I am extremely sensitive to place.
Perhaps my Irish background, with both sets of grandparents only a few miles from each other, shaped me that way. This includes the flora & fauna, the ancestors and the spirits of a place. My poetry is poetry of place, grounded in seasonal settings and the particulars of location.
This is why my poetry over the past twenty-two years is Hawaiʻi-based. It’s also why I dance Kupuna Hula.
Poetry is my life.
Both my grandfathers were poets. I’m simply following their lead. I’ve never stopped writing poetry. I’ve published in small presses, but the bulk of my current published poetry was self-published (under the aegis of the Inkwells, a writing group I belong to here in Kohala, Hawai’i Island).
Cleaning The Study
If I stare at the pair of gecko eggs tucked into the luggage tag that hung from a cabinet pull in my study if I stare long enough they’ll hatch perhaps I’ll even think of something to say something other than bon voyage or safe travels but I confess earlier I pictured tossing them into the fishpond to see if the bright koi of morning would reach up for these little pearls what a journey that would be for the little twins as fond as geckos as I most certainly am not for all their defecations from great heights all through the house
If I stare at the pair of gecko eggs tucked into the luggage tag that hung from a cabinet pull in my study if I stare long enough they’ll hatch perhaps I’ll even think of something to say something other than bon voyage or safe travels but I confess earlier I pictured tossing them into the fishpond to see if the bright koi of morning would reach up for these little pearls what a journey that would be for the little twins as fond as geckos as I most certainly am not for all their defecations from great heights all through the house I do admire their tenacity and when it comes to these eggs their ingenious nesting places imagine if you will the pregnant creature secreting herself behind the little plastic window where the name tag is inserted to lay between the layers — there were two name bearing rectangles there after all — mine and my deceased wife’s inserted more than three years ago because that’s how long it’s been — since she went anywhere or in a way everywhere — and then disgorged if that doesn’t sound too gross a way of saying it how does a gecko give birth quietly furtively defying gravity deftly neatly turning a luggage tag with rather nice Hawaiian or tropical design of monstera leaf on red background into a birth site two small packages of life if I allow it I can feel the power and responsibility gaining the upper hand as I write as I stare again knowing if I stare long enough these eggs will break open and new life will emerge blinking into a world without boundaries a world where even the rules are bare and pocketless quite bereft of any sort of baggage
Reaching Into The Light
I reach into the light
to turn it off for one more hour
but as it blooms bright
again and again I realize
I could’ve had more
but it’s not like I’ll remember
what hasn’t even been said
even now in the dark words
squeeze life out of the page
I reach into the light
to turn it off for one more hour
but as it blooms bright
again and again I realize
I could’ve had more
but it’s not like I’ll remember
what hasn’t even been said
even now in the dark words
squeeze life out of the page
there’s a flickering of faces and flowers
fires burning up the mountain slopes
chanting above the clouds outside
where would I be without outside
the wind racing through familiar branches
while the roots hold tight
it’s a long fierce breath
that runs ahead of the sun
my ears play tricks these days
it might be rain I might reach
into that light once more
set my feet on the floor
take a breath before I move
down the soft dark hall
to stand under the sky
where I can feel the embrace
of the well-traveled air
and hang this poem up to dry