Category: Poetry

Duvet
I wake beside your name— half in snore, half without the curling interpretation of window time patters down from the Mountains. And in the hushed dew of the dawn pines the lone, sleepy bee heads forth from hive to seek the outdoors. Mingling together, the mountain and the bee, pollen falls in thick droves from the heavy clouds.

+ Bold, Hawaii, North America, Poetry
Calculus
Key: x = Donald Drumpf y = voters z = state o = Republicans b = women Render the verdict on x. Y come together to come apart at the nation’s seams, rippling constantly a fool’s errand elongated across a sea of z’s, all in it to win it. O hold the whip against the non- whites, the non-brights, the non-O really, including … Read More Calculus

+ Bold, North America, Poetry
Skyscrapers
as if the earth under foot were some sort of place holder, stubbornly held firm by clenched fists and steam whistle ears as if they didn’t see that we could see that we weren’t the people they were talking about—

+ Hawaii, Humor, North America, Poetry
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—

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.

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

Cafe, 1 a.m.
Weary eyes opened wide propped up on toothpick espresso cups licked clean, licked smart the woman in the wide-brimmed hat warm breath, wild thoughts tells us of visions, the dessert dunes camels in hand Mount Tahat in the dust kicked up no way! some shout get outta here!

Nazare, February.
Standing with salty toes smelling of fish on the grandstands of Nazare, cliffs so big cresting giants double the height— rising great walls of freezing winter water jackets on so tight, skins the color of rubber suctioned, hands so white gripping tows a mammoth wave rising like the froth of a pub beer it crests and slams—

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.

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.