.
Your love was mine alone until I learned that it was not.
From shock to rage to anger to hate, you disappointed me.
We changed. Life changed. You returned ... love returned with you.
Forgiveness � I learned its meaning for all that we have been through,
I love you.
Ducks sailed along the pond as sunlight weaved moss-laced trees
To find us standing before family and friends but, most importantly,
Before God. We vowed to love each other as Christ so loves the Church.
Mistrust behind us, we emerged pure and unscathed.
Reminiscent of that first kiss but stronger, more assured.
On this day and forever more,
I love you.
We envisioned it together.
Along a jubilant parade route, within the pulse of the Crescent City,
We would raise our beautiful children. Just you, me, and the babies.
Anna, the first child, who lived and died in the womb.
The lucky one, Charles, wailed � announcing his arrival to the world.
We rejoiced. Rejoiced all three months of his life.
The others bear no names. Repeated loss. Our spirits could not sustain.
Even in those darkest days, through my tearful silence, I maintained:
I love you.
"Cancer," they said. I prayed.
�Why me?� you cried. Nevertheless I tried,
For it was as much your life as mine.
I caressed your cold hands and lay next to your frail body.
In your concave eyes, I saw the youthful boy and my mature groom.
The man that I loved, my love. So I prayed.
You recovered. My womb breathed life. This time
My husband and my baby survived. Surely,
I love you.
Kneeling upon the cold earth, I still feel you.
Do you see our Anthony, our beloved boy?
Tall like you, he is his father�s son.
We visit your grave not to grieve but to celebrate.
Life had not always been kind but blessed we were.
Separated only by space and time, I cherish every moment of our lives.
My dear husband, my friend, my lover, my life, please know
I love you.
Despair
I live because I am a coward,
afraid of the alternative.
For what does it matter anyway?
With or without me, the sun
rises and sets. So I live.
Choosing happiness
except when the weight of emptiness
is too great.
Given to tears and admitting
my reality is a mirage.
Death took life moons ago
and left me behind.
So�life continues. I merely exist
in this world. Living yet not living.
Praying
for the Angel�s call.
Eleventh Hour Prayer
Familiar.
I've been here before.
Encased by light and sound,
I�am alone and
Desperate.
I�cry because it is part of the routine --
The all too familiar
Routine.
This time, however,�I fear that
I�may cut deeper.
Apply enough pressure to the blade
To relieve my anguish,
Free myself of this sorrowful existence.
They say,
"It is always darkest before the dawn."
Ha! How dishonest!
What the hell do
Light never shines my way.
I've tried to appease the gods to no avail.
Worshipping the money and the men of this world
For a fix.
Sinking to inconceivable depths
To fulfill men's carnivorous lust,
To feed the lure and�the call
Of Drugs.
Never stone enough to remove
The putrid taste from my mouth
Nor halt the embarrassing reel in my head --
Images of who�I used to be,
Who I've become,
And who�I shall never be.
Free me
From the trappings of my mind.
Yes, I've worshipped the gods!
But now�I turn to you Lord!
Evoking your name,
Wanting to get near the Father by way of the Son.
Help me see myself�through your eyes --
With your unconditional, enduring love.
The prodigal child has returned.
A�shell of my former self,
The slightest feint from eternal damnation
Though I've been damned for years.
Deliver me, Lord!
Hold me in your bosom.
Cradle your child.
Please
Heed my abiding cry.
Let America Be America to Me
Let America be America again.
Let it be the reality promised in the social studies books,
Where Francis Scott Key set my heart alight in a patriotic blaze:
"The rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there."
(In my spirit, America has always been America to me.)
Let America be the illiterate mother encouraging her daughter to read.
Stocking the bookcase with tales of Harriet the Spy and Nancy Drew,
Memorizing the 23rd Psalm. Then teaching it to her baby girl.
Freeing her only child from the bondage of ignorance
To create opportunities for each succeeding generation.
(In my learning, America has always been America to me.)
Let America be the dream I used to dream of �
The alpha and the omega of existence.
Where God spreads his love so liberally
That the only color seen is that of the piercing eye:
The gateway to the soul.
(In my naivety, America has always been America to me.)
Let America be a forum of consciousness.
Embracing freedom of speech for it is our hallmark;
Yet, recognizing the err of tea baggerish rants.
For it is propaganda gone astray.
Freedom of speech. Not freedom from�decency.
(In my humanity, America is almost foreign to me.)
Let America be Dr. King�s dream truly manifested.
�Separate but Equal� � disbanded. But,
We are more separate and even further from equal.
Taking our civil liberties for granted, we are to blame.
Racial inequality is pass� compared to economic disparity.
(In my politics, America leaves much to be desired.)
Let America be the place that values home.
Men and women become allies, loving one another.
Children honor their parents.
Home is not just where the heart it is;
It is where our foundation lies.
(In my home, America respects its own.)
Let America be what so many have sacrificed for:
Where intelligence and hard work trump sloth.
Where we disagree without being disagreeable.
Where we the people fully participate in government.
Where every man � even the gay man � is free.
(In my heart, America can fulfill its potential.)
For my America differs from Hughes�s reality.
An African-American and a woman,
I am discriminated against and even despised by a few.
Unable to write like Mr. Hughes, I can still write
My thoughts without fear. My America �
Far less overtly prejudice but not perfect.
In my America, �perfect� does not exist.
And we know it. Anyone recall the Bush-Cheney era?
Or the 2006 King Day tributes �
Mayor Ray Nagin�s �Chocolate City� and
Senator Hillary Clinton�s Republican plantation?
No, no perfect here. Sometimes, we are hardly civilized.
We must work on civility at home and aboard.
Youth dying in urban streets as their peers
Die in Afghanistan and Iraq with no real hope
Of returning home.
Home to a country that is still growing into its own ideals.
Oh, Mr. Hughes, there is more than oil spilling in the Gulf.
There are regrettable bank and auto bailouts,
Frantic fall out over universal healthcare:
The tendency to put business before people.
We uphold the separation of Church and state,
But the fanatics wear business suits and worship the dollar.
Different times. Different problems.
Your soul rests, however, knowing that we �
the darker brothers and sisters �
can sit at the table and�no one dare asks us to leave.
With President Obama at the helm, leading
Without dependence upon his blackness.
But the Mexicans �
My God, the witch hunt never ends
But finds new prey.
I pray. And you should, too.
Pray not for the things of this world
But for the minds, hearts, and souls �
The souls that roam the Earth in flesh
so cold, so heartless, so unfeeling.
Pray for America.
My America.
I am
Determined to help America
Be America again.
Once More
Mom's framed smile beckons me from the mantle.
Preserved in time, the poignant image
Of me kneeling alongside my dad.
Smiling brightly, his eyes are lost in the photograph.
He simply beams.
His baby graduated from college.
Then there are the photo albums, awards,
Priceless gifts.
My mouth, suddenly dry, opens.
I have to breathe.
Breathe. Not cry.
I want to take everything.
But the ghost of Katrina haunts my existence.
There is no guarantee that anything will survive
Reckless winds and torrent waters.
Material possessions.
I remind myself.
I can't take enough to feel secure.
So I take a deep breath instead.
Exhale.
God is in this place. In every place.
I evacuate but with hope.
Hopeful that God never abandons,
Always provides.
Always
Has a plan for each of us.
The urge to cry
Suppressed.
A last look from the doorway.
I leave my home.
Evacuate again.
Lessons remembered, I smile.
It is not easy.
It is necessary.
Relying upon God and ever positive,
I flee to safety.
Once more.
Hoping to return home.
Adonis Smile
Untamed joy is reflected in my
Lover�s smile. Youthful and radiant,
No barrier bars the depth of his passion.
Confident and secure, I adore his
Adonis smile.
During the day, adversary descends.
Confidence and security compromised.
Forever hunted in a boorish world, foes
Encircle my lover. Diminishing his
Adonis smile.
Assailed from every vantage point,
Leeches seek the nectar of his Anemone
Flower for their own harvest. Is there anyone
Who will not betray my lover�s
Adonis smile?
Mortal envy and lust, they strike
My lover�s manhood with bitter blows.
Oh, my heart, draw upon your lineage �
Cinyras, Phoenix, Theias � to restore your
Adonis smile!
In a world of myth and smoke and mirrors,
Know that I see beyond your exterior.
You are my god and your happiness
Reigns supreme when I see your
Adonis smile.
Legions of women you shall attract.
Seduced by vanity, they will die for lack.
Beyond the bedroom and into the boardroom,
I pray for the glory of that heartfelt
Adonis smile.
More than looks, you are
Legendary. Youthfulness eternal,
We face this world united and determined.
Fortified by the brilliance of your
Adonis smile.
Inspiration
When your words ease the paralysis of my thoughts
When my back is against the wall, supported by sheer will alone
When the night is darkest and hollow cries pierce my soul
You give me the courage to continue
Though failure is certain
You teach�me to succeed
By showing up, giving my all
Wisely
Emboweled with faith, hope, and God's grace
Thanking the wingless angels
Who see beyond my potential and breathe life into
My destiny
Reminding me
That I am all that I have ever needed,
All that it takes to create my next big break
Burning tears depart my eyes
Methodically flowing�toward the outline of my lips --
A glorious smile
Evidence
Of your inspiration
Thank you for reading my poetry. Hopefully, you
found something to spur the heart and the mind.
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