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  1. Michelle Hudson
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First Utterings

by

Michelle D. Hudson

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

Dedication

First Utterings is dedicated to my parents, Marion and Alvin. In their own ways, my parents encouraged me to live beyond the measure of other people’s expectations. Even in death, their love and support comfort me.

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.

* * * * *

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 The Bill of Rights.

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 know?

they

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 passé 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.

-

Michelle