“Jedidiah”

Jedidiah

Jedidiah, Solomon the King, known for his song,

Wisdom and wealth excelled by God,

Before him are his people of which he judges right and wrong.

 

Kindness of word often met with evil response,

Glaring injustice before you,

Righteousness is the armor in this confusing nuance.

 

What else can I do, what does it exactly take?

Move forward true to the word,

Powerful truth etched in minds like stone tablets, conclusions they will not make.

 

This corrupt game is cancer, lingering like a ship off the shore,

What was once now is destroyed,

I choose to feed it no more.

 

The world spins one direction bringing light each day,

For others it spins out of control,

And in darkness is where they stay.

 

I choose to travel the high road, wash my hands of the past,

Learning from each new commitment,

Forging my iron with those that last.

 

Gray lines to some are in the middle, I see them closer to black,

I stay on the white line,

Once crossed over, there is no turning back.

 

It takes many coats to cover dark writing on a wall,

But dark writing appears easily,

In the end, was it worth it all?

 

I say no, to graffiti a pure and subtle place,

Is to slip from the gray line,

And be filled with shame and disgrace.

 

Will they admit it, to no one but themselves?

Ego, and hate ruling their lives,

Each pain stored on their mind’s shelves.

 

I have no answer why injustice sometimes prevails,

Impatience of heart be calmed,

The story hardly over, not knowing what it entails.

 

Questioning why and predicting the plot,

Our own ignorance abounds,

Patience provides peace, and answers to questions sought.

 

Value is in a family that becomes much closer,

The reward is the song like Solomon’s,

Rich with peace and love, and God is the composer.

 

Do you split the baby or give it whole to the liar?

The corruption starves with no food,

You have won your family,  traveling the road that is higher.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I See No Color”

I See No Color

I see no color, in a sister or a brother,

But I am red, bravery and valour,  the color of blood that was shed.

 

I see no color, in a father or a mother,

But I am white, pure yet innocent, as we stand colorless for what is right.

 

I see no color, in a soldier or any other,

But I am blue, vigilant seeking justice, high in the air watching over you.

 

When I pass by, stand, you live free only because heroes had to die,

I see no color, you do, in life and one another.

 

My color you see, together, were made by sacrifices taken to be free,

Stand for me because I am you, your flag, red, white, and blue.

 

What does it take?  To me, the hypocrisy of freedom is when people do not realize that the same reason they have the “right” to do this and that derives from the price that was paid.  Sure you have rights, but do you have respect for where those rights actually came from?  There is a time, place, and way to exercise those rights. We can get the most out of everything our freedom has to offer if we are responsible.  

Freedom, hell no it isn’t free, it is an investment that cost, and continues to cost.  Understand what the cost of that freedom was and still is, and you will understand that to exercise the return from that investment came at a dear price. 

I love this country.  I don’t always agree with decisions that are made, and like this post, I am able to make it known.  Agree or disagree, that is your freedom.  We can still have a beer at the end of the day. 

Thank you Veterans for your service!

Thanks for taking a look. 

Poetry “To Myself a Lesson”

                                                               To Myself a Lesson

Closing my eyes, I left my body, only for a little while,

 an escape from reality, allowing for temporary denial.

As I walked a path, images of my life were left and right,

hearing every word ever spoken, every picture in my sight.

Like a theater with movies playing at the same time,

 watching each tear, each laugh, each mountain I had to climb.

Over here I am a child outside playing ball,

staying until dark, coming home to my mother’s call.

I looked to the left and watched a small moment of my life,

 it was my wedding day, so happy, and such a beautiful wife.

Ahead was my family on Thanksgiving Day,

heads bowed down, as they all began to pray.

Their prayer was for peace and health, thanking God that we are free,

  before the last amen, they said a prayer for me.

My family was together, but I wasn’t there,

 consuming sadness set in , it didn’t seem fair.

On the right there was a man lying face down in the snow,

I stood above him, his life gone, who he was, I did not know.

Behind me I saw myself yelling at those I cared,

They all looked confused, hurt, and even scared.

I tried to close my eyes, to watch this tore me apart,

 but I had no eyes, my words caused pain and broke more than one heart.

Turning my head, I saw a man standing threatening to do harm with a knife,

and me with my gun, prepared to end his life.

Next to this was a man on some tracks waiting to die,

wanting a train to kill him as it quickly rumbled by.

Above was a young girl pinned in a car, not moving or speaking,

broken glass and metal scattered over the road made of tar.

To the side was a young soldier standing guard at his post,

calling for help, that scared me the most.

“I am coming to get you, it will be alright”,

my vision blurred with tears as the image faded from my sight.

I tried but couldn’t move, so I looked down,

I had no legs or body, and there was no ground.

What am I, where am I, get me out of the place,

that is when I turned one more time and saw my own face.

It was me I was looking at, standing there with a smile,

a look of peace and calmness, something I had not seen in a while.

I almost didn’t recognize myself, appearing as I once was,

the chaos of each image muted, becoming quiet as an insects buzz.

The other me made a motion to turn around,

this time I was able to move, below me solid ground.

We walked together for some time, not saying a word,

stopping by a door, then my own voice I heard.

“Hey there buddy, I am really you but you haven’t seen me in a while”,

 I stared directly at me, my face in denial.

“You look at me like a stranger, but I have always been here,

 the hardest times you faced, I was standing near.”

“Your anger tried to push me away, that is no way to live,

but it was me whispering in your ear, move on and forgive.”

“Life has created who you are now, but you were first me,

today you choose your path and the person you deserve to be.”

I stood amazed, and didn’t say a thing,

wishing I was me again, able to accept what life can bring.

Finally, able to speak I asked, “ Hey, am I dead?”

The other me laughed, “No, this is a dream, but not like your others, you are safe in bed.”

“How am I supposed to forgive these things that matter?” hoping he knew,

My other me said, “Forgiveness isn’t for them, it’s really just for you.”

“Let go of the anger and hate that keeps you awake every night,

your war is over and now it’s about us, and no longer our fight.”

With a laugh he said, “let’s go” and knocked on the door,

it opened and inside was my new life, everything that mattered and more.

“Are you coming with, or are you going to stay where you’re at?”

 In front of me was a table, my family, and my chair where I always sat.

Before I could answer, my old self was nowhere to be found,

 I searched all over, my eyes darting around.

My old me was not gone, realizing I was always him,

 the light was bright ahead of me, behind the images became dim.

From the air my own voice called, “There is something you must know,

once you walk through that door, these memories will stay and never go.”

“They will be with you for as long as you live,

but I promise you will get out of your new life, exactly what you give.”

I smiled for the first time in what seemed like in years,

My family greeting me with hugs and cheers.

My voice called and said, “Hey, there is one last thing”,

forever in my ears, these words like a soft song will sing.

“It will better from here, but sometimes your mind will still roam,

your peace and happiness are found, now that you have finally made it home.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________

I don’t really know what to say about this, so I won’t. I will let it speak for itself. You may draw your own conclusions. 

If you think you know someone, or do know someone that can benefit from it, share it.  That is why all of these are here.  I feel I can reach more people on a platform like this before it is too late.

I recently had the honor to read some of my work at a Healing Warriors program that emphasized how healing, through art, whatever the form may, is so helpful.  I am still speechless at the stories, writings, and artwork created by these amazing veterans. Thank you all so much for your service that allows people like me to write what I do. 

I write today because I enjoy it.  Is it any good?   I have no idea, that is not why I write.  I write because these words, much like a painting from an artists brush, come from my mind and end up as typed characters on my computer screen. 

Thank you all for reading this very long poem.  I still have a tough time reading it out loud.

                                                                              DTH 

 

Poetry “Every Cloud”

                             Every Cloud

 

From a high above cloud God looked down,

At a farm below, and the white snow on the ground.

 

He saw his children who live in this place,

Had committed themselves to his word and grace.

 

Through good times and bad, God saw and knew,

This family tested, proving that they are honest and true.

 

When storms didn’t seem to end, and life was filled with doubt,

God didn’t leave, he was with them throughout.

 

The clouds can get heavy and cover the sun’s light,

Take comfort in knowing the clouds are his, and do not block his sight.

 

With a smile on his face, God listens, hearing each prayer,

Every moment seen, every cloud, God’s chair.

 

                                                                                D.T. Hudson 2018

Farming is a tough business.  Where I come from, we rely on honesty, hard work, and faith.  You have little control over things such as the weather, market prices, disease, or other factors.  You just have to do your best and hope that it is enough. 

Even when those around us tend to take the path of lying, cheating, and stealing, it is important to remember that the path chosen is the one you own.  You are not accountable to me.  A wise person once said, “What cometh around, goeseth around”, or something like that.  

It is easy to give up, cave in, or just quit when things seem like they are impossible.  Whether it be a financial hardship, loss of a loved one, health issue, or just simply being wronged by another, it really is not your fight. Let the arrogance of another be their downfall as the path they chose leads nowhere but to darkness. 

Whether you believe in God, Karma, or another higher power is not for me to judge.  I think we can all agree that most things happen for a reason. We may not always like the situation, but typically we learn from it, and it works out for the best.  Let your higher power take care of these things.  Rock on people, rock on!

P.S.  How cool are drone photos? Thank goodness no one decided to be close to nature and take an outdoor bathroom break!

Poetry “The Wind”

The Wind

There is a place that sits high on top of a hill, in the summer it is green, in the winter the snow will fill.

The lake with blue water is now frozen over, a white blanket  has covered this  field of clover.

The winter winds run through it like a riot, but today this land provides much needed peace and quiet.

Abundant tracks of wildlife made while they roam, nestled in the trees, a place they call home.

It could be now or one hundred years prior, the view catches my eye and I stand to admire.

A soft breeze touches my face, making its way to my ear, whistling by, there is a voice I can hear.

The wind calls my name as before, but this time I listen, while snowflakes in the sky flash and glisten.

This voice is familiar, often I chose to ignore, words of true peace and happiness, please tell me more.

Forgive those around you, and you will live much longer, forgive yourself, and you will be much stronger.

Know that there is bad, but good will prevail, let go of your anger, let it set sail.

Accept who you are, not what you will be, do all these things, then you will free.

I tell the voice that in this life, nothing is free, there are prices to be paid, the cost is on me.

The voice let out a small sigh, and said you must move forward, instead of asking why. 

What is around you has been here for years, it has seen the world’s happiness and its tears.

You are part of this place as much as it is part of you, full of life and love, every day brand new.

Take this gift for which you did not ask, be true to yourself, take off your mask.

I left the hill, the words a carousel in my head, and vowed to try to do everything the wind had said.

When I returned that summer, the wind blew but did not call, never again heard, winter, spring, summer, or fall.

                                                                                                      D.T. Hudson 2018

      There is this place by where we used to live. We referred it as the POD land; long story.  The view to me was amazing.  Overlooking a beautiful Minnesota lake, I often dreamed of putting a home on the property.  The problem was, I didn’t have the resources to even come close to achieving that dream.  So instead of building a home, I would just sit an admire the beauty mother nature had given this place.

     Throughout my poems, you can probably tell that my mind works on dark and light levels.  For instance, when I am working a project, specifically art, my thoughts are almost verbal conversations that I have with myself.  I would be lying if told you I didn’t sometimes also answer myself, but that is a different story all together.

     This picture of the land in the winter is near and dear to me.  I am fairly certain someone purchased the land and put up very large and lavish home.  That is the beauty of photographs and poetry.  I can remember it just the way it was, or maybe still is.

     Thank you for taking a look at “The Wind”.  I appreciate all of you reads and comments.

Poetry “Heart of Stone”

Heart of Stone

The sounds and faces that one could not save,

These dark thoughts come in, wave after grueling wave.

 

There is no rhythm to how often they appear,

Too proud, too strong, thoughts far away as they are near.

 

Haunting memories seem to persist, not leaving done to be done,

A cylinder click breaks the silence from a freshly polished gun.

 

Broken is to  feel pain rather than nothing at all,

The heart beats faster with each chest rise and fall.

 

Happiness is a mere word, put all upon oneself,

Awards bravely earned are boxed up, taken down from shelf.

 

All interest has left in wondering how or why,

No feelings towards life, or when something has to die.

The armor has dents on both front and back,

Put down that pistol, move forward, don’t look back.

 

The time has  come to lower the guard,

Climb this mountain, each footstep forward will be less hard.

 

When the mountain is climbed at the top will be found,

Its heart made of stone, symbolic and profound.

 

Care for others, and oneself too,

Allowing to love again, love like its brand new.

 

Take care and choose wisely the words that are spoken,

Because even a mountain made of stone can have its heart broken.


It doesn’t matter where you come from, who you are, what you look like, we all have that space inside of us where we push stuff down and don’t let it out.  Maybe it was a bad relationship, a car accident, or just words that tore into your very soul.

This poem is about just that.  Like a bank, these ideologies are stored in a vault.  The problem we encounter, again like a bank, you get charged interest.  What I mean is that the memories of whatever the situation, recur and compound, just like interest. The way I see it, it is easy to become consumed by these thoughts and memories because they build up over time.

Understanding that you push these thoughts away, instead of learning how to manage them, is literally killing you softly over time. Whether you lock them up to avoid them or because it is just too much to hold, like a teenager, they will sneak out of your house and do their thing.

I took this picture in Utah while hiking up Capital Reef.  I was amazed when I got to the top to find this huge boulder, cracked the way it was.  I didn’t think much more of it at the time.  Recently, while going through my pictures, I re-discovered this photo.  I love it more now than I did then.  Maybe because life was trying to tell me something then, but I just wasn’t listening.

Thank you for taking a look at Heart of Stone!

Poetry “Broken Windows”

Broken Windows

Hot brown days, counting each as they go by,

Staring into a dry nothing, remembering times gone by.

 

Lost in a million thoughts, like vagabonds through my head they roam,

            One-step forward, is another step towards home.

 

I cannot explain what happened, or how it got inside,

            Pushed deep in my soul, but it came out no matter how hard I tried.

 

Time just could not erase the things I have seen,

Hiding from everything became such a routine.

 

I now walk among you, but will not know my name,

            Nothing happens on my watch, if so; I am the one to blame.

 

Watching waistbands and hands, vigilance ever so high,

            Measuring every risk, willing to sacrifice, or even die.

 

My memories are postcards scattered by a fan in my brain,

            Pictures of happiness, and sorrow, others bring pain.

 

Images flash by, some more than others,

Each as important as the next, often of my sisters and brothers.

 

A carousel of memories that have no absolute order,

            Fracturing my sense of peace like an exploding mortar.

 

My solid ground disappeared; I had nowhere left to stand,

            From the light, there became darkness in the hot desert sand.

 

I needed a guide, hero, someone to show me the way,

            God only knows the hell she would have to pay.

 

She became a foundation, my clarity, my life,

I am here today because of forgiveness, and the patience of my wife.

 

She grabbed my hand when I started sink,

            Counted my scars, and filled them with ink.

 

Standing tall for family, nephews and nieces,

            One at a time, picking up my life’s shattered pieces.

 

I know now that before the day I die,

Into the broken window frame of my life, a thousand shards of glass will fly.


I wrote this poem not to long ago.  It will be ready publicly at a college for a local event.  Please feel free to give it a read. Thanks for taking a look!

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