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).

Browse and read my poetry and writing drafts by the year:


2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

The Sea Cave

Each time we reach the far end of the beach
we reach into to the cave with our feet
or at high tide our minds
always our coming and going does this
today we turned before the dark mouth
that always pulls us in
next thing I know you're on the sand
back to the lava
the smell of seaweed strong today
the vision of its bright green fringe

Each time we reach the far end of the beach
we reach into to the cave with our feet
or at high tide our minds
always our coming and going does this
today we turned before the dark mouth
that always pulls us in
next thing I know you're on the sand
back to the lava
the smell of seaweed strong today
the vision of its bright green fringe
still vivid around the pulse of stone
always I recall how it came
oozing down
when
so long ago
hot molten earth innards
from where
a pu‘u
an opening
an eye wet with fire
a goddess enraged
I can't say
so here we are
you on the sand
so much new ground
your hand touching a smooth washed place
and I follow
a novel thing
a change
a matter of timing
serendipitous for us
for the tide
I can't say
today's moon Mahealani
one of the four full Hawaiian moons
yesterday Hoku before that Akua
but who's counting
I sit next to your exquisite sense of now
and all is quiet calm a gentle breeze
an idyll in the sun a moment's magic
engendered as we press our backs
to the rage that cooled long before
who knows how long before
was it a rage I keep wondering
or was it so hot fierce primal and core-driven
so inner planetary honest that it truly defies
my anthropomorphizing
so I bask in you
our instant sanctuary
our nest of beginnings
when around the corner from the public beach
where stick figures mill about along the strand
with umbrellas buckets sunglasses token coverings
a man and a woman enter
surprised to find us there just sitting
and you thought you were all alone she says
en route to the cave
it's purple inside
he says as they leave
and another woman leads another man
if she doesn't come out I didn't do it he says
and we look at each other both understanding
it's time to go

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

Shard

for Kenji

White porcelain piece thumb-sized
fractal of a bowl thrown by the potter
on say an island off the coast of Kyushu
a cross-hatching all that remains
of the blue house where she once waited
for his return the glaze now a thin study
of what endures perhaps wagon wheels
horseback who knows and the long voyage
into the rising sun to the islands located
at 19 degrees latitude themselves shards

for Kenji

White porcelain piece thumb-sized
fractal of a bowl thrown by the potter
on say an island off the coast of Kyushu
a cross-hatching all that remains
of the blue house where she once waited
for his return the glaze now a thin study
of what endures perhaps wagon wheels
horseback who knows and the long voyage
into the rising sun to the islands located
at 19 degrees latitude themselves shards
broken like her heart like this bowl
that served so well a man who stayed
worked hard and never returned
I know this because today I found it
in the gravel above Kenji's place
not a stone but a made thing a small
keepsake outside the house of one
who combed the shorelines of Kohala
a land once covered in sugar plantations
canes cut down for the world's cravings
by men who never went home again

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

Breaking Through Crusted Snow

Breaking through crusted snow
in the woods surrounding your place
sugar pine and Doug fir you’ve taken care of
more than half your life

not once not every time we sink
suddenly a comedy routine laughter
and we feel our way onto the surface again
no longer solid ground no more

Breaking through crusted snow
in the woods surrounding your place
sugar pine and Doug fir you’ve taken care of
more than half your life

not once not every time we sink
suddenly a comedy routine laughter
and we feel our way onto the surface again
no longer solid ground no more

the illusion of easy going
whatever we were saying about our lives our loves
we keep walking till we reach the creek
a runnel snaking through trees and brush

icicles reach into space along white feathered edges
snowmelt you say by early summer gone
how you discovered that first hand
setting up the tipi trusting

the sound of water to see you through
now that memory’s marked by stones
the pit fire circle’s enduring shadow
and we climb from there to the clearing

where your propietary neighbor
placed a grey wing of bleached dead fall
on a grand uprising of rock
a found monument or more quietly

a lichen-covered sentinel a boundary marker
taking our eyes
to the snow-capped Siskiyous across the valley
how we stepped through now and then to reach here

laughing each time laughter we knew
would fade and die if every step
were to break the rhythm
and pull us through an untenable trail

pull us again and again
into endless snowdrift
instead we’re just wet around the ankles
a couple of guys in our sixties

we can laugh as we step out on the surface
and head back
we can forgive the unpredictable
so sparingly measured out

and we can be forgiven for thinking
the uncertain layer of snow in late spring
is the ground
until we ask what is the ground beneath

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

The Croissant

The croissant innocent there upon its circle of white porcelain
is the sculptress I lived with on Colney Hatch Lane the girl
with a smile who operated the follow-spot. The Lane led
notoriously to a madhouse but I stayed south with my bicycle
dripping light oil on the knotted cord carpeting just inside
her front door an English racer with taped handlebars
tamed and accounted for like Picasso’s head of a bull
an escaped simile in this short chant dedicated to the metaphors
of my time in Sam Wanamaker’s tent theatre on the Bankside
the Bull’s Head a fantasy pub where I met Chaucer’s ghost

The croissant innocent there upon its circle of white porcelain
is the sculptress I lived with on Colney Hatch Lane the girl
with a smile who operated the follow-spot. The Lane led
notoriously to a madhouse but I stayed south with my bicycle
dripping light oil on the knotted cord carpeting just inside
her front door an English racer with taped handlebars
tamed and accounted for like Picasso’s head of a bull
an escaped simile in this short chant dedicated to the metaphors
of my time in Sam Wanamaker’s tent theatre on the Bankside
the Bull’s Head a fantasy pub where I met Chaucer’s ghost
as he pushed his ethereal head into the table distraught
with his next tale the tent theatre my nomadic life in London
Archway to Greenwich to Clapham to West Hampstead
to the aforesaid Colney Hatch Lane not to mention
all the other rectangles of linoleum cold to the touch
in Notting Hill Gate for example where the carnival
taught me how to dance to Reggae between pub tables
my formative years a place for elbows and wet pints
of Guinness their circular kisses overlapping
in Venn diagram fashion room for breathing
getting smaller and smaller the linoleum
the backdrop the ever present back cloth
where all my dreams came to life at night
and returned to their flat world by day

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

BLUE AGAIN LIKE MORNING

BLUE AGAIN LIKE MORNING
for Slyde

Blue again like morning
but never mind—breath is my friend
though I’ve neglected her these months
while the doctors looked for my throat

Give me my horn I’ll take it up
and summon up that long sigh
the one I gave the first time ever I saw
you walk across a room

BLUE AGAIN LIKE MORNING
for Slyde

Blue again like morning
but never mind—breath is my friend
though I’ve neglected her these months
while the doctors looked for my throat

Give me my horn I’ll take it up
and summon up that long sigh
the one I gave the first time ever I saw
you walk across a room

Voices in that place still fight
to be heard face against face
plenty wine tequila cocaine
give me that blue again

If we had pain then we never knew
how long it would take to reach
the high notes without each other
breath is my friend, sister and brother

Days pass kids are born
their kids—news torn up
thrown in the fire in LA
or on the road

Give me my horn again
I hear that riff on the piano
I see your smile from the door

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

THE MYSTERY OF KNOWING

THE MYSTERY OF KNOWING
for Larry

In the beginning was the word, meaning the big
vibration from which all things animate and
inanimate issue forth, but it could very well
have been Hey! You molecules virals spirals
stardust bacterias plasmas miasmas and scilias
swimming in the cosmic sea making your way
to the shores with the Australian crawl
or the little bawl of wax...Get off your
microscopic asses and create life, all right?

THE MYSTERY OF KNOWING
for Larry

In the beginning was the word, meaning the big
vibration from which all things animate and
inanimate issue forth, but it could very well
have been Hey! You molecules virals spirals
stardust bacterias plasmas miasmas and scilias
swimming in the cosmic sea making your way
to the shores with the Australian crawl
or the little bawl of wax...Get off your
microscopic asses and create life, all right?
Okay? Now! I have spoken...
And that's how tricky those before times were
when all things short and tall were delegated tasks
big and small by the invisible boss with a thunderous voice
or the still small voice from a boss so big
you can't even see him or was it her
don't you see? Oh say don't you? The more
you know the more of a mystery meaning
each of us as the bard would say has her own
entrance and exit the lights dim or grow
we put our lips to the mask and blow
this is our time the much feted now
the elusive running grasp...come, let me clutch thee!
Oh reality, my head's spinning with inner
nebulae! The Aztecs had it right all along
with their crystal skulls. So much for bipolar
dichotomies! What's frozen to me moves too fast
for the representative from Sirius. What's more
important is that space between, not the thing.
Resurrection gets four syllables, one
for each corner of the bed and it's time...
Oh, yawn, stretch, fart, oops, really?
to wake up and nourish the soul
break the fast and sing the endless song.

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

THE WAY OF TOTAL INTEGRATION

THE WAY OF TOTAL INTEGRATION

First in the beginning and from the outset
before before before input when laughter
merely stuttered and your name mumbled
in the eucalyptus which did not sway
the snake came and knotted itself inside
your brain into the Celtic sign for geese
in flight you had no say in this although
you knew thirst and all the other cravings
but one which we will not talk about yet

THE WAY OF TOTAL INTEGRATION

First in the beginning and from the outset
before before before input when laughter
merely stuttered and your name mumbled
in the eucalyptus which did not sway
the snake came and knotted itself inside
your brain into the Celtic sign for geese
in flight you had no say in this although
you knew thirst and all the other cravings
but one which we will not talk about yet
in the circle no one knows how the boulders
moved by sound waves or by brute force
built for the first pit fire that gave birth
to the first constellation the shadow crossed
over and we truly understood the wildness
that would stalk us and watch us even from
inside the cage we so fearfully assembled
mounted and kept in that place the question
that brought you here the one you will take
with you to the end where there is only
music disguising our confusion

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

How Rivers Begin

snow crust openings
icicles reach into space
over mountain stream

snow crust openings
icicles reach into space
over mountain stream

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

EMPTY SHELLS

a cicada shell;
it sang itself
utterly away
—Basho

EMPTY SHELLS

counting syllables the haiku
disappears from the branch

a cicada shell;
it sang itself
utterly away
—Basho

EMPTY SHELLS

counting syllables the haiku
disappears from the branch

blossoms that called out in the night
now fallen under the bed forgotten

the tree in leaf moves on without moving
unless the wind says otherwise

short or long the breath of the wind
has no regard for chopping up its words

we hear wind we don't even know
this language we've been hearing all our lives

the insects leave their shells behind
as do the molluscs on the shore

leaving their shells how convenient
all these found instruments for a breeze

watch out a gale will scatter these remains
like so much debris inside such a sound
that overwhelms like a flood like a drowning

like a barking dog in the night
we speak out against the darkness of the wind
that hasn't yet arrived

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

KEEP ME FROM WHIPLASH

KEEP ME FROM WHIPLASH

Hold me back the world's on fire
too fast too much or not enough as usual
can't make up my mind
not with the lights all green and the roads empty
mover over ghost I see you there
cycling down the margin in daylight
the testy owl languid over your
bobbling frame see how she launched herself
from the fencepost is somebody timing this

KEEP ME FROM WHIPLASH

Hold me back the world's on fire
too fast too much or not enough as usual
can't make up my mind
not with the lights all green and the roads empty
mover over ghost I see you there
cycling down the margin in daylight
the testy owl languid over your
bobbling frame see how she launched herself
from the fencepost is somebody timing this
the slowing down of the heartbeat the counting
as the breath pulls in yes pulls my friend
I've got the bellows working midships
the belly of the beast a white man in disguise
you know just an ordinary bean no distinctive
confusions only the tingling sensation
as the warmth grows up your arm
get out of the way I say
I'm coming through you can watch the clock
all you like I'm down to skin on the road
slow as a guitar string returning to the fret
these vibrations and hand slaps don't care
anymore about keeping up with no
Joneses I don't even know anymore
except that speed does kill
exhilaration's the name of my game
and it's dripping like honey down the road

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

SHORTER WITHOUT A NET

SHORTER WITHOUT A NET

You can do it!
That's the voice I want to hear
with me stepping out into space
from the branch of a tree
onto the roof of your house
I know you're in there although
there's no doors or windows
I just need the small voice
to stir me on

SHORTER WITHOUT A NET

You can do it!
That's the voice I want to hear
with me stepping out into space
from the branch of a tree
onto the roof of your house
I know you're in there although
there's no doors or windows
I just need the small voice
to stir me on
all these years thinking trusting
waiting for that permission
to fly slowly by like a comet
give me my mission statement and
three days or so to get off my ass
ah the roof tops
slippery in March
when the cherry blossoms fall it's like
stepping into heaven
with the green leaves in their infant ways
unfolding watching it all go down
it’s touch and go up here on the ridge
smoke curling out of the chimney
somebody's in I know it though there's
no stairs no rooms no furniture only
a space called home and a vibration inside
that sounds like yes
I should have been listening long before now
but this is it
with the fall
all in my mind after all
perspective rushing at me like the ground
still frozen in some back country hollow
that's got my name on it
I should know better
I've played cat to this tune before
landed on all fours keeping my knees
bent my arms outstretched thinking
of Leonardo and the Wright brothers
and our long line of flight attendants
real and imaginary

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

THE MOON

Always she
fullness to pendulous

When gone utterly: new

When slender as in her luminous blade
or heavenly bow: the huntress

Always ruler of the night
even in her absence

Always she
fullness to pendulous

When gone utterly: new

When slender as in her luminous blade
or heavenly bow: the huntress

Always ruler of the night
even in her absence

Before I knew better
I thought the sun followed her
in their round and round

When I began to know too much
she lit my way

After I suspected I knew nothing really
she lit my dreams
casting as they say
her pale as they say
silver coat across the nearest chair
wanton in her ageless way

I too never agreed with that first step
man’s boot upon her face
its print still there

On nights when she tugs at the tides
if you squint you can make it out
a tear near one eye

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

The Shoe

All laced up and nowhere to go but
dead center I look up at the ceiling
waiting for the other shoe to drop
while this one makes an impression

slightly muddy with a chance of black
with the word shoes in various scripts
gray white blotches of red could be
blood could be paintball but now

All laced up and nowhere to go but
dead center I look up at the ceiling
waiting for the other shoe to drop
while this one makes an impression

slightly muddy with a chance of black
with the word shoes in various scripts
gray white blotches of red could be
blood could be paintball but now

but now the tongue strapped down in
its chassis depressed unable to speak
holding its own against the void where
a foot might go where a foot has been

toes turned up as if what was future
is now past there it goes again the foot
thudding heel first across the wooden
floor I look to the clock I think fleetingly

of the sensitive seconds the chiding
words the loss of it all as idiosyncracies
cross purpose each other and yet
the shoe remains stolid or solid

staid and quite without weight
in its heavy way again I want
to look ceiling-wards but cannot
take my eyes off this one shoe

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2013 Carolyn Jakielski 2013 Carolyn Jakielski

The Show Of My Life

I took a bite mmm the crunch of a toasted circle
resounding in the cave of the mouth
I'll just sketch a few lines here on the walls
and forget the public viewing who knows
perhaps some unwitting day tripper lured
off the coastal path by lanterns of red fuchsia
deeper and deeper till they reach this place
how many thousands of years from now
will marvel how I depicted ocean waves
upside down on ceiling ribs found sculptural

-->
I took a bite mmm the crunch of a toasted circle
resounding in the cave of the mouth
I'll just sketch a few lines here on the walls
and forget the public viewing who knows
perhaps some unwitting day tripper lured
off the coastal path by lanterns of red fuchsia
deeper and deeper till they reach this place
how many thousands of years from now
will marvel how I depicted ocean waves
upside down on ceiling ribs found sculptural
gestures highlighted by my rather crude
untrained local dyes crushed hawthorn berry
and dragons’ eyes but let's not get carried away
not today this is the show of my life and there's
no turning back no scaffolding to rest upon
no mail order catalogue fast or simple enough
for the kinds of colors and brushes I need
I could leave it blank and it would look finished
it's all in the mind I heard somewhere
what’s empty to me is a wash of Rothko
or the weave of the canvas let's give credit
to the antecedent I want to say before
I press my palms against this wall
two poems for no one in particular

today I saw a flock of white cattle egrets
fly across my truck windshield and I
didn't count them

—there—
that's progress
that's cause to celebrate
and the firework smoke still lingers

today two fat turkeys wild and sleek
ran uphill before me till I herded them off
through stands of casuarina
in my wake of unfinished business

isn't that the way the light and the truth
what else did I scatter behind me
as I fled from Egypt? I could say oh
the things I forgot to tie down the bits of life
that didn't stick and some of them have names
they're the fading butterflies who can’t rise up
wearing my remorse
now there's no reasoning no physicality behind all this
animated gossip about my past I look up
and sense it's my job to keep going keep
searching for the right hue be unafraid of painting
over and over so that the car I rolled becomes
her shoulder becomes the drunken night
in the apple orchard becomes the rise
of our first child in her womb becomes
our daughter’s first fall the despair of knowing
there's a net there’s a knot before there’s
a break and then this place this shadow
near deep red hibiscus flowers big as faces

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