Touring the Seaborne Odyssey

I was invited to tour this ship as it docked in Honolulu on Thursday thanks to Susan F. "a golf friend".
It began its voyage in Florida and is going around the World for 81 days and will finish its voyage in Athens Greece where it will remain to do local cruises in the Mediterranean.


Bright burnished brass and
teak decks scrubbed
fore and aft
brandish old coin,
as it rocks gently against the dock.
The hull unlovely, as it deposits
the flotsam and jetsetters onboard
salty, from the recent rough passage.
Briefly pausing on a world tour
their papers peaking from loose pockets
as they survey the area, set for local amusement.
Led by our guide through
distinguished corridors
vacuumed and polished.
Sampling the owner’s suite
as black caviar on a cracker
settling on the back of the tongue
washed down in the Sky Lounge
with Champagne and Mimosa’s
and an hors d'oeuvre
of delicate
orange salmon
zwieback.

Revision-acrostic

R ewriting I play
E arly in the day, creating
V olumes of
I nspiraton. Just
S econds to uncover
I espy another,
O ld rhyme of which I reprise,
N ew poems to elicit your smiles.

Six Words on Marriage

Husbands rule on the fourth planet.

Wives rule on all the planets!

Six Word Memoirs-Health

Brown rice crunch, scours clogged pipes.

Water is the fountain of youth.

Alcohol in moderation, keeps Alzheimer’s waiting.

Smoke your meat, not your lungs.

Your best friend lives, inside you.

Kona Blast, Cherita

Cherita is the Malay word for story or tale. A Cherita consists of a single stanza of a one-line verse, followed by a two-line verse, and then finishing with a three-line verse. It can either be written solo or with up to three partners.


Kona winds tore across the Kitchen

upsetting the resident blue vase
decked out in peacock feathers.

Dropping for cover
she remembered a drill from
elementary school.

Microsoft Word Help-Cherita

Word could not create the work file

Check the temp environment variable
under word options, run diagnostics.

Global warming
not
the issue.

Call Me Ma'am

At 25 I ascended a new plateau
that was the first time someone called me Ma'am.
It hit me off guard and left me disturbed
because up until then I was Oh Miss,
or more appropriately, excuse me Ms.
especially since I could still balance on one foot
carry a shopping bag on one hip
and a baby on the other
while hunting for the car keys
at the bottom of my purse
after finally remembering
where I parked the damn car
that OMG
had been keyed on the back,
both sides.
Four rows,
down to bare metal.
Candy apple red, used to be the color
before some asshole decided to add this
new detail to my four month old
with the sticker glue still on it, Subaru
and here I am-Ma'am, all formal like with
that nice young cop taking down every detail
writing up his report, filed in triplicate
and lost beneath a musty pile
on the Sergeants over worked desk.
Now I have to go home and face
the Mister and show him
what some hoodlum
just did.
Oh JOY!!
Next time
I will pack my can of
hornet spray, set to fire
straight into the pupils
of the scum sucking
waste
of a human being
who has opinions
about what other people’s cars
should look like.
The personal property of people
who have earned the right
to have nice cars
without scratches and dents
and I will park
on the empty side of the mall and walk.

Winter's Chill

January’s morning
blast
sent goose bumps
down my spine
as I awaited the sun.
In the meantime women golfers
zipped up jackets and
buttoned up sweaters.
Warm ups ensued
stretching backs and limbs
limbering joints by
swinging Callaway drivers at fallen leaves.
Wedges pitched dimpled white balls
across fairways and onto putting greens
abundant with 4” holes and tiny metal flags
where we practiced putting
testing stroke, speed, and accuracy
while others gossiped and
analyzed the dark sky
gazing at the
flat gray mass for
any other
predictable
signs
of hot air.

Requiem To Sleep

The syncopated stylings of Mr. Bruno and Zeus
wake me from a place I wasn’t quite ready to leave.
Choruses of cock a doodle doo vie for attention.
A virtuoso at stage right is especially talented, the notes
ring in my ears and bring me back
to Tempurpedic
mattress and pillow
country.
Cradling my spine
in all the right places,as
twisted limp white sheets caress
my aching stiff carcass.
My journey
last night
fraught
with brutal
challenge
escaping
the agony
for a brief respite
from a road well traveled.
A road with loose
biting gravel
pitted with pot holes
and gooey black tar.
Tar so gooey and sticky that you feel like
you are cross country skiing
in Utah and several tall blonde
men decked out in ski attire all named Lars
race by intent on getting to the finish line and you tell yourself why not and you join them and pretty soon you are gaining and they start to cheer you on and at that moment you are in heaven,and heaven is where it’s at, with angels singing and they are so glad you came,
and then you hear the most exquisite music you have ever heard
and suddenly
you are awakened to
to the heart tugging melody of two Great Danes
accompanying the local ambulance on the way to picking up
some poor bastard
who just got yanked
out of
heaven too!

Six Word Memoirs

Cheating Death
Smile more, nobody gets out alive.
Look both ways, then turn around.
Life sucks, get a rain check.
Be adventurous go climb your desire.

Man’s Best Friend
Adopt a dog, friend for life.
Most pets have their priorities straight.
Loyal pets lick away the hurt.
Dogs have some bones to pick.

Doing What I Want- Gembuns

Dancing To My Own Tune
xxxxx Ear buds inserted
xxxxx Pushing lawnmower
xxxxx over green carpeted hill.


Planting My Garden
xxxx strangled dendrobium await rescue from tight containers
xxxx bromeliads give up their seats for newcomers
xxxx orange Koi approach, splash to see new view



Lazy Day
xxxx Watching rented movies in the morning
xxxx hot tub soak, sunbathe on quiet deck
xxxx listen to Hawaiian songs, nap.

Determining GOOD

Right doesn’t have to explain itself to wrong.
Good wins over evil.
Consider this,
No one is GOOD.
We instinctively know this and then reject it
perhaps that is why we ask WHY.
We need to fit all the answers into a nice little package
and then later forget the question.
Future peoples may ask again the how and the why
and they will try to reason out good for whatever purpose
and they too will fall short of a real answer.
Brainwashed
that only GOD is good and we all fall short of that.
Educated leaders believe, how dare we not?
Daring to question the
world order
thinking for yourself is highly discouraged
in any age.
Inundated with worldwide media coverage
slanting our bias daily
presently noting even our
computers are smarter than we are.
Our brains are slow our bodies neglected
ignored as collateral damage
unable to process the complexities
of our vast universe.
Machines take us from point A to point B
cut the lawn, wash our clothes, and entertain us
automated
non thinkers
at least for the present.
The hunter gatherers
now hunt at the local
supermarket
where everything is fresh, homogenized and refrigerated for our convenience.
We are so comfortable in our bubbles
walking through frigid air conditioned aisles with glazed eyes
wondering what to cook for dinner
ignoring the neighbor’s snot nosed kid screaming bloody murder
wrapped in our safe cocoons
waiting for good to appear
to help us decide upon Brand X detergent which is ecologically friendly
or should we opt for the cheaper brand and rent a movie?
Pretty soon we won’t have to think at all
and then who will ask if
we are still alone
about global warming
about faith
about our health
or if anything like being good
still matters.

POEM A DAY

Pithy sayings
Otherwise overlooked
Engage readers with
Moving metaphors

Allotting thirty

Daily
Allegories to raise and encourage emerging
Young poets.

Successful People

Successful people
are bold.
They have an attitude
that allows them to
put themselves
into the killing fields
allowing
the vultures
to pick at their bones
as they glean
vital pieces
of information.
Undisciplined
to the casual eye
they manage to
pull off the impossible
particularly
to those who
would
mock
and ultimately
die
disillusioned.

50's Milestone Shorts

Poem a Day
charge’s brain’s battery.

50’s boomer hikes
Diamond Head trail.

Still trying to
learn new things.

Changing with times
sparks stimulus package.

50’s best life
is staying green.

50’s quiet reflection
six word memoirs.

Golf at 50
sinks two putts.

50’s golf swing
flies the distance.

Book smart babe
writes poetry books.

50’s life story
roams evocative lane.

Time well spent

Time well spent
is a man
sowing seeds
in rich loam
watering and feeding diligently
day after day
repeating the process
until finally
he eats the reward.

is a good book
read
in pursuit
of personal growth
that gives up its seat
on the train
of popular thought.

is a belief
challenged
on the road
to
paradise
that passes
through
a
parallel
universe.

is time
spent
with family
anywhere
anytime
conversing,
their minds connected
to the same antenna.

Windy,Cherita

Kona winds

scatter lightweight objects
to four converse corners.

A tiresome
puzzle
to piece together.

Siblings-Aphorisms

The oldest child
breaks through barriers.

The middle kid
sports steel determination.

Sisters exchange secrets
friends share information.

Siblings have rivalry
friends craft alliance.

The youngest one
never grows old.

Sisters for life
family still rules.

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.

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

Submarine Watch

In the corner of my eye
is a thick hedge of yellow hibiscus and
three papaya trees
plump
with golden ripe fruit.
Four graceful palm climb
along the shoreline
watchful,
their fanlike fronds
bowing in the wind.
Where are they?
Perhaps they are lurking
beyond the horizon.
The common myna would know.
Suddenly it looms
at the mouth of Pearl Harbor
flanked
by a military police escort.
Gun metal gray, tall
and sleek,
resembling a jaguar.
A dozen men stroking it's fur
lapping it up
purring and content.

Rowing

*** Also published Thursday July 23 2009 on http:// www.7beats.com/herenow.html

Get into
my canoe.
Let’s paddle out into Kaneohe bay
to the Sandbar.
Let us make a plan
to stick together
through
rough
winds
pelting
rain and
strong
currents.
Our oars
marking time in sequence.
Focused and
fixed
on our goal
as one
and get there.

Intimate Moments

I can feel your saliva
dripping
onto my big toe.
Belching as you lean
against me.
Satisfied
as I rub your neck
massaging behind your ears.
Staring into the distance
breathing in the neighborhood
listening to the sounds of the valley.
Wednesdays Thursdays and
Saturdays are big days
in our datebook.
Me--stuffing
gray and blue bins with
green waste and rubbish
You--eager
as the giant
yellow refuse truck
comes to swallow
them,
leaving behind
strange scents.
Me--
climbing ladders
shaving
Coconut Palms
with my chainsaw
trimming
Be-Still trees,
training them
into a hedge.
You--
Guarding our home
chasing away
the doves
as they greedily
finish your dinner.
We fit-- you and me.
Loafing in the back yard
inhaling the scent of three
large citronella plants
shielding us
from the mosquito’s.
Listening to KCCN--
Hawaiian 105.9
on the radio
Both of us,
unleashed
in paradise.

Golden Tilapia

Your muscles are
tanned
and lean
Your piercing blue eyes are
patient
and see
everything.
It is morning.
The throw net
is draped
over
your left shoulder.
As you
wait for the
precise moment
to hurl the net.
The first throw
directs the next
and with each pass
more and more
are harvested
and released
onto the dew soaked grass.
In their final struggle
to stay alive
they arch
and flip back and forth
across the void
to escape back
into the cool dark water
beneath the lily pads.

But-- their fates are set.
Filleted without delay,
resulting in
one last swim
breaded
in hot oil.

Haiku/Senryu-Big Island

Chain of Craters Road
closed due to last eruption
posted at entrance.

Volcanic river
erupts spewing smoke and ash
glowing red-orange.

Visitors observe
geysers’ spurt on Volcano
generating steam.

Artist's impression
inspires poetic piece
colors refract light.