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!
Water droplets bead up from the small slice in this surfboard; epoxy got nothing when it comes to run ins, when it comes to used boards and low budgets. When it comes to this universe; what I think I might want; the cat who stretches himself beside me– I got nothing. Petting the cat, he purrs then bites me. I got nothing. Nothing … Read More Sonnets of Indigo
Evening light pales into my windows from behind the palms, piloting in a fruity breeze to stir the pages at my desk. I’m 30 percent writing, 25 percent sipping tea, 9 percent listening to jazz beats & 63 percent certain my poetic Muse has taken the day off.
In the azure distance sails a boat with one triangle sail, bowing east, heading east. Her going is unnoticed by those practicing yoga, spinning frisbees, balancing on purple slack-lines at this grassy knoll at the base of the volcano. I cannot take my eyes off her, so sure of herself, so pointed— something so certain of direction deserves applause.
Fall colors warm her sweet face, deep reds and blushing oranges snuggling into the gentle wrinkles at her cheeks; the low light off the fading greens bounce from the brown of her sweater to my eyes, the softness I cannot myself believe. Contained in one tiny, aging human is the breath of ages seen and past— each petite wrinkle is a memory of … Read More Lewis Wharf, Boston; 1978
Ribbed and scurrying, a bus passes me; the sweat in airy beads drips to my bicycle knees. I am going everywhere, today. The ride is smooth, my mind is loose, the breeze is flesh and sweeps me— snatches of light-petaled afternoons. Pedalling backpacks to Point Chevalier, to the holy lips of Auckland harbours. Eager gusts helping me over wire-knit fences. The trees, bent … Read More Persistence of Memory
I give you these poems at the tail-end of the trade winds at the cost of an espresso & my reasoning soul. I would sit in the midst of Kalakaua traffic simply to relieve this hounded mind with a pen. Here, enfolding the slender tipped shepherd, facing such fragrance of relief, I am rendered
Borrow the car Borrow the flour Borrow the book Borrow the shears Borrow the money Borrow the tuxedo Borrow the pencils Borrow the clothes Borrow the tampon Borrow the vacuum Borrow the ice pack Borrow the envelope Do not borrow the soul. The soul is yours.