The Mysteries of In-betweens or “The Mysteries of hidden spaces” (revised)

I wonder if a holy ground

is in this city

somewhere grandiose

divine

Somewhere among this chaos that surrounds me

where I could stand just fine

Where the people of the abused calloused and cracked streets

would strip their thick cracked creased jordans

remove ragged rubbered nikes

and stand barefoot

in a land no one stands barefoot anymore.

Somewhere in the desert God spoke to Moses

brought him to a place

where the sandals on his feet would only keep him far too far from Gods presence

far too far from God’s grace

And he dared to question and tried to stammer

Why a stuttering man like me?

Holy ground.

Tell me how is something like that peace so confounded ever found?

If anywhere if everywhere it can pervade

mountain un-plated and sidewalk un-paved

I wonder if it would reside in this city.

Or even near me

Someone so ignorant unknowing, Just desiring its voice and eager for its sound

Peace wispered as hidden and yet known only to be within

In those in-between graces and mysterious places I just don’t go.

somewhere among the millions of bodies

holding millions of souls

Could there even be a place no one has quite found?
So the voice echoes: Remove your shoes,
for this is holy ground.

For the love of birds

a small morning bird meditation.

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There’s a bird or three that have started to return

To my window ledge

Which never happened before

I think they’re waiting for the safe hole under the air conditioner

We put it up every time hot weather hits

But it’s mid February here in Chicago they’ll be waiting a while

I hope they are patient birds the kind that stick around 

I enjoy their simple company

It’s amazing in and of itself that they remember where my home is 

How many homes does one bird have, and do we share this one?

I remember hearing the babies in my window last summer, Waking up to chirping and song every morning

It didn’t bother me like it does for some people it reminded me I was awake, alive and they were alive too

I wonder if it’s the babies that have come back? 

Or perhaps mom and dad are here again

Either way it’s all ok

And you and your family can always stay 

When the snow is all melted thin when I need cooling and you need a place to rest your head 

We can rise together early on summer mornings 

Until the end of summer days 

But as we wait with all anticipation of spring to do the things we were destined to do

I won’t be mad if you have to move

A busy bird builds a makeshift home and a lady loved builds to kingdom come 

A.A. Hudgins

vergent

an excessive need to escape
as though tasked to get away
and yet all I do is adverse and say
stay ever stay

A.A. Hudgins

A street named Jerusalem

A young man walks between two and three

Along the Red line, 

wandering conceivably to inquire about this place

or perhaps in wonder about the time

Precarious yet caution with fingers in-twined 

He speaks to an uncunning old woman with a homelessness sign

“A street named Jerusalem,” he asks

to the woman by the track

but it seems she doesn’t want to know or care about anything like that

A.A. Hudgins

Mysteries of In-betweens

I wonder if a holy land

is in this city

somewhere grandiose,

divine.

Somewhere among this chaos that surrounds me,

where I could stand just fine.

Where the people of calloused and cracked streets

would strip thick jordans,

remove rubbered nikes,

and stand barefoot

in a land no one stands barefoot anymore.

Somewhere in the desert God spoke unto thee

and you too questioned, and true dared to stammer;

why a stuttering man like me?

Holy ground.

Tell me how is something like that solace so confounded ever found?

If anywhere if everywhere it can pervade,

mountain un-plated and sidewalk un-paved,

I wonder if it would reside in this city.

Or even near me.

An ignorant unknowing, desire its voice and eager its sound,

established as hidden and yet within,

in those in-between graces and mysterious places I just don’t go.

Somewhere among the millions of bodies,

holding millions of souls.

Could there even be a place that no one has quite found?
So the voice echoes: Remove your shoes,
for this is holy ground.

–A.A. Hudgins

We don’t need to go to prom (one of my weirder poems)

 i’m saved

 from sidewalks heavily paved

from the districts of Nuance, Vanity, Shame

glancing views of the long fingered semi-gloss deranged hoping for change in the same old same

generational no-game-change

hairdressers and headdressers

passing out extension posters hoping i’ll immedately sign my head away

or conceivably buy another day

or agree with everyone else that this compromised dress is somehow ok

They’re aiming about you

and you

and you

and you

with the stuff you stick to your head with bodily glues.

And I’m hoping we can all walk out with our heads still on

because honestly we don’t need to go to prom

when the day is over we can all just go to home

all of us

not just you and me

everybody

-A.A. Hudgins

Product Ofear

as far as far as few have seen and far so far and few between

so Father farther my head seems

so pregnant to pity of a narcissistic breed

reaping few and sow less the seed

Como se dice, vaya con Dios?

let nothing be withheld from them because of me

and who i choose not to be

-A.A. Hudgins

Apple Year

I haven’t bitten into an apple in an entire year

a whole apple.

One that wasn’t cut into 8 tiny little pieces,

since my braces.

Once you lose your freedom

over time

you forget you once had it

-A.A. Hudgins

Christophany

Orange Nike run at the rising sun
My warrior blood screams this battle be one
Be won
Born into a flesh that grew over wound
Over back, over bone
Over scars, over moans
And my ancestors will alive would have adored those groans
But I, broken free like the yolk in only one of uneven eggs
Or the yoke of two plowing to forked roads
Was dredged
So the orange shoes wash red
And the light in mine eyes turn from the dead
Red Nikes run towards the risen Son
And my Spirit so calls this battle is one
Is won

-A.A. Hudgins