American Lady Butterfly on Coreopsis

Spirit Mana

I hear them whisper
in the gentle trade winds
in the grunt of the wild
boar, the high-pitched mating call of the coqui.


I see them
in the blood moon
the double rainbow
in the mist against the folding
emerald cliffs of the Ko'olau.

I taste them
in the freshly caught pan fried mahi-mahi
a tropical papaya
tangy mango.

I smell them in
the white gardenia
the orange blossoms
the plumeria I place behind my ear.

I feel them buzzing
my ankles
scurrying sideways in the white sand
between the sharp coral
in the gentle rain.

They watch as I wait for you to return safely.

They watch the dogs chase
after wild chickens
the koi feed on fat
mosquitos.
The bullfrogs sing.

They watch

They accept.

They smile.

They are here with me

the ‘Aumakua, guardian ancestors

rooted in the past, the first of their generations.

Duck Pond

Gertude's Nose, September 2015

Three Monkeys

At a recent Word Cafe

pictures passed around the room are

designed to rouse our inner writer

briefly displaced

during the heady pursuit

of summer activities.

The picture I received

depicted three monkeys cutting hair.

I imagined myself in the barber’s chair

the lucky recipient of said haircut

and may I add fully conscious, trusting and completely insane.

Wary to See

Hear and

Speak No EVIL

about these darling monkeys, because I  like monkeys.

Also, being very superstitious

I have learned

from my past

not to let the unlicensed

whether human or monkey

anywhere near my delicate scalp.

Yeah, I let them cut my fucking hair.

However, suffering as I do from chronic stupidity

a condition passed down to me

from that anonymous side of the family

I tend to forget

life’s little lessons.

Consequently, my existence is a series of 50 first dates

and crooked bangs

each day beginning with

familiar strangers and events.

Each day rife with frustrations

such as

What was the Name of that Movie

that Author, and more to the point

Who the Fuck Am I

and Why Should You Care.

Ah, the writer’s life

hunting and pecking for the perfect juxtaposition

of meaning and metaphor.  In search of the highly distracted,

I want, I want, I want, audience,

the vulgar pay for a million hours of sweat, blood and bodily excrement.

I’m no movie star

nor am I a scientist

or even Georgio from Ancient Aliens

who sometimes looks, like a monkey

or an alien, with outrageous hair.

As Georgio says

it could be possible

that these monkeys

are the missing links

and really exceptional hairdressers.

I have to admit

it is plausible

but I am willing to risk being wrong.

After all

I have only one

token head of hair to give.

In the meantime 

I will try to maintain a positive outlook

so as to appear normal

to my loyal Friends and Facebook followers.

Since both of them

would be swayed

were it not for  my personal sacrifice,

the dedicated followers that they are,

they two might be tempted

to let monkeys cut their hair.

Self Publishing Advice

http://www.selfpublishingadvice.org/how-to-use-createspace-and-ingram-spark-together/

Giant's Workshop

Giant's Workshop