A Great Dane's Report on New Year’s Eve in Hawaii

I would be the first to piss on all of them
and all their explosives.
I would make sure to tinkle on all of their matches
not a single aerial or even a piece of obnoxious red paper
would remain dry.
This colossal stain would wreak a reminder that
these islands are shared by all.
Then I would jump on every marauder
and knock them down, cut their height in
half or eighths if need be.
Their point of view altered like that of an errant child
left out after dark without supervision,
forced to see from a new angle.
I would then bark a loud critique about the ramifications
of deafness inflicted on beings of a lesser god.
Crazed by their ignorance, I might resort to
property damage leaving traces of my angst as a
sign to future canine, inciting them to rethink the
outdated notion of a man’s best friend.

New Years Eve Folly

Predawn
my favorite time of day
a time
where stillness reigns.
No firecrackers, no rockets,
or pinwheel brilliant bursts.
The party people have retreated
gone back into their caves to rest
and stock up on ammunition.
Thousands of firecrackers still silent are strung across
countless streets hanging from makeshift
welded metal and boards, haphazardly constructed
by retired policemen and accountants
who later rush to Longs to purchase last minute fire starters
and sparklers to light that first strand.
Then the smoke will come
inundating the asthmatics
forcing them to retreat into
theaters to watch the latest
release on high definition screens
with Dolby enhanced sound
drowning out the noise of the celebration.
The endless cacophony of doom forced
upon us by the revelers intent on blowing up
their small portion of the island.
An island strategically located in the
Pacific Ocean sheltering for the moment
a President and his family,
who sit on the sidelines
and pay to observe.

New Year’s Eve-Ku

Twilight detonates,
mountainous red paper ash
congregates at curb.

Bombs pierce air space
hunting in reckless pursuit,
for a vacant sky.

Canines claw through screens
in an agitated state
howl at their owners.

New Year’s fireworks
doped up dogs circle back yard
glazed eyes reflect fear.

New Year’s rockets breach,
Hawaiian aloha spirit
discards scarred excess.

Hawaiian Snow

Wet slanted downpour
liquid snow in the tropics
Hawaiian Christmas.


Navy boat leaves dock
family goes whale watching
see mother and calf.


Cruising to Sandbar
sunshine slices sandbank on
isolated beach

Tide swiftly recedes
undercurrent traces lines
to lost horizon.


Tribe claims Sand Island
later wolfs down special pork
red sauce formula.

Hawaiian Santa

You grab the spirit
I’ll buy the lei
and we’ll wiki wiki
and meet Santa’s sleigh.
Santa’s gonna love
the warm and sunny weather
cruising in red board shorts and
aloha shirt together.

Talking
and texting
his blackberry
clicking
eating juicy
pineapple
the sweet sap
sticking
making wide trails
down past his chin
pooling on his belly
yellowing his skin.

Chubby toes sinking
into fine sand deep, amid
boogey board surfers
tanned and fast asleep.
Checking his list
for naughty and nice.
Santa’s little helpers
reeking old spice.

This jolly old elf
makes the season bright
Ho ho ho
Santa’s stylin tonight
in a shiny red sleigh with
eight dolphin on his tether
he’s cruising in the ocean
no matter what the weather.
And I heard him exclaim as he rode
out of sight
Mele Kalikimaka,
I’ll be in Fiji tonight.

Hawaii Kai Boat Parade-Cherita

Mickey escorted Minnie in the Xmas Boat Parade

cruising in a channel of overcast and rain. As diners ate
their burgers with football as their game.

Perhaps the stormy weather kept many locked home tight
but with my golf umbrellas we watched
somewhat dry that night.

Mele Kalikimaka 2009

What a Great Year!









Three poems are published in 2009 issue
of Rain Bird-W.C.C.’s literary journal- 2nd year in a row


Nine members of my family
come to Hawaii for two weeks in April-
I love you guys!!
I read my poems at a local Pen Women Luncheon in May
I have lunch with Dallas, a good friend visiting Oahu from Vancouver Island
I self publish Meadow Pause and Boogey Fever
"Toad Festival" wins second place in the IBPC - A national poetry competition
‘Ilima and I go to Volcano on the Big Isle for a Writing Workshop in September

Three more poems accepted for publication in 2010 Rain Bird- 3rd year in a row

I win third low net in “A” flight
at a Women’s 36 Hole stroke play Championship at Hickam
I win third gross in my flight at Hawaii Kai Championship
My handicap goes down from 32.0 to 27.2.
15 members of Ft. Shafter Ladies golf group come to my house for a Xmas party
As of Dec. 4th I have written a poem a day for six months straight.
I resign my position as Treasurer from two golf groups.


Jason spends Thanksgiving and Christmas at home with us
Bruno and Zeus are six years old this Christmas
Tom has been working out and running and looks amazing!!
We have a real 7 foot Christmas tree this year—love the scent of fresh pine!!
We are all healthy and happy and are looking forward to the coming year- with maybe some trips on the horizon? We’ll be sure to let you know!



Aloha from Hawaii

Christmas Aphorisms

Fresh pine scent
captures holiday spirit.

Santa’s little helpers
burn clean fuel.

Christmas cheer expires
on December 26th.

Cards and letters
rekindle old friendships.

Stores build sales
customers erect bills.

Charity brings forth
a financial statement.

Scrooge gets deported
to Christmas past.

Good spirits make
for strange bedfellows.

Bring two cups
of Christmas cheer.

Recession proof Christmas
keep old traditions.

Grandchildren grow older
cash only please.

Grandpa relates teens
with monthly installments.

Church’s for sinners
flood the Earth.

Sing Christmas carols
share diverse cultures.

Grooming Session

 

Duke Kahanamoku Statue

 

Banyan Tree

 

 

Waikiki Beach

 

Happiness

is
the mist rising
in the morning,
from green fairways
covered with fresh dew.
A flock of black Iwa birds
circling over a pond
brimming
with purple and pink lily pads,
beneath a blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds,
while gentle trade winds
provide a welcoming breeze,
fanning my skin
heated by my enthusiasm.

Pardon Me

Tom Turkey is slated
for execution at midnight.
They are heating up the oven as we speak.
His dream team was up all night.
They are trying to reach
the President, but so far
not a wishbone of luck.
The priest, Father Killjoy
was summoned
and
asked poor Tom if he
had any last words.
Apparently the people from Butterball
are evil vultures.
He is so stressed out, he couldn’t even muster a gobble.
Now his Hen is beside herself.
It seems that
his suit
is full of holes,
and she has no bread left
to stuff it with.
Trussed up like he is
I’m afraid he is
on his last leg.
At the eleventh hour
he is sweating pullets.

Thanksgiving Aphorisms

Thanksgiving roller coaster
sustains safe limits.

Tom turkey auditions
break a leg.

Holiday meals raise
cholesterol, expand waistlines.

Pumpkin pie spice
trafficking is legal.

Thankful for blessings
mindful of woe.

Pets receive calming
classical music medication.

Family happily reunites
sing karaoke songs.

Parents, children, grandparents
unite, feed village.

Holiday feast bonds
reflects tolerant trend.

Mashed potatoes ditch
surround turkey gravy.

Stuffing packed in
chubby bird satisfied.

Tom turkey debuts
on center stage.

Thanksgiving prayer,
oven hot, refrigerator cold.

A Special Ride

I was about 35 when I experienced my first Mule Ride.
Rather naive I thought that it would be uneventful,
but that is my nature.
The day began rather pleasantly
with a leisurely breakfast
of fresh island papaya,
macadamia nut pancakes
and piping hot Kona coffee at the Midnite Inn.
located in the sleepy one horse town of Kaunakakai.
Molokai, the Friendly Isle,
was a place we had reroofed a lot of the local Church’s.
We decided on this day to play tourist
along with my father in law and
mother in law; visiting from the mainland.
Today we would venture down
to Kalaupapa on a mule.
We were intent
on visiting the leper colony
on the isolated northern peninsula.
Riding down on a mule
appealed to us as an exciting way
to accomplish this goal,
spend a day learning more
about Father Damien,
now St. Damien
and all about his life
dedicated to helping the lepers.
Since I had limited experience on horses,
I informed our guide
that I was indeed a beginner.
They immediately led me
to what looked like
a docile animal named “Special”.
Special was to be my mule for the day.
At the beginning of my ordeal,
I noticed that Special was more interested in eating
than he was in my safe passage.
We Mule Skinners were instructed
at the outset
to let them have their heads
as they knew the route better than us;
so I did, much to my chagrin.
I was as green as the vegetation
and Special knew this.
Special, who I later renamed
with a colorful expletive
starting with the letter A___hole
would take me for one hell of a ride
hugging sharp ledges on one side
and sliding sideways
on the other
through mud soaked ruts,
giving me a bird’s eye view
of my treacherous surroundings.
Paralyzed by my fear of looming peril
I was a hostage
in Special’s uninhibited domain.
Forced from the start
to endure his surefooted folly
my experience was richly
enhanced by the scent of fresh droppings,
frequently stepped on by this caravan.
I was breathless
as we neared the end of the trail and thankful
that this half of the ride was almost over.
Released on a temporary reprieve
to stretch
and regain the use of my legs
I knew that I would again
have to face an uphill climb
a wary hostage
on this ornery herbivore.

Guarding the Perimeter

Another night of rockets’ red glare
and bombs exploding in the neighborhood.
Drug addicted welfare recipients live across the valley.
They are gearing up for New Year’s Eve in November.
Bruno and Zeus
need an appointment with a Psychiatrist.
They can’t understand
why they have to sit still
and have their ears be assaulted
by exploding aerials, bottle rockets
and high pitched screeching thunder.
Bruno stands up on the screen door
speaking in his
native tongue.
Bellowing
to let him in, the world has gone mad.
His sharp nails poke
into the screen mesh
inviting local insects
to buzz in and have a bite.
Broken shards of blue fish pottery
are scattered beneath a window.
Gone are the peaceful nights of yesterday,
our complacency lights up the blackest night
but the fight has reached home,
we are running out of caves.
Pretty soon we will have to stock up
on ammo and draw straws
for who gets night watch.

Give Thanks

for the lemony papaya
tangy and sweet,
fresh from the tree.
For the freshly squeezed
orange, frothy and tart.
For the Shama’s flutelike song,
rich and strong.
For the fountain pouring
into the spring fed pond,
cold and clear.
For the way that the Japanese Koi
leap out of the water,
glistening orange and white
dancing to a distant rhythm
in a foreign tongue.
For the way that the three large
South American Pacu
generate waves,
their fins
expertly carving the surface,
exposing tender chins
succulent and white.
For the rain that
cascades down
the mountain
forming streams and
quenching the thirst
of the stately palms,
satisfying their need,
and especially for the one
who cradles you
in this nest,
built with a tender love
warm and secure.