Dreams (+!)

 

Writing the words

I welcome the day

Writing the words

with new things to say

Writing the words

my heart like a sponge

Writing the words

all silence expunged

 

Every new sound

alive in the air

Every new phrase

unspoken to share

Every last vowel

irreverent of time

Every last breath

gives voice to the mime

 

Pen in my hand

the journey begins

Pen in my hand

through virtue and sin

Pen in my hand

the Muses surround

Pen in my hand

their voices expound

 

Dreams of my father

dreams of my son

Dreams hold me captive

dreams rebegun

Dreams in the mirror

dreams that relay

Dreams bringing freedom

dreams — dare I pray

 

***

 

Narrative Musings

 

Poetry

can’t scare me

But then

there’s the prose

 

Freewheeling

unstructured

I’m lost

in its throes

 

The words

in my capture

As verse

I sustain

 

But narrative

musings

I fight

— to proclaim

 

***

 

 In The Instant

 

Always the next

poem

always the next

verse

 

That already

written

retreats

to disperse

 

What comes

as a presence

stays fresh

to surmise

 

And freed

in this instant

each word

— more alive

 

(The New Room: May, 2026)

 

 

E.J. Hudak Poems (16-18)

 

Wafting

 

Resting quietly in bed at sunrise

Letting growing rods of sun

Burn away the morning fog from my mind

Is wafting

 

Under Spring trees at eighty degrees

Traveling the full distance

From now to eternity

Unfettered by reality and rigid logic

Is wafting

 

Listening to the world breathe

Twilight sighs of relief

As time absconds with precious gems

Of living

Is wafting

 

Wrapped in darkness counting stars

Then going there

Unconcerned about returning

Gazing finally on a world

That will never ever sting you

Is wafting

 

                ***

Car

 

In a long sluggish parade

          trapped

On the George Washington Bridge

Steel humans in a breadline

Waiting food from the Salvation Army

Every personality drowned in a river

          of reflection.

 

As apple-taffy Austin

With a nervous sweaty wheeze

          purchased for speed

But doomed

To frustration & fickle whores

          constantly rapping your gearbox.

 

One white station wagon

Filled with everyone else’s children

& shopping bags overflowing

          green celery stalks, corn flakes

               chocolate sandwich cookies

                    hair rollers and —

The proverbial dented fender.

 

The long black limousine

Sleek & mysterious with curtains

          drawn to the world and hiding

A soul

That ‘made it’ but lost its owner

To the Dreyfus Lion which devoured

          His heart

 

A smart red convertible

          going anywhere for fun

Skiing in Vermont, bikinis in Miami

         clubbing in Vegas

Destined to be second

          to a company sedan, then sold

When the baby arrives.

 

A humble olive-green American

With standard shift & gray seats

That never made it with the girls.

 

The precision crafted old Chevy

         molded by the artist’s hands

At the gas station after dark:

          C-stock, unbeaten trophies

Cam & chromed jewelry from Tiffany’s

          speed shop

 

Fumes arouse the reverie

          as the march begins anew,

                  coughing & faltering

All with their lights on, following

          the hearse.

 

                    ***

 

Food For Thought

 

1. John Sutor

Was devoured by a computer

At the young and tender age of 23.

 

Seems he loved the constant hum

That made the monster run

So he poked his head inside to have a see.

 

Well to T. John’s vast surprise

That bastard came alive

And hungry for the taste of human flesh.

 

By bedazzling Johnny’s eye

Old M-12 grabbed his tie

And in seconds had his flowered shirt and vest.

 

Before the dude could speak

Hummer yanked him off his feet

And swallowed Johnny whole without a chirp.

 

Dropping not a single crumb

M-12 whined his hoppy hum

Spitting buckles, buttons, zippers, with a burp.

 

So a note to all you freaks

Who think Old Hummer merely beeps

He’s got the sharpest, fastest, reflex in the West.

 

If you have to be a dude

You’d better handle M-12 nude

‘cause when it comes to snatching bodies, he’s the best.’

 

E.J. Hudak - ca. 1969