A Day to Reason

I
prepare
today to
go and sort through
shelves of poetry
and philosophy. To
find enlightenment in a
dusty tome. Within precious pages
rests the ancient sage ready to reason
engaging me with his lecture on
thinking. Enlightening me with
the motives behind the aim
and the logic that drives
civilization
today in a
race, against
dismal
times.

Coco Chanel

born 1883 in a brothel
in France
she was raised in an orphanage
from twelve years old,
where she was trained as a seamstress,
after the death of her mother.

Fiercely determined,
she overcame the stigma of poverty,
orphanhood and illegitimacy.
Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel
never married,
but had affairs
with influential men of the time.
While living with one of these men, Etienne Balsan
who lavished her with the rich life,
she began designing hats as a hobby
for celebrated French actresses.
This soon became a deeper interest.
Her style of
simple elegance
was associated with the 1920’s Flapper,
a new breed of self confident
young woman that
challenged
the accepted status quo.
She gave women back their bodies;
bodies drenched in sweat
and freed them from their corsets
and padding.
Simple, comfortable and revealing,
the trademark of an icon.

A Love Poem

You are the
Silversword
high
on the cliff
of my longing.
I suffer when we are apart.
Aloof in your lunar terrain
your maroon cluster fascinates me.
The biting winds
challenge my desire
shield you from my furry touch.
The Hawaiians call you ‘ahinahina. (very gray)
You are succulent with your silver hair.
I pollinate you and
dream of us
swimming with the tide
in a welcoming sea.
Our progeny,
a panoramic
plethora dotting
the landscape
of Haleakala.

Day Lily

 

Hydrangea

 

Ohia Lehua Blossom

 

Cosmos

 

Shama

 

Plumbing the Shadows

The unnatural world lurks
beneath the plumb
of sensitivity
waiting
for us
to take notice.
It is an eerie place
of ghosts
trapped
between then and now.
In this alternate world
lie the answers
to life and death.
At times the door opens
to invite
us in, but we are wary
of the consequences
that lead us into
the other realm,
calling up things better left alone.
The undead are restless
for fresh hope,
wandering
in their sleep
with
no end.
Caught up in a web
of lies and misdeeds,
tortured by the uncertainty of right now.
Their womb offers
little comfort
and no nourishment.
It is filled with the suffering
and screams of millions,
lost
in the shadows.

Pulling Weeds

Dormant daylilies flaunt dead brown stalks.
Assorted wild plants compete for attention
baking in the noon day sun.
A super highway
of vines tunnel
beneath bromeliads
skirting salmon bougainvillea
teasing papyrus with probing tongues.
In the adjacent plot, lavender, white and yellow dendrobium
mildewed from excess moisture,
exhibit bottle green weeds
in various stages of growth.
Sheltered under the Norfolk pine
white peace lilies choke
beneath hills of pine needles
while two cherry tomato plants
thrive, their seeds planted by the Apapane.
Stooped behind the stone wall, I observe a young
couple drive up in a red camaro
to steal some dragon fruit from the neighbor’s yard.
Meanwhile a flock of doves eat
the remnants of leftover dog chow
out back, their feathers fluttering in rapid time,
perched on the rim of fortune.

Father Damien

I once rode a mule
down a path carved into steep cliffs
sliding through mud soaked ruts
thick with slime and loose stones
on top of an ornery mule,
named Hoku.
Hugging sharp ledges using my
leg as his ruler, parallel to
the treacherous ledge and rocks below.
Stopping at the beginning of every switchback
to snatch a mouthful of
grass, constantly chewing, his head
steadily pulling at the reins.
Early morning the air was heavy with mist, sheltered
by the dense foliage, not a drop of wind to cool and
fend off the stench of droppings stepped through by this caravan.
Below lay Kalaupapa, the leper colony
where endangered monk seals give birth
on the isolated northern peninsula
of Molokai. A place where the diseased
cast off’s were thrown off passing ships,
left to swim to shore or die
in the crushing surf.
A place of pristine beauty, where nature fiercely reigned.
On a pilgrimage of sorts,
I ventured into a place that only some decades
ago had been a death sentence, a prison without the possibility of parole.
Contagious and deadly
this biblical disease, would’ve meant a one way ticket
for those who dared to venture beyond its borders.
Father Damien knew this.
Committed to his
faith, risking this contagion that would eventually
eat at his flesh;
in a time of
ignorance and shame.
Now a U.S. National Historical Park
feeding the
faithful and curious onlookers
crumbs of forgotten
history in this breathtaking remote
settlement. Where a stubborn, hard working,
devoted man of the cloth
took on the armor of sainthood.

What Color Do You Breathe

I exhale a blue language
of nouns and verbs.
My syntax
frozen in the atmosphere
hidden on a cloud high above
Mauna Kea.
In search of exclusive metaphors
while observing the nene
as it forages for food between
the cracks and crevices of black and gold
lava flows, hardened by decades of cooling
now joined by violet joy bushes
and a profusion of bright green tree ferns
still erupting into red phrases
congealing into the deep blue pacific
crimson orange tongues ablaze.

Wanted

Difficult
people pleaser
seeks
agreeable
inexpensive
graphic artist
to
collaborate
on
photography
book
deserving of
recognition.

** Written in response to what kind of a problem type are you, at a recent writing workshop I attended with my writing group---at the Volcano Art Center in Hawaii
Check out the Writing Workshops up at Volcano Hawaii by logging on to: www.tompeek.net

September Nights in Kahaluu

**Also published Friday September 18th 2009 on http://www.7beats.com/herenow.html


Fountain water splashes
echoes
across the koi pond.
Clever
Great Danes
bark their hello,
jump into the air
to chase
after chew bones
anxious for a moment
of attention.
Sultry trades
shift
Alexander palm branches
nod their approval.
Plovers march across manicured lawns
searching for tiny morsels,
recently
back
from
Alaska.
It is late afternoon-
Pau Hana time.
Pretty soon,
the air
will be redolent with
beef stew,
fresh baked bread
grilled Mahimahi
and rice.
Voices will fill the
peaceful valley and become paler
as night falls.
Chickens will roost in invasive
octopus trees.
Bullfrogs will sing love songs
attracting mates
and life will go on.
Wrapping up
another steamy day
meditating
by the Mango tree
while gazing at
pink clouds and
orange
parrots beak
heliconia.

Hormone Flux-Get Me Some Estrogen

***Also published on Friday August 28th 2009
http://www.7beats.com/herenow.html

A pin ball machine of
metal balls
zigzagging
crashing
colliding
trying to break records
achieve recognition
win contests
plan a murder.
So much to do
meals to plan
guests to invite
classes to attend
volunteer for this
volunteer for that
There are ways
to clean a blood stain
using simple things like
peroxide.
I have to schedule
my day
but I can’t remember
where I left my notepad and pen
on the way to preparing breakfast
Did I take my medicine?
Where are the vitamins?
Don’t forget to drink lots of water
It’s time for the workout
Cut the grass
Write that poem
Coffee, where’s my coffee?
I look into the mirror.
My reflection
is altered, I don’t recognize
the old woman that stares back.
Quick—apply some makeup
before you scare the dogs.
The course re-plotted
over and over again.

My victim
reminds me of
a note that needs writing.
Tumbling forward
avoiding those flippers
up and down
back and forth
through
these days of
detours
and
uncharted
territory.

Fine Wines- Etheree

Wine
should be
savored like
a good epic
filtering through with
barely audible hints
of blackberry and currant,
joined among swirls of licorice
descending into the belly on
a creamy slice of avocado stacked
with fresh crackers heaped with wedges of
sharp cheddar cheese from Wisconsin.
Accompanied by a tall
swarthy Italian man
who writes steamy songs
to earthy girls
nightly on
a cruise
ship.

Dim Sum in Chinatown

We met at ten thirty
on a Sunday morning
for Dim Sum--a bit of heart,
in a busy
Chinatown restaurant.
The Yum Cha
(drinking tea)
experience
takes me back to China.
A trip of a lifetime.
To an industrious
hard working people with
backs bent in two.
Using simple tools
to rebuild modern cities
reeking of
inadequate plumbing
and garbage strewn
harbors.
To observe
these proud inhabitants
of decay
from five star hotels
with a hazy blackened view.
Where east meets west
rich confronts poor
without
birds or trees
to block out the sun
face to face.

Somewhere
inside the debris
lies the heart
of these proud
people as
inside
a wrapper
of
translucent
rice flour
stuffed
with pork
shrimp
and
cabbage.

I Salute You

Her drive flew the distance
all the way onto the green.
Rolled within inches
of my feet
as I was preparing
to sink
my one putt.
The sky was blue.
Lenny
silently waiting
for us to finish
before he continued
to cut the grass.

In proud recognition,
I presented
her with a solitary bird--
one full minute of honor.
A pink gloved
middle finger salute.
My threesome
dumbstruck.
Winking at each other,
pissed off
yet proud
she had arrived.
Now-- don’t hit into us
Ms. Sunshine,
with your
dark tan lines.
Lobbed later
over nachos and a beer.
There would be
no stopping her
now.

Feeding The Neighbor's Cats

I look forward
to when my next door neighbors
leave on a trip.
Although, I have to sneak
over to see them.
My Great Danes would go crazy
if they knew what I was up to.
Imagine--leaving them
to feed not one but two kittens.
Bruno and Zeus are listening
to the Oldies station
as I tiptoe
to the gate and quietly cross
into the neighbor’s yard.
As I insert my key into the lock
I hear Meow—and a thump
Cello, the gray and white one
greets me.
He knows what time it is.
Cyd-- the orange Calico purrs from a distance.

Savoring each moment, I feed them, clean their litter box
and watch them pounce
from desktop to computer
to the chair, and then back to where I am,
one on my lap, the other on the arm of the chair.
At first they welcome my touch
to stroke their fur, and scratch behind their ears.
Then Cyd playfully bites at my fingers
saying-- that’s enough we’re done here.

I am reminded briefly, of a cat that long ago adopted me, named Midnight.
Black as the darkest night, equally fierce and independent.
A Tom cat that preferred the outdoors,
and who would keep me waiting
sometimes for days—wondering.
Then come home after a night of screams and hissing
bloody and bruised
minus some fur, missing part of an ear.
Trailing a long thick string
of slimy green snot.
Hungry
for food and affection.
Nudging me
to be stroked and
having his tail pulled--but just for a minute, barely --a minute.

Feral Chickens

We get plenty chickens over here.
They like play “chicken”
with my car.
Sometimes they take off
wings flapping,
like one jet.
They like race
with my Hyundai.
They not so smart.
Bumbai
they going lose
their tail feathers
to one pupuele wahine
stay Kahaluu.

Pidgin English is spoken by the locals here in Hawaii.
Below are some translation notes:
Get plenty: have lots of
Bumbai: sooner or later, by and by
Pupule: crazy
Wahine: female, woman
Stay: currently is or lives at
Kahaluu: country town on Windward Oahu