Madam Pele
so angry..
spits in the ocean
passes, poisonous gas
settling on fruit
and cattle on her slopes
sulfur dioxide
hangs in the air
we breathe
another explosion
as ash drifts
clogging the city
slow driving
with no where to go
but into the vog *
(small
kid time)
the world
was so fresh
small kid time
everyday occurrence's
had profound meanings
our quiet road
occasional marching troops
would rest in the apple orchard
milking the cows
squirting the cats
fried chicken dinner
and the process
of getting it to the table
milk in our glass
butter on the potatoes
Holy Cow life so good
driving a tractor
for the first and last time
swallowed by a mud hole
many roads
and fewer cars
smell of a horse
on an afternoon adventure...
cat tails and skunk cabbage
in the same swamp
morning oatmeal...
butter n brown sugar
in a moat of milk
Ma Kani
Ke Oi
disguised
as the trees
at the edge
of the forest...
in the shadows
waiting for dusk
and the last
bird song
whispers of wind
dance their dance
rustle of leaves
as the wind
chases its tail
makani-ke-oe
comes out
of the shadows
to play.....
trembling leaf
wind god of love
is near...
I Sing
in Colors
I guess you'd call me
a closet poet...
being around the big guns
who read out loud
I kept my poetry to myself
besides I liked to paint
poetry was just
little notes I wrote to myself
sometimes on the wall
then the poets wanted to hear my poetry
so out of the closet
with the door still open
I ventured into the hall
of the great ones
acid rain peeling paint
with their words...
I listened and wrote my words
in journals of feel good stuff
wonders of nature
and the mistakes of mankind
I sang my words in rhythms
only I knew
set to music with a punch line
now I've learned haiku and tanka
all those wasted words...
when there was a short but sweet form
I fell in love with the power
of a few well placed words
and now finally I am a poet
my nature revealed
I sing in colors
