LEOetry “Clear for a 101”

Clear for 101

I got the call and ran to my squad car,

Where I was going was closer than it was far.

 

This place I know well, and they know me too,

The same old thing, maybe this time I will try something new.

 

Three units were headed that way, maybe four,

I strapped on my seat belt and slammed the door.

 

The engine roared as I tore out of the lot,

A deep inhale flooded my nose of booze and pot.

 

There would be no siren or flashing lights,

It had already been a long evening of drunks and fights.

 

I turned the first corner, then left to avoid a train,

The street lights made the road glisten, from tonight’s early rain.

 

I will get there quickly but safely, the most important call of the night,

Just ahead a familiar sign, comes within my sight.

 

I will be the first maybe the second squad to arrive,

That familiar feeling in my stomach returns, reminding me I am alive .

 

The car comes to a halt as I throw it in park,

This job can be dangerous, especially in the dark.

 

We may go in, or have to wait for the rest,

Each call different, each factor will determine what is best.

 

Two more show up, the first there was the officer on that beat,

Clear a path for the police, when the call comes that it is time to eat.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Sorry, but not sorry, to build a little suspense with the call. I laugh at this because this can be so true.  I try to be realistic, but fat guys like me need to eat. In some “ten code” language, a “101” is a request to take a break and have lunch.  That is subjective because you can quickly be called away regardless if you requested a break or not. 

Much like my poem, “The Five Foot Table” many life’s decisions are made by cops in a restaurant booth.  Important decisions like, family, retirement, complaining about policies, or maybe even the last call for service.  Not only police, but all first responders, and soldiers have a limited opportunities to eat or use the bathroom.  When that opportunity presents itself, it is wise to take it. 

At work and home we can control a lot of things.  One thing a first responder can’t control is time.  You never know when that next call is coming, or what may lie in front of you.  Time can be your friend or your worst enemy.  Manage it, treat it well, and with any luck, it will be good to you.  

Please stay safe out there and thank you for your service. 

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 Guitar Lesson”

                                                             The Guitar Lesson

 

My father once gave me a guitar, I proudly displayed for all to see,

He taught me how to play, creating the music of my life for no one else but me.

 

Time taught me the world would be less confusing if everyone spoke in one tongue,

Indeed, that exists through music, every note played, every note sung.

 

But my life more closely resembles this instrument I choose to play,

Music through sound, telling you exactly what I want to say.

 

This guitar can be used to speak words without moving my lips,

Or a street performer happily sharing song,  just playing for tips.

 

Moments in life mostly resemble this old guitar,

High and low notes change quickly, without moving very far.

 

Played by ear or sometimes with sheet of music to follow,

Some are electric, others shaped round and are hollow.

 

The neck is divided by frets, much like time separates all life’s events,

Each space a different note, each memory past or present tense.

 

Different chords played many ways, it really does not matter,

One fret up makes it sharp, and one down is flatter.

 

Like life, a good song depends on how much time you put in,

Never perfect, yet sounding better with practice and discipline.

 

The chords are like humans, making rich tones as my fingers move around,

No matter the brand of guitar, they all make a similar sound.

 

How it’s played is the difference, neither right or wrong,

Picking the melody instead of strumming, making it sound like a different song.

 

But the song is the same, masked by each individual technique,

To live life is to celebrate another’s difference, each special and unique.

 

It took this long to realize this guitar’s lasting impression,

Learning that anyone can understand me through music, was my most valuable guitar lesson.

 

                                                                       Thanks Dad

                                                                                                                                D.T. Hudson 2018

Guitars, and music in general, have become such an important part of my life.  The holes in my office walls where I missed the studs trying to hang pictures are covered by these works of art. 

My dad got me into playing guitar at a young age. The good old 50’s and 60’s music like “Wipe Out” and “Run Around Sue”.  He and mom were hard-working farmers.  I was the pain in the ass middle child that moved out soon after graduation. I had no farming aspirations or abilities whatsoever. Regardless of who I am or what I did with my life, music would always be a staple. 

After moving to Arizona to avoid these cold winters, he really took to finger picking and playing gospel. I can not tell you all what a joy it is when he and mom come here (in the summer of course) to visit.  We sit and play guitar, talk music, and simply discuss guitars in general. Considering play hair band rock, our duets get rather unique. However,these special times have truly become one of the best parts of my life. 

I am a drummer by nature, but I have always loved to play guitar.  Unlike a piano, the notes not only go vertical on the neck, but also horizontally. There seems to be unlimited things you can play and there is always constant room for improvement. Am I any good, hell no, but I have fun trying. 

The amazing thing about music, these guitars in general, was that no matter how different of people dad and are, we will always have this in common.  For me, that is one the greatest things in the world. 

 

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 “This Moment”

Living in the country we truly get some of the best looks at the sky.  What some may struggle to find in a photograph, we are fortunate to have almost daily.  This old swing has been with us almost as long as we have been together. It is a matter of time before it gets to the point where it is no longer safe to use.  Until that time, we will sit in it, talk, and watch the sunrises and sunsets.

These moments are embedded into my memories.  The simple pleasures of a loved one and great conversation.  Sometimes supplemented with a hot cup of coffee or a cold Captain Morgan.  For those of you that know me, I do like my Captain Morgan.

Either way, thank you for taking a look at “This Moment”, because it is a huge part of my life.

This Moment.jpg

The Interview

 


The Interview

You don’t think I know you , but  have done my homework,

Learning the details of your life, not bothered by your smirk.

 

I see how this will go, you think you are smarter than I am,

You will tell me an unbelievable story, I will pretend to believe, but don’t really give a damn.

 

You are not the first, and certainly will not be the last,

Hundreds just like you , through the front door they have passed.

 

I am going to sit here with friendly smile and an ear to lend,

I promise you when this is over, you will break and not bend.

 

I come to work and listen to lies every day, people trying to remember what they said,

You lecture me about the law, professing any evidence, there is not a shred.

 

I sit quietly and listen, as we play this failing game,

Pointing your finger at everyone else, yet we both know you are to blame.

 

Like actor in a play, where there is a beginning, middle, and end,

Words like a ballet dance off your tongue, as I pretend to be your friend.

If you really knew what I was thinking, watching you pick imaginary lint with your  finger nail,

You would be sitting in horror, knowing you are clearly going to jail.

 

Now your story is over, and it is my turn to play,

I’ve watched your nervous ticks, heard every word you did not say.

 

I think what you did is disgusting, but now the table is set,

I squeeze your story like a sponge, removing the water that made it wet.

 

My own prejudice of you remains locked away in my own mind,

Make no mistake, I know everything that happened and about your kind.

 

There is a system in place of which I swore and oath,

There are rules that I must follow, rules known to us both.

 

Shut your mouth and listen, I know exactly what you did,

An adult like you should never take advantage of anyone, elder or kid.

 

In my job I have seen horrible pictures, many times forced to watch a horrific tape,

Your lies have caught up with you, now there is no escape.

 

Don’t try to interrupt me, it will do you no good,

Look me in the eyes, these words need to be understood.

 

I will do everything allowed to make sure you never hurt another,

The time for truth or denial is upon you, the choice is one or the other.

 

Telling you I know what happened, your head will hang down,

That smirk you wore so proudly, now quickly becomes a frown.

 

You will start to feel numb, because you know your future is clear,

The confidence you had at the beginning, leaves you in a hot tear.

 

Confessing to every horrible act committed, almost in disbelief,

You gasp for air as you inhale, exhaling the truth with a sigh of relief.

 

I don’t know if there is good left inside you, for me there is no grudge,

Guilt consumed your thoughts, save your apology for the victims, child, elder, and the judge

 

The acts committed are heinous, yet so simple to define,

The path you walk now is dark, but mine will always be a thin blue line.

 

                                                                                             

This is my second poem in my LEOETRY series. LEOETRY stands for Law Enforcement Poetry. It may not be your thing, but for me, I like to tell stories through this method for awareness and education.  I will not include anything dealing with training, tactics, or other methods used by Law Enforcement.

The Interview is a poem that tells a vague story about the interview of a suspect.  There are many things that go into an interview, but much like a keen-eyed parent confronting a child, the words that are not spoken often tell the truth.  The body resists stress and untruthfulness.

I have had the opportunity to conduct several interviews of suspects, victims, and witnesses.  Some cases unspeakable, others simple property crimes.  The fact is, each interview is as different.

Thank you all for your service, and please stay safe. Please enjoy “The Interview”.

The Farm

We searched for a place in the country for a long time.  Honestly, we about gave up, then this little gem just kind of appeared.  Turns out, it was the best decision for our family.  Truly the gathering place of most, if not all events, it called to us, now it is home.  Thank you for taking a look at “The Farm”.

The Farm

“The Traveler”

Ever had a dream like this?  Nothing more, nothing less.  I feel bad because as just before I hit the ground, I thrash enough to eject my wife right out of bed.

Enjoy!

 

A human, just for a moment or more in time,

Thrust into chaos, all are gone but they were left behind. 

 

This unforgettable place, created by something of their own,

No chance in hell to avoid it, this path must be traveled alone.

 

The option of choice has left, the plot already made,

No wooden boat or life vest, through  murky waters they will wade.

 

Opinions like chatter, making noise but are not heard,

The call is to move forward, the body does so without a single word.

 

Legs churn without guidance, stumbling across the land,

Up a rocky slope, across a desert filled with sand.

 

Through the current of rolling river, to a valley down below,

Where this journey ends, the mind and body do not know.

 

 

The glowing sun consumed by the horizon, dim light only leads the way,

Carnivores circle above, waiting patiently for potential prey.

 

What was white is now black, the body nervous and tense,

Tall trees cover the path, this traveled world makes no sense.

 

A howl calls from the distance, intentions clear and profound,  

Branches grab ankles, as the traveler falls to the ground.

 

The path is no longer lit, the pace slow, joints cold and stiff,

The earth gives way from below, as if slipping off a cliff.

 

Fear turns to calm, falling into a forever descent,

Bargaining for life, promising only truth, promising forgiveness and repent.

 

The ground will break the body, inevitable as it may seem,

The last gasp of air is stolen before death, and the human wakes up from their dream.

Poetry “The Calmness of a Warrior”

I never intended on writing this poem.  It is pretty sensitive in nature, but I feel it is necessary.  I guess I will just let it speak for itself.  There are many who will understand, probably more that will not.  I am hoping you do.  I also hope you like it.

The picture was my rig.  I wanted a photo with me in it so bad.  When the opportunity arose, another soldier snapped the picture.  I didn’t realize it would be a silhouette.  I was really disappointed.  Looking at it today, I don’t think it could have turned out any more perfect.

This is for my brothers and sisters that had to deal, and still do, with situations similar to this. Thank you for your service.

Thank you for taking a look at “The Calmness of a Warrior”.  It means the world to me.

The Calmness of a Warrior

Answering the call, giving it little thought,

Honor your country are the values he was taught.

 

His blood pump red, skin white, and mind blue,

Like generations before, this is what he was made to do.

 

From a child when he would hold his father’s hand,

Now patrolling a dangerous road, surrounded by hot sand.

 

Committed to freedom, honorably serving with others,

This, now his family, both sisters and brothers.

 

Each day, each mission on paper often look the same,

Moving out in the morning, before the sun becomes hot as a flame.

 

Was it a flash of lighting followed by deafening thunder,

Or something more sinister, making him wonder.

 

This day, this moment, there was a different feeling he did not share,

Time stopped for just a moment, as he was flown into the air.

 

His mind took him to church, where he was taught to do no harm,

And early Sunday dinners on his grandparents farm.

 

He thought of high school and wondered what his friends would say,

Making jokes and asking him, did you kill anyone today?

 

He thought of his dog, no matter what stood by his side,

If he were here, would have been next to him, begging for a ride.

 

Remembering homecoming and every high school dance,

Asking out all the girls when he knew he didn’t have a chance.

 

He thought, then forgot, eyes jarred open as he met the ground,

Metal torn from his vehicle was scattered all around.

 

He could see but not feel, move or hear,

Next to him lay his torn bandolier.

 

What he saw ,he knew, but did trust to believe,

The destruction before him was his vehicle hit by an I.E.D.

 

His body now slowly moved, but still could not stand,

Reaching for his leg and putting his pistol in his hand.

 

If you come for me to see if I am dead,

I will take this pistol and put a bullet in your head.

 

Confusion turned to rage, and fear for the others,

What drove him now was to check on is brothers.

 

From a gash in his forehead where his red blood bled,

Calling to his friends, not sure if out loud or in his head.

 

Every bit of energy crawling to once was their car,

It felt like miles, but he didn’t move far.

 

Where are you all, I need to know if you are hurt,

Hot blood dripped slowly onto his tan shirt.

 

None of this made sense, they drove a Humvee not a car,

And the roads here are made of sand, not concrete and tar.

 

A firm hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around,

Pistol in hand, leveled his sights and drew down.

 

We are going to be late if you don’t wake up soon,

Wide open eyes, realizing he is in his own room.

 

Before him stood a smiling wife,

Another dream, a nightmare, of a past life.

 

So many years had passed between now and then,

But the years were like minutes, reliving it all again.

 

This woman, she cared for him, walking together a path to heal,

Uncontrollable horrors persist but together, learning how to deal.

 

Those days had made him something he was not,

The simple details of life were often forgot.

 

Once trusting others that they would have his back,

Was erased over time and bright days had turned black.

 

This woman, she also saw and felt the change,

Receiving the most fire from being directly down range.

 

Admiring her patience and trying to understand her love,

Explaining that so many visions, down deep he would shove.

 

She said I know, I am a volunteer too,

Remember the promise made when I chose to marry you.

 

I want you back, we will do it together,

These memories will always be there, but we can make it better.

 

Always on edge, instincts sharper than ever,

Feelings that can switch like a quick shift of a lever.

 

The flashing pictures and memories now being organized in his mind,

Always a soldier, now husband and father, learning again to be patient and kind.

 

Searching for peace, these dark memories have become inferior,

Stronger than ever, now the calmness of this warrior.

 

DTH 2018

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