In Repose

Sunlight dances on the pool of an iris

Blue-green shifting depths of want

A pen slips on the pale flesh of pages

Grown brittle with sun, yellow with time

Tattoo of poetry, ink-stained impassioned graffiti

Mapping obscurities with a burning wrist

Candle light flickers like sentience

Half-glimpsed epiphanies in spiral galaxies of knotty pine

My wooden chair is planted to the floor

Questing roots sent deep into the heart of terra

Where neural pathways of forest and field

Are humming songs I sing in my sleep

Here is where my spirit is born

Anew, from the womb of solitude

Each time I close my eyes

Nebulous clouds of metaphor

Are birthing stars who will burn long after I am gone

For any who choose to wish on them

The tesseraction

I feel compelled to share this with you. It is a piece of work so powerful I have no words of description to offer you, you simply have to read it for yourself.
I hope it will touch you as deeply as it did me

Consciousness creates reality

Nothing would be the same
ever again—

Namaste in the way
we distrust—
extracting pure consciousness
just to drown in it—

Entire colonies were wiped out—
notes were taken—
the moon used to spew lava
but now it’s dead—

We were an infinite’s last ditch effort
just to show us what we had done—

We worshipped money as a god—
gnawing on nothing;
plastic skin smooth
as a succulent in the sand—
we could no longer keep quiet—
we deserted—

We burned the whole world
to the ground— we apologized
as a formality; we paid out;
we kept going—

The cancer of the last phase
of civilization reaches
into my voice—
my finger tips—
we held hands as we jumped—
we turned into liquid—

Prefabricated minds
spill down the grimy gutter
into the sewer that’s sieved
for bitter water; your river of life
full of garbage, human waste, torsos—

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I Love You, World

I don’t believe in God-government

I am a political atheist

I do not sing anthem praise to small pox blankets and internment camps

I have been known to hug trees and escort spiders outdoors on a small piece of paper

I dig lightly in the garden and thank the worms when I find them

I am a simple lover of sunsets and cold beer

I have never had much faith in government, but I have faith in people

I have known violence, ignorant hate, racism

Yet also have I seen such love from strangers that I wept, wordless with gratitude

I live in Hawaii, the most diverse state in the U.S.

Here  “white” is a minority among many who share the land, and I am aware that I am an interloper

I wish all America could see this Aloha, where we are all one mixed up family together

No matter the skin color of your neighbor, we are all Ohana

We say “Antie” and “Uncle” to everyone if we do not know their name

I have children of all colors mobbing my back door every day after school saying “Auntie did you make cookies?”

“Build a wall” he says

I spit

Ask China how that worked for them

Ask Berlin

As I said before, I do not believe in politics

Walls do nothing but give people a line in the sand to fight over

This land is my land, this land your land, and this land was stolen without shame

The world belongs to all of us, every bleeding one of us, and we are not the greatest mother fuckers walking on it

Respect, that’s what I believe in

To the birds who roost in the branches and shit on my car, the mail carrier, the homeless veteran, the local stray dog, the police who give me a ticket, all of them receive equal treatment from me

I do not give an eye for an eye

It makes me sad to see this same old worn out argument

Of who has the right to love, to live without fear, to live in this or that country

Telling someone what gender they should be sounds so utterly ridiculous to me, I just don’t understand the argument

“Mind your own business” my mother taught me, and I do

I want the world to know that I love you, all of you, even if you do not love me

I want the world to know that we the people are the majority, and the majority of people are kind

Too much are we taught to fear, to hate, to build walls between eachother

I say build a bridge

With a smile or a cookie

And all that troubled water will flow beneath

Earth Songs

There was a movement in the ocean like breath

To the rhythm of earth’s heart beat, my feet pounded the drum of sand

Wind played my unbound hair like a jazz pianist

So sweet and slow was the stroke of sun upon my shoulders

In harmony with the tune of a passing sirus cloud, I take the full measure of the beach

End to end the dance of my tread, among puka shells and driftwood castles

Until black, immutable, stood the line of cliffs

Hunched and muttering in the break of sea

I sit myself down among basalt and stone crabs

My joyous limbs no longer aflutter as a bird in flight

Folded, wings resting on the curve of spine

Breathing with the patience of water

I am the song of birds in keawe groves

Pounding surf

Breezy fingers knowing hidden fissures of stone

I am the river who yearns, tumbling from the mountains to rejoin the sea

I am the memory of me

Someone who used to be

Now only melody

I reach to the heavens obscuring starlight behind noon’s coy veil

Casting a single wish into the silent ether

“Dance with me”


A Tiger Named Freedom

“Your words are so hot, bright like the sun.”

He says to me

“When I look at them I have to squint,

If I were to make love to you I’m afraid

I would need dark sunglasses.”

A crooked smile, a crooked path, where ferns brush my bare thighs

I shake my head at such flowery, profuse, perfidious…



In the game of prettily spoken lies, I am no novice

I have been known to drop a cherry bomb

Upon the unexpecting poet

“Come in to the grove, beneath the shadow of my branches

“If my prose are too bright for you, simply close your eyes

“Watch the play of light beneath your eye lids

“Let the wind of words tousle your hair

“Get grass stains on your logic

“Suck the tart wild berries of epiphany…”

There is a pause from the loquacious tiger, no swift retort

Silence is filled with bird song, rustling boughs

The distant whisper of the Skykomish River

“Damn,” He says softly behind me

I smile as my bare foot sinks into the moss

“Come with me city mouse, let me show you how to pick wild mushrooms.”

And there was no more double-speak of two-faced poets

But for all his stripes and majesty, that tiger

Could not walk quietly in a forest

Red Wine And Loneliness

Found another long lost pity party. This one is fun for me to read now, I can laugh at myself and shake my head from the safety and distance of a few years.
This is for those of you in that dark place now. I love you.

The Memory Of Trees

The fruits of my labor have fallen from the money tree to litter the grass, slightly fermenting on the gentle downward slope of my good intentions. When I partake of this heady and slightly desiccated flesh, I become drunk on the dreaming of sweet summer games.

Empty arms and a glass half full, I gaze into the crimson depths held in the fragile embrace of crystal.

Wandering from window to window, as if I expect to see something hopeful through the panes and the pains. Drifting through darkened hallways like a ghost, passing silently doorways exuding the soft sounds of those who have found their pillow welcoming. Stealthily turning the latch on the back door to slip softly into the night, with a vice in each hand. The smoke of my cigarette lingers heavy in the still air, making of itself a spectre beside me in the darkness.

The grass is frozen, slightly thawing…

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Blood Roses

The dead parts I cut away

With a knife I keep in my boot

For when I need a sharp metaphor


I sliced away the blackened flesh

Where naiveté and love had burned me

Sheared myself of tightly knotted scars

From years of calcified agony


I buried them beneath an ash tree

Among leaves of loam and Autumn

Where dead things belong


Imagine my surprise, when

Soon growing beneath the whispering boughs

Was a rose with petals as blue as your eyes

And thorns as sharp as your kisses