Bio of Mark Hudson

Mark Hudson is a published poet, and he became a member of Poets and
Patrons in 2006. It all started when Mark entered their poetry contest
in 2006, and won third place for a poem called “Starvbing artist.” he was asked
to read his poem out loud, and he was too shy to read it, so Caroline read it.
This made him feel part of the group, so he's been a member ever since. He has
fond memories of writing adventures with Poets and Patrons in the past, and
every April at poetry day at Harold Washington library, Mark loves to sit at the table
and represent Poets and Patrons, and he enjoys helping other poets selling their
chapbooks, and his as well.

Mark wrote the following poem about libraries at Skokie library before COVID.
It brings to him fond memories of times where there was no lockdown
and public places were open. For now, we'll just have to keep writing poems.

Sherlock Holmes

Here I sit, writing a poem,
I’m writing an ode to Sherlock Holmes.
I’m writing about the great detective,
who solved mysteries that were schizo-affective.

From the likes of the museum of Givernelle,
to the story the hound of the Baskervilles,
Sherlock Holmes will have the intuition,
to come up with the perfect solution.

In London, they have a study in Scarlet,
could it just be a missing harlot?
Or is it the mystery of the Red-Headed League,
Sherlock Holmes never shows fatigue.

Sherlock Holmes makes great deductions,
about London’s latest abductions.
Watson can’t fathom the subtle hints,
Sherlock Holmes, a legend ever since.

The Rhinoceros of Versailles

From Calcutta a big creature came;
for King Louis XV it was a present.
The rhino in France would have fame;
A rhino treated better than peasants.
After six months aboard a ship,
the Indians had the rhino to bring.
It was quite a rather long trip,
but a rhino for a famous king.
The rhino was on display in France;
but a villain with a sword caused dismay.
The rhino was cut up with the lance,
and his carcass was not fit for display.
The skin and the skeleton were preserved,
of the most famous rhino ever observed.

Filming Fargo

In my hometown they sell legal pot,
It doesn’t make a difference or not.
I’m not supplying the money for a purchase,
I spend a lot of my free time in churches.

The other day I was in a grocery store,
buying bread was the reason for,
An on-duty cop walked in and glared,
didn’t really make me too scared.

Did he think I was going to steal a loaf?
I planned to pay, I ignored the oaf.
Nowadays, who can a copper bust?
Politicians are the ones we can’t trust.

As I walked today, I saw police cars,
I wondered who would be put behind bars.
My paranoia got the best of me,
“They’ll put me in jail, will I be free?”

The police car sirens started blinking,
and my imagination had me thinking.
I went around the corner; a man had me pause,
and I wondered if I had broken any laws.

“Pardon me, sir, would you stop for a bit?
We’re filming a movie, it will be a hit!”
I followed his directions, and took a stop,
then realized the reason for the cops.

I looked in the alley, they were filming Fargo,
so that was the reason they couldn’t let a car go.
I caught a glimpse of a movie being made,
so there was no reason to be afraid!

Why does authority always make me cower?
Do I fear those people who have the most power?
Fear of God is the beginning of wisdom,
so for one day, I’ve escaped my own prison.

C.E.S. Wood (1852-1944)

C.E.S Wood from Portland was well-known,
his paintings are famous and many do own.
Also a writer, a soldier and an attorney,
his life was nothing but a wild journey.

He helped found the Portland art museum,
and a local county library, a free gem.
Friends with Ansel Adams, Langston Hughes,
Mark Twain and John Steinbeck, to name a few.

He went to fight Indians in 1874,
then Chief Joseph said,  “I will fight no more.”
The two became friends instead of foes,
inspiring Wood to write Indian prose.

He published Mark Twain’s “1601”,
Only fifty copies were in the run.
Sought by many book collectors,
Wood was one of the main protectors.

The Poet in the Desert was his most famous poem,
talked about Oregon, his original home.
His estranged wife he must’ve forgot,
he went to San Francisco with Sarah Erhrgott.

A champion for freedom, a jack of all trades,
Oregon remembers him as his legend doesn’t fade.

Day at the Library

The man looks at books
and examines the pages;
some of the books,
haven’t been read in ages.

Which one to pick?
Which book should he choose?
His glasses are thick;
as each book he’ll peruse.

It’s September at the library;
summer is winding down.
Each book you read,
has a verb or a noun.

But the sentences you read;
could take you beyond.
television not worthy;
to make you feel fond.

A book in your hands,
might not make you rich.
But it will take you to lands,
where your mind pulls the switch.

I sit here content,
the man is far down,
the aisle with intent,
to narrow his search down.

But through books he still looks
for the perfect titles.
When you are not reading,
your brain turns idle.

So go to the library,
and check out a book.
You’ll be happy,
whichever one you took.

Mark Hudson

Hyde Park Picnic

In the Hudson valley, in 1939,
President Roosevelt was planning to dine.
He was having a picnic, for the king,
hot dogs were something they chose to bring.
King George and his wife Elizabeth,
simply loved the hot dogs to death.
The queen ate her hot dog with fork and knife,
The king ate it by hand, unlike his wife.
At the time, there was anti-British sentiment,
so this historic picnic was no accident.
Europe was on the verge of war again,
so Roosevelt created a picnic to attend.
The king tried hot dogs, and asked for more,
courtesy of Franklin and Eleanor,
Three months later England declared war,
and the U.S joined them on the shore.
The Americans and British did not bond before,
but they became allies on a military tour.
Who would’ve been able to predict,
that Roosevelt would create a famous picnic.

Mark Hudson

Tornado Warning

On our way to Door County, I started out our
trip with a prayer to God for a safe trip. The first
foreshadowing seemed to be a building that said,
“Abandoned haunted house.”

My sister did not let my niece and nephew
know there was a tornado warning, because they
get really scared when it rains. Suddenly, rain
began to pour down so fiercely, that I thought
we were going to need an ark.

My niece threw a fit, “I’m scared! I want
to go home!” and she wouldn’t stop screaming.
I saw people who were riding motorcycles who
had to pull over to the side of the road, and I
saw a man on the other side of the road walking
all alone.

We eventually had to pull under a bridge
till the rain stopped. Eventually the sun came out,
and we drove again. I think the kids were even
able to take a nap.

As an adult, I can have fears, because I
am aware of the evils that really do exist. But
I trust God to protect me from whatever comes.

There were two instances on the trip
where I became very proud of my nephew.
When he wanted to walk bare-footed into wavy water
and stand on a rock, I let him. When he went
kayaking by himself, I knew he was getting braver.
My niece has her yellow belt in karate.
I’m actually the chicken!

Mark Hudson

National Poetry Day

National Poetry Day was founded by the British,
but all day long I felt a bit skittish.
Anxiety about things I cannot control,
No time for poetry, no Ole King Cole.
What type of message of poems can I convey?
The truth is I have not much to say.
In England, they think poetry no reason for shame,
I suppose that they’re reading it out by the Thames.
But in America, our verse can get worse,
our politicians cause people to curse!
We frown at our freedom, because it is fleeting,
some upbeat poetry is what we are needing.
In England, the country we once broke off from,
is where they read poetry, and sit on their bum.
There is always tomorrow, to do just that thing,
or is possible, death still does sting?

Mark Hudson
October 6, 2016

Construction Site Quatrains

There were blessing that came from above,
when the bricks fell from the sky with love.
The crew had been stalled, and ran out of dough,
construction site of chaos, progress was slow.

Every vice and virtue shared among the men,
they sat around and drank and drank it all again.
A fire had caused their reparations sour,
and down came the building like a falling tower.

The construction of the workers was put to an end,
it was a relationship the boss could not mend.
The building that was only half built lay in debris,
the workers had no confidence, nor no modesty.

The place was in ruins, the building was in smolders,
all the workers packed up, and moved away to Boulder.
It was the skyscraper that never was to flourish,
but some townsfolk found a way to take it and nourish.

Eventually, a fence surrounded the whole lot,
a playground was built, and people just forgot
the building that had once been there to rot
now a playground, safe for many a tot.

So bring your children to the park outside,
let them slide on the fireman’s slide.
Future firemen play tag on the once failed site,
and kids will do construction one day, do it right.

A playground is a launching pad for dreams,
a towering inferno a harbor full of screams.
Without the pain of failure, we’d have no success,
so please parents and teachers, give the kids recess!


(c) Mark Hudson 2016