Category: Hawaii

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The News

Some imagined the Pope to come in colors of scarlet and pale frost candlelight mass and those sorts of hues not the rosy flushed flesh color, the color of not human deity and apparently it was a problem. Speaking of problem—

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On Waking

  Dawn possesses this verse; she who dazzles finger in the forenoon gushing abundant the vertical blinds. Daylight grasps for duvet covers, trembling, quaking I howl and go round & round. Good morning star, she notifies, & I behave.

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Science

  Crouched here, in my orange wing-back chair counting the plastic circles on my white linoleum shirt. Watches tock around the walls time steadily stealing through the shelf, taking its pick of the books. Door knock.

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Monday Morning after a Storm

  What happens. What happens, when the cold morning breath of a foggy night slips under the covers and over the lips and bare feet stretch evenly over a woolen rug to a world that smells of light eucalyptus and an open balcony door — What happens.

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Wednesday Night

  Exactly 11’o clock! The streets are dark and quiet, dispelled childhoods tucked deep into beds of rubber, bleach, contact tracing — when I look around me I see my bare feet are blue & bleeding; I see small swarms of cheeky mongoose rushing from trash can to trash can leaving filmy residue on the carpet street walk down the lane for a while … Read More Wednesday Night

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A Small Swell on a Thursday Afternoon

  I hold up my hand. The light breeze swifts a droplet of ocean onto my chin and the twinkling lights of a Waikiki late afternoon cruise beneath my epoxy board.

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On Writing a Poem in the Morning

  green mint tea seeps around the rim of the garden plate ductile : serpentine I set the cup down and it clatters. It’s about how to see the things how to get to the vision the tea cup is significant and not a step in that direction.

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Piece by Piece

  In the sudsy bathtub with my lover hot & content, one finger fiddling a weeping joint we soak in lavender & hold each other ; slippery skin to skin.

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101 bpm

Wisps of sainthood waft about this living room— give me flamenco, give me Persian rhythms and sweet gypsy jazz, swing it all out of speakers perched high on the cabinet counter. Bits of wild wind shoot through the second story windows, running from the belching mountains beyond the poplar trees in the backyard. The gusts lift the melodies and snuggle them into marrow-bones, into … Read More 101 bpm

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Phytophile

Beyond the ribbed panes of the kitchen window swings a gorgeous plum and yellow philodendron; sweeping lacquered leaves catch the breeze half in split leaf, half monstera, a good name for such a beast! She belongs to our neighbor, who carefully disregards her day after day, neutrally striving to feed her natural sunlight (9-9:30 a.m.) and a sprinkle of cloud water from the Mountains … Read More Phytophile

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Fresh Fish with Aloha!

  he called out, his knotted arm, knitted and purled, pumping a bucket the size of a table. I heard his low voice as I walked by him, say to his boy holding the rods that no one’s biting these days no one’s calling. I imagined him, then, standing on that barnacle-crusted pier, two rods in hand fishing for people. Scooping up chums who … Read More Fresh Fish with Aloha!

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Breath Work

  She sighs, constantly. Always the sigh, sighing herself to wishful elegance, whisking the whites to rising peaks, she counts herself backward,