Thursday, September 30, 2010

Autumn Show

Autumn
croons
jazzy tune
trails
La Lune
in
harvest
swoon.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Windward Times— Special Edition, September 29th 2010

***A prose poem written in pidgin english

Da gross cockroach militia stays booming in da plumbing
in da face of mass killings in Kaneohe town.
Small kine remenants was seen unda da kine drain stops.
Our leaders met at da G8 summit behind braddah Kimo’s drainpipe stay Kahalu’u.

Kimo was heard to say—“Wat and you still alive?”

Rumors have pop up dat da militant Ant Army stay invading us on account of dey stupid leader,
da kine Mack-Mood I-Stay-One–Damn-Jerk,
who won one nodda election by his bullying.
We stay on da threshold of war. I repeat da invasion stay soon.
Bans going be carried out.
It was agreed dat furda talks going need happen
maybe next month at da Cockroach U. N. behind Auntie Carol’s Pearl City Bowl.

On one nodda note, da Common Myna’s
stay spurtin tru-out da Windward side.
Dis roach reporter saw
mass sightings of bird kookai-- piles brah!
Dis one--major.
Tunnels stay being blocked.
Dey was warned…. Bring yuz guys shovels we tink dey got one pony in dea.

On one lighter note,
Da Annual Cockroach Ball stay happening mid-October, try let dem know soon
if you stay come--eh?

Lady Gaga, Janet and Cher, our hot cuzins on da mainland,
stay proud to announce da grand opening dea new consignment store
at da site of da old Arakawas in Waipahu
dea got da kine gently used gowns wit wing slits on top
plus matching roach bags, titanium jewelry and get sticky spike shoes fo grab sweets
jus in case you need dance and run. Titas--No bring da kids--eh!

Dis just In--Da human peoples in da state still no more job,
us being watched, but brighter days coming,
Ho--da deadly freakin gas nearly gone wat!

In Sports—Wings Flapporino da Flyin Hawaiian scores da winning touchdown
winning over dea arch rival, Boots Black of da Bedbugs—who defeated da Stinkbugs from Philly last year --Final score, 32-2.

Weather Alert—Partly cloudy wit remote kine showers—Highs stay in da low 80’s, Lows stay in da low 60’s Same as always—brah! Hey baboose--Try keep da storm drains closed and carry one snorkel—no need floaters, downpours stay flooding low lying pot holes-one risky bugga dat!
Try member da numba one cockroach rule, cuz--Safety First!


We stay proud to bring you dis edition of da Windward Times
Paid for wit cash by Butterfly Airlines, da junior of Monarch Butterfly
Flying Furda den da Rest—Cos Can!

Monday, September 27, 2010

Searching for a Savior

They called him

teacher,

skilled and

wise.

They feared

his gaze

the fire in his eyes.

He did things

that they could not explain

why

they sold him

in exchange

for their pain.

He came with a special guarantee

believe it

and you will be set free

but science later

came along

and put their blinders back on

to wander lost

throughout time

without a savior

powerless to find.

A host of casualties

to heap up the cost

in this village of the damned

forever lost.


Plumbing Hell

**This is my creation---using real places and an ancient ruler whose bones remain hidden today.

     Kamehameha I was also known as The Great One

The supernatural

lurks
beneath the plumb
of perception
waits in misery
and obscurity
for discernment.

Sometimes
you can hear them
as you hike
up the Stairway to Heaven.

Climbing up steep
cliff ladders with
howling winds at your back
the almost imperceptible
low chanting and drums
between the undulating peaks
shrouded in mist.
Pointing
to the petroglyphs
naming
the hidden path
to the secret tomb
of The Great One
a formidable foe
even in death.

Calling up things better left alone
as an apparition appears
somber

from beneath miles of sediment.

Larger than life
intent to lead
his army of
night marchers.

Blood-thirsty
lips cry
bewitch waterfalls
unlock ancient doors
between emerald cliffs

waking hell’s elite mercenaries

a foul eruption
panting in the shadows
hungry for flesh
leering in the gloom
as he
brutally stabs
a black widow.

Her web
thick with
motionless prey
entombed
and screeching
his name.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Blue Angels


Slice sky
blue pie
solo cross
diamond floss
smoky exhaust
spiral gravity
pure depravity
ozone cavity.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Night Music

The north wind gasps in
the wee hours as
pipes play and ghosts dance
across the coast highway, wreaking havoc.

 
Naani is one of Indian's most popular Telugu poems. Naani means an expression of one and all.

It consists of 4 lines, the total lines consists of 20 to 25 syllables. The poem is not bounded to
a particular subject. Generally it depends upon human relations and current statements

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Wishful Thinking

Wishful thinking

is something we  adopt
a bright idea that comes at the worst possible time
and stays long after its welcome is worn out
like an old pair of garden gloves
with holes in the fingers
comfortable, but they no longer
do the job.

Unable to let them go
you then
try to fix them,
when one surely disappears
you convince yourself that sooner or later it will turn up
and everything will work out, but it never does.

Not until long after
you’ve thrown its mate into the trash
and it’s been hauled away
by that giant yellow truck
reeking of dead fish and stale beer.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Mask

MASK
death mask
preserved age

displayed in Cairo
enameled gold and gems
guarded the soul from evil

“Egyptian clay mask remedy”

Pedicure

Feet
soak in
tepid swirl
nails clipped, shaped, filed.
Cuticles pushed back
calluses shaved, feet scrubbed.
Moisturizer massaged deep
into toes and calves up to knees
energizing tired feet and legs.
Red nail bed summons white hibiscus sketch.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Confessions of a Pioneer Woman

My name is Gert


my corset hurts

my hair is fine

wrapped tight with twine.

My day begins

before the sun

with cows to milk

and chores a ton

My husband died

from the grippe

left me

six kids

and a buffalo chip.

The banker said

his last check bounced

across the prairie

unannounced

I’m good at sewing

can make a mean pie

spin a tall yarn

look you dead

in the eye.

I’ll groom your horse

keep the home fires

burning

just get me out

of this

butter churning.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

You Might Be a Poet

1. If you have ten or more poetry books or your nightstand in various stages of being read

You might be a poet

2. If you have wallpapered your bathroom with rejection notices

You might be a poet

3. If you wake up in the middle of the night to write down an interesting word or phrase

You might be a poet

4. If you carry a small notepad in your pocket or purse and a fancy pen

You might be a poet

5. If you have heard of Ted Kooser or W.S. Merwin and know what they have been recognized for

You might be a poet

6. If you write a poem a day for fifteen months straight

You might be a poet

7. If you go to poetry readings held by someone called the Poetry Pope

You might be a poet

8. If you write grocery lists and what you are packing for a trip, in an ABCdarian

You might be a poet

9. If you  understand what a clarity pyramid is

You might be a poet

10. If you like writing by a strict set of rules but can’t find the top of your desk

You might be a poet

11. If you spend all day tweaking a poem that’s already finished

You might be a poet

12. If you have been coming to Lillian’s classes for four or more years or have been published in
The Rain Bird

You might be a poet.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Thursday, September 16, 2010

The Legend of Nalo Man

***Nalo means lost in Hawaiian

      Mana is spirit or power
      Haumea and Wakea are ancient gods; Laka is their daughter, the goddess of hula.
      Akepa: is a scarlet or yellow-green hawaiian honeycreeper


Last night he dreamt again of the past.

the answer disappears with the finches
when he wakes
under his mystical banyan
in Kalihi Valley.

The tree that he knew
as a child
which shows him its mana
in the howl of the damp
in the leaves
whispering her name
combing-out memories
tangled within their dark stillness.

Coarse roots stretching back
to the time of
Wakea and Haumea.

A goddess born from Haumea’s eye

Kapo has many names
one is Laka.

Laka can be seen
as a lizard or
a human.

Her chants
awaken
the old spirits.

He is blinded
afraid of her truth
a truth that haunts his stirring dreams.

He knows that
the stones of life
by the spouting waters
can heal him
from her intrusion

but he is lost.

Wandering alone
as he seeks the old path
that the kahuna spoke of
long overgrown and forgotten.

He remembers
that the words to her song

guide the way

but they are as faint as the stars
in the tropical sun
invisible
in his frantic mind.
He bargains with her for the key
but the guardian

taunts him

detecting his weakness
for drink
and keeps his path
shrouded in darkness.

Countless moons wax and wane

as flocks of mischievous Akepa
gather leaves and weave seed leis
within the coarse black strands
of his lengthening beard

as he sleeps

at night
between the broad roots at the
foot of the banyan
its thick branches
shielding him
from her wiles
as he fitfully rests
inside their sway.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

A Poet Lives Here

A

Pithy
Observant
Evocative
Tattler

Lassoes
Images, and for a
Voluble show of approval will
Enlist
Spell-checker, cliché

Half-truths
Euphemisms
Rambles, rants and
Eminent domain.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Pricing Philosophy

I am GOD of my section

omnipresent
directing the flow
making the ultimate decisions
as to what stays
what goes

how much to charge

how little

which polished newcomers
get an all access pass
to Bill’s Bookmobile

which ones go on to the prisons

and hospitals

And what inevitably gets called home
to heaven

the tired,
marked up
mildewed,
highlighted ones
with post-its stuck
in irretrievable places
spoiled and unsalable.

Hell has to wait

its turn after
a dissertation on morality
even bullshit
endures my scrutiny
green in my omniscience.

The list
of human
speculation
is endless
in fact
stacks of them
keep petitioning
for another audience
hoping
for a different outcome.

Love

my favorite
usually ends up
at the top of the pile
since I am

GOD

and GOD is love

and well

because I said so!

Wizard Stones--Waikiki


Tahitian healers
transferred powers to bell stones
Waikiki landmark.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Friday, September 10, 2010

I Touched Death 15.25

I touched death’s icy hand
and peeled back my crying skin
glued on
with false hope
safety pinned with lies.

This couldn’t be him
who
had captured my heart
cradled me in his hot embrace
searing, empty promises.

This wasn’t him, in this shiny black casket
in this frozen parlor.

This was a wax mannequin
an empty shell
pumped full
of foul juices
preserved like the frogs
ready for dissection
in 10th grade biology

I was dreaming.

My fingers touched his
hard and fixed
his death mask
distorted smile

carefully dressed in a suit.

I thirsted for his affection
slit without warning
on that dark haunted road
black as a tar
black as a bottomless well
yearning for the splash.

Frozen screams
skated across the green bog

trapped

beneath thick black ice
fists hammering an opaque ceiling
tagged and trapped in the horror zone
waiting for some sign
that I could still see him.

Shredded like a rag doll
sliced by hot steel
by a drunken monster in a black Cadillac
blood drained,
organs extracted
at no extra charge.

Waiting for one last damp kiss
before his appointment
with Mr. Grim.

Las Vegas 15.24

City of sin, din
sights and lights.

City of luck
Mega bucks
cherry red lips
Chicken Ranch hips.

City of lost wages
redeemed savers
wedding chapels and
venture capital.

City to lose
drink too much booze
rack up coins
wolf tenderloin.

A city with eyes
cameras up high
and Cirque shows every night
while gorgeous show girls
show off their girls
and Criss Angel levitates
breathing deep in a red rock scape.

A city of slots, high rollers, big shots
musical fountains and Roman art
River pools, sidewalk misters
Shopping malls, iconic vistas.

Where dry heat is a relative term
as flamingos drip on a Venetian urn.

And tourists leave last dollars
in Wheel of Fortune slots
shouting
honey come quick, I’ve won the jackpot!!

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Monday, September 6, 2010

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Overindulgence 15.19

Spoiled
myopic youth
neglects his teeth.

Gummy candy
belly and
devouring habits
dentist’s dream.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Communication 15.18

Hiking

unfamiliar trails
with foreign speaking
strangers.

Accessing understanding
utilizing
sunscreen and sign language.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Contentment 15.17

Septolet

The Septolet is a poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break in between
the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.



Daylight streams
gold
pink and
sapphire vistas.

Silver encircles
uncharted white nimbi
admit one.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Low Battery 15.16

Recharge Battery

Find adapter cable
plug into computer and wait.

Remember when an apple a day kept the doctor away?
well, some things never change
apples still fuel the day.

Dieter 15.15

Dieter
is a serious man
who doesn’t care much for children.

He is still single
in-between women and loves his imported beer
although not quite as much as he did in his youth.

At fifty two, he wears thick eyeglasses.

Dark blond and blue eyed, his pock marked skin is clean shaven.
He wears an aloha shirt and loose tan shorts for evenings out
complete with white crew length socks and a clean pair of deck shoes
inadequately concealing his portly frame.

He hoards his money
earned from
installing razor wire fences around prisons,
this has been quite lucrative over the years.

In his spare time he looks through the real estate ads
and waits for that special parcel
in a neighboring state, not too far from his Mother,
who is eighty two now, an ex smoker burdened with emphysema.

He has many friends.

One has a Hawaiian themed backyard complete with swimming pool
around which preside Tikis which he carved by hand from oak, cherry and other hard woods.
At the intricately carved bar
blowfish twirl from suji fishing lines and swim
in the heavy air
bright with white lights stuffed into their diaphanous round bellies.
Voracious mosquitoes thickly blanket this upstate New York town
underwhelmed by the lack of trade winds or repellant
overwhelming his cousin, Crystal.

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