Egrets Pau Hana

Right about now the whitecaps break free
become a flock of egrets nothing purposeful
flashing and soaring how can I not feel joy
ecstasy jubilation at the sight they say
it’s too far away to be of consequence
from up here on the casuarina cook pine
covered slope looking over the treetops
down to sunlight caught up in the nets
of the shoreline we can’t see and out there
the horizon so high it’s hard to believe
this world’s not inside out in more ways
than one but it’s okay this moment here
they come again another uprush of confetti
first east then west like I said there’s no mind
making itself up this could be our worst fear
looking out for the meaning of life
and seeing the waves transformed
into big-winged beak-thrusting
cattle egrets at the end of their work day
some people hate these birds because
they’re interrupting the cattle shit cycle
after all they’re newcomers arrived in ’73
not native not indigenous invasive
I can hear the muttering right here
between by one bad ear and my shoulder
but I don’t care I’m with these pau hana
messengers I look up and see sheer beauty
it’s out of this world no I take that back
it is this world lifting soaring flickering flashing
the ultimate surrender unfold my heart
go free my salt tears all the cautionary tales
of melting wax or the grasping tide
fall away in this moment

The Shadow Of Strings

Tonight the shadow of Mila’s strings impressed
Against the velvet insides of his open guitar case
Like a door ajar as if to say I’ve just arrived
But I’m ready to leave the lid wide receiving
That hundred dollar bill with a request for a song
Written in ink so bold at least that’s the idea
Somehow the singer’s ice breaking conversation
Always fresh like the repertoire Leonard Cohen’s
Hallelujah dropped into a sea of slack key medley
Falsetto for once misnamed because the high notes
Don’t lie most of us come here saying nothing
Keeping our melodies to ourselves hiding inside
The amplification so we let him carry the tune
We don’t even understand the words most of the time
What is this parallel world I keep asking myself
This place I find myself where people are just
Trying to get by he looks out and sees us
With our loss there on our sleeves our found
Here in our eyes if we disappeared he’d still
Keep playing what’s that saying just that
He’s brought it too this possibility this chance
That something between us will pick up
Another chord a vibration that’ll keep moving
Right on up the hill through the night
Into the dark under the starry sky
I turn into the place called home and wonder
Is the soul inside or out am I the impression
Left when the lid is closed tight pressed
Down against my strings right now
I’m feeling small my voice is so far
Inside I can hardly hear it so far
I’m beginning to wonder if I understand
What’s going on this coming together
This coming apart don’t tell me music
Is magical and the singer’s the messenger
This is the crazy thing this coming down
To earth half believing it’s not a dream
What’s it going to take to get ahold of
This connection business tonight it rained
And we got closer closed those distances
We call ourselves hey it was a taste
In the end we paid our bills mine yours
Left our respective tips there on the wet
Tables and then it cleared we look up
See planets we can name galaxies
We can’t the crazy thing this looking up
All those lines we didn’t understand
Hawaiian or English it doesn’t matter
Inside all language there’s another language
So let’s just say we took our cells to the gig
And the songs pressed themselves against our velvet minds

I’ve Never Owned A Horse

I’VE NEVER OWNED A HORSE

Hurricanes ride past
each casts a calm eye
from the center of its wildness
but we’ll never get used to it
complacency earns a different sort of look
I’ve given that look said nothing
seen so many alerts
not that I don’t care
not that I’m unaware
if anything prepared as ever I can be
one thing I’ve learned you can rush to the scene
but it doesn’t do any good
if anything the truth gets hung up waiting
you’re left musing on local architecture
smiling fantasizing how things are gonna go
I won’t say you’re on your own no matter what
but that’s close

tonight there’s a heavy bass
walking through the house
like a determined man
with no shadows and the lamps blazing
I can hardly understand the lyrics
a woman’s voice sings
it’s my life
and I’ll do what I like
the snare drum gives me a chill

I’ve never owned a horse and
I’m no white knight
I’m done rescuing damsels
I was never cut out for it
my place at the round table
was all a game in the garden of my childhood
chivalry just gets me in trouble
dragons are my friends
and anyway the princess
is always a princess
whose alerts keep coming across my screen
excuse me while I flick one more away
so I can keep an eye on the storm’s path

everybody sees an island
in the wide wide sea
but everybody is an island
fire and ice
some good days
and some make you look up and frown
complacency doesn’t sit well with me
but I know when there’s nothing more I can do
outside that radius of possibilities
out there beyond my reach

I might as well say a prayer
before I turn out the lights
turn into the cover of night
where the noise of the world
is supposed to fall away
maybe the windows will shudder
and the trees will break like an ocean shore
and the wind will play the house like an aeolian harp
we’re waiting here
our openings offer themselves up to the wind
it’s a long night
this letting go

everything’s on hold
the theme here is release
no one said it would be easy
so don’t mind me while I rage against that distant light
the one I left on
left burning on two continents
I’ll get over it I swear but forgive me
if these storms give me free rein
to charge right up to the disappearing moon
and when I set foot there
look down on this moment
the other side of time lapsing clouds
at the places where words failed me
and all songs sounded mixed up and familiar
you know the problem is
I can’t say what I mean
the storms come in
one after another
Hector Lane Miriam Norman
a flight of orphans
nobody’s children
all virgin births all come of age in a hurry
all we can do is nod to their could
would might at such a speed
at such an hour no wonder
I’m jealous of their uncluttered power

Going To The Market For Blueberries

Blueberry run a good example of what’s mundane
elevated would you have to look very hard to see
the mystical dimension can it be far perhaps
that search for answers perhaps present moments
concentrated in small deep blue berries born
at high altitude in unlikely proximity to the equator
orb overlaid upon orb what we see as quantifying
the circumference of the circle the area of the sphere
is after all small pictures of the whole surely
that’s mystical in itself yesterday I heard it said
if we look for a sense that we don’t belong we see it
everywhere what is that? this seeing that shapes us
this walking that vibrates place transforming seeming
solidity and certainty into waves merely intensified
were they always there were they always here an ocean
of understanding not even waiting or feeling but being
as Noelle said just being so simple not simplistic
and so today a day when I drove away without my
hearing aids as if I’d heard too much of the pain
so much I was beginning to see the blood of children
running in the rain on a day like this the mundane
calls my name beckons I can’t hear what it’s saying
very well but I see waving feel the vibrations
of some deeper understanding getting through to me
without battery operated amplification I can hear
the voices of change this is how it’s been this is how
walls come down just when I realize I’ve been looking
down so long I look up and see the horizon is alive
with red hibiscus in their lush wall of green breath
leaves of breathing when I drove home over the mountain
I cried for those who reach for a gun before they reach
for their own pain or their children children are the fruit
the flower the leaf the breathing trembling of our own roots

Laʻaupau Moon

Moving towards that place in the ocean
Where the moon spills almost half its light
Seatbelt tight against my left shoulder
Over the washboard road till I can’t go
Any further the cliffs of Upolu held me up
Once before here on the edge where
Dreams trade places with everyday
Walking life where now I see if the moon
Can do it I can let it go too if I’m honest
I’ll tell you fear dances a merry dance
At the roots of my hair don’t ask me
What’s to be afraid of I’m just being
Honest I can only guess anyone can
Dance this dance it comes with mortality
I feel this gentle lift from the northeast
I’ll take gentle today I know how the wind
Can blow if she lets go no I’ll do the letting
Go right now out of the truck surf pushing
Hushing boomphing against the breaking
Limits of land sun at my back Maui
Mysterious above thick band of cloud
Deceptively linear from this distance
Less than 30 miles and we think straight
Lines are a fact at my age I’ve stopped
Believing in straight lines my daughter
Jemma tells me write about nothing
To write about because nothing’s
Happened because everything’s
Happened in the nothing inside
That nothing so I come to the edge
Looking for the light emptied out
Of last night’s moon my head’s
Spinning with full moons before
After new dark moons threaded
Through my calendar pages
It’s enough this nothing listening
To it I sense its power hear its
Hum coming from the ocean floor
But most of all feel its branches
Tendrils dendritic reach entwined
With mine no wonder fear dances
Beneath it hasn’t got a chance
While everything above’s embraced

Ha‘aha‘a

Yesterday was a good day for all sorts of reasons. Then, to top it off, my hula brother Kalani and I got up and danced at the Bamboo restaurant that evening. Mila (what an amazing man!) played Waikaloa (the lighthouse on Maui, not the Hilton north of Kailua-Kona) and we made plenty people smile. Joan, the owner, called out Hana hou! and teased the roomful of diners now it was their turn. It was so much fun.

So this morning I was feeling pretty good about myself when I arrived at the Hawai‘I Wildlife Sanctuary to dance with my halau. Of course I talked up our Waikaloa moment the night before. Pretty soon after the keiki performed and the wahine danced Mokihana Lullaby, we three kane did what our halau fondly calls the chicken dance. It’s really called Lei Moaulahiwa, written by Kuana Torres. Maybe with our Waimea blue shirts on we had a little kalij going for us. Still, we had our puffed up burlap ruffle cummerbund that we wore when we won first place at the competition in September. Kumu Kaui only had the rehearsal music, not the mele by itself, so we had to dance the whole competition version, the ka‘i, the mele, and the ho‘i. That was fine till we got to the ho‘i. Brother Kealoha walked right off and disappeared behind a wall, leaving Kalani and me to figure out how things were supposed to go. I think we were so stunned at seeing our hula brother disappear like that, we couldn’t even fake it (well, speaking for myself). We danced this way and that way and then we heard ha‘ina! loud and clear coming from Michael our teacher, in the audience, so we pulled it together sort of, and bumbled through the rest (again, speaking for myself).

What I noticed right away when we joined Kealahoa was that he said nothing and acted as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. I looked at Kalani and saw his expression, a kind of half-smile. Acknowledgement and acceptance with one look. Immediately I heard those three words in my mind, Let It Go.

I went over to the wahine where they stood watching Michael and two younger wahine dancing Keali‘i Reichel’s No Luna exquisitely. I slid my iPhone out of my pocket and began videoing their dance, thinking, Wow, maybe I’ll finally get the hang of the second verse. It’s not that I’m striving for perfection, just that I want to perform the dances with heart and soul, to convey the meaning through our movements, and really, to blend in with other dancers so I’m not sticking out like a sore thumb.

Or a sore loser! The thing is that being left there in front of the audience with Kalani was kind of a gift. My hula brothers and sisters are always reminding me, if you make a mistake, keep going! We kept moving but I’m sure the expression on my face showed utter confusion and loss of direction. Did I say gift? Well, here you go! It’s all yours! Your lesson in humility for today! Yeah that. That is actually a truly valuable gift, for which I am grateful. But more than that, acknowledging and accepting that I’m still learning and there is so much room for growth. Just last week, I saw Kumu Keala Ching doing the most sublime ‘uwehe during his dancing of Hi‘ilawi. It was like he took that split second and opened it up to reveal a whole world with that movement.

I’m in such a hurry sometimes I forget there’s whole worlds inside our least movement, our slightest expression. If hula is teaching me anything, it’s that I am my body, I’m not just in it, I am it. I want to live like that. You see great dancers like Kumu Keala moving so gracefully through the world. I saw the same grace with my mentors Jonathan and Moira, who were immersed in theatre. These artists engage fully their lives; they embrace reality so warmly it begins to vibrate and you can see into other worlds.

Hula is life. Theatre is life. I love it. Can you hear that gentle cosmic laughter inside the Hawaiian word for humility, ha‘aha‘a? I can.

Catching Up

Two men in the dying light the round table spread out
raw fish kimchee cucumber red pepper pate seeded
baguette slices one sips Malbec the other beer brewed
down the road when they can’t see they begin feeling
amidst the small plates fingertips brush against wasabi
and shoyu looking for the opener till they pick up the table
and everything on it move into the moonlight the single
life waxes one it’s simple uncluttered and anyway could
I live with anyone could anyone live with me by the time
the cats laid out at some distance on the stones become
mere shadows we’re talking about death encountering
the finality of a loved one a wife a mother we talk about
embrace embracing embraced all the variations on
holding out your arms to your neighborhood your hula
halau the wind change planting dancing inside our stories
names places dates distance years time it’s been awhile
since we did this and it’s getting darker some people
call it catching up I see our moonlit faces leave
the angular positions of our bodies there in the chairs
and rise into the night arms outstretched hands ready
to receive illuminations of our days that didn’t spill
into the deep regardless the endless inevitability until
that scent of finality brings us back to clocks and calendars
and we clear the table bring everything we didn’t consume
inside and walk to the car that will take one of us home
the other already home moving along invisible walls
and doorways fingertips wide awake still talking

Second Breakfast

Second breakfast after listening to the breakers
between my ears even the long silence of the temple
bell vibrated with distant waves shorelines for a few
minutes anyway I stopped naming places I remember
the eggs arrive and I make the cuts with my bamboo
knife and fork that banana I ate earlier with my espresso
itself a distant sound now against my palate I got
lightheaded in the hour leading up to this moment
pushing the yolk across the plate with the edge
of my toast I marvel again how chickens capture
sunlight in white and ovoid even the road at my back
takes on long deserted strands I’ve never visited
it’s not like the bad news isn’t traveling faster than
the speed of light I’ve simply decided to hear it
for what it is instead of worshipping things that sink
like a stone my heart is not a rock and I know
my soul is lighter than a feather the weather’s
worth talking about after all the night’s are getting
cooler I’m changing and I know you are too

Night Break

They say day breaks but it’s night
that’s broken open its deep dark
cover thrown off for this turning

I stand knees bent testing the distance
to the solid core I’m shaking my head
what a miracle if this is what reality

is like behind the waterfall of getting
and spending then bring it on I embrace
this fecundity this being this turning

Under The Canoe

Tonight standing under the canoe purchased
from a resort did it ever touch water this
ceremonial waʻa long enough for ten people
to sit inside I came for the music a wild
skillful pianist who plays boogie Rachmaninov
a cool sax player in shades Ricardo on guitar
lead wearing a porkpie hat and a drummer
well the subtleties and innuendoes were flying
and many were nodding their heads keeping
time I don’t know what made me look up
and study the straps their stitching a loose thread
at the kanaka end the stout screw eyes seated
snug to the beams lines taut bowline on the bite
kanaka and lupe a beautiful canoe butterfly
inlay and lacquered thick heavy as a tree
long as an unfinished song I’ve been here
before standing beneath this canoe hula practices
or kanikapila this canoe’s suspended overhead
tonight’s no different it’s frozen in time although
outside a thin curve of light called kūkolu moon
stirs my blood I poured the rest of my red wine
out on the ʻāina consider it an offering or
a blessing I wish us well with our undertakings
I’m glad I came out tonight the news still
warm on the home screen I think to myself
refugees aren’t the problem it’s refuge a place
to do what the piano player said tonight
come together for songs of love and loss
hanging on or letting go burning up or freezing
moving on or staying behind I left early
walked out beneath that long moon handle
opened up the night and walked in while
the songs were still fresh they say half
full or half empty I say standing under
that canoe the music rises up and keeps us
afloat not just up there defying gravity but
moving out there island to island looking
for new shorelines and answers to this
restlessness some of us call home

My Truck

This bright morning breaks into sundogs flying
across bedroom walls window light fallen flat
on a carpet of sheep hair tied into Buddha curls
showing faceless shadow puppets made by leaves
dancing outside big as hands with the sun in their palms
I sit silently in the corner chair remembering the hollow
hour of two when I awoke clear-eyed in the absence
of all this light disconcerted by another dream
another retelling of how you left your preparations
my sense of loss before losing before finding myself
rushing to the cool dark surface of separation
I tell myself it’s another dream a revision of the story
in this version you’re surrounded by women I don’t know
finally I offer the use of my truck to move your stuff
but you shake your head I’m beginning to understand
there’s no easy answer to this question unless
the test the room the light the pieces of rainbow
and more than this a vibration the wind’s
other half an echo before the birth of sound
will reveal itself when I’m least expecting it
from the beginning they said we were soul mates
it seems we can’t see who we are without looking
through the lenses of other eyes in the end beauty
engulfs all the senses we were born with in one breath

A Small Stone

Not everyone could see the problem beneath his smile
Caught in the throat a small stone an ossification
Secretions of notions he couldn’t swallow whole
Phrases in lost languages of the heart the gut
Stuck sentiments he couldn’t cough up hardening
Layer by layer where resistance hadn’t earned its name
In his litany of hours so he was surprised when the surgeon
Her long black dress open at the knee dancing
Over his chest twisted the arc of truth open in the air
Till the light came in shining blinding after the ordeal
He unfurled his fingers from her hair his eyes exhausted
Dimmed and wet a sense of loss as he peered
At the round thing he’d allowed to grow its fissures
Veins where pieces of mountain coral hazelroot
And kukui nut shell stitched themselves together
Flecks of gold belonging to some ancient promise
Arousing a pang of remorse the nurse came in
Offering uisce but he thought she’d said whiskey
And shook his head wai she said agua and beneath
His smile the waterfall made its thundering way
To the churning pool where he stripped and followed

Good Things Come In Threes

Three nights of Perseid showers came and went
their lights flirting with the atmosphere so well
I missed them entirely either sleeping through
those first darker hours or squinting into moonlight
that spilled and stained cloud cover so I threw
off my own bed cover before dawn Sunday
and silently assembled more than I needed
in the car and headed down to the shore at Kapa’a
arriving in the fast growing light of our island
dawn my hula brothers and sisters there already
a fire blazing in the raised stone pit a fire visible
from Hana almost 40 miles across the ‘Alenuihāhā
our own inner fires lit up since 3 A.M.
we’re wearing our colors our symbols of hula
in Kohala with the fern print muslin later photos
showed joy on our faces but this wasn’t a joy-ride
we brought gifts for the island of Kaua’i along
with our dances before breakfast we gathered
above the little coral beach when a barn owl
tyto alba flew close right over our heads into
the woods towards Mahukona we released
ho’okupu wrapped in ti into the soft tugging
embrace of the ocean as we faced Kaua’i’s direction
and I’m probably not alone imagining our gifts
making their way to that island 268 miles away
Kealoha chanted strongly at sunrise
joined in the circle by our alaka’i Michael
who vibrated with the higher notes
these were the moments when elderly recreation
under the auspices of Hawai’i County Council
transformed elevated by ritual and protocol
and I confess when I saw the solo kane ho’okupu
return with the tide to swirl inside some
shoreline rocks as if reluctant to go deeper
I felt here’s the truth here’s the visible world
telling me to let go showing me how to be out
of control my dance celebrates places around
Kaua’i the summit of Wai’ale’ale the crescent
beach of Hanalei the long strands of Kekaha
where glimpses of Ni’ihau may be seen
you’d have to be a large winged bird to see
all those places in one song hula’s done that
for me transformed the aerial impossibilities
into what? personal or universal mountains
so steep reaching above my head inner
landscapes so vast and varied I’d have to be
a big-winged bird to make it what am I
thinking is this a survival course why
get all dramatic just reach through the pain
at the knees for the little shells think of the piko
to stay balanced turn back for the mokihana
berries and twist around to show everyone
my rare beautiful lei be the dancer this late
in the day afterwards we danced our five dances
sang our blessing over the food we looked out
and saw spinner dolphins just off shore
if the owl was that singular master moving
through uncertainty and transformation
here were the ocean’s dancers rising
gliding together you could hear it
in our voices ah look oh my oh that
is beautiful they’re here for us yes
and when the rising sun glistened
on one spinner rising clear and free
of the surface ooh and as my wife
liked to say good things come in threes
a rainbow appeared arching vividly
between cloud and sea bridging seen
and unseen with its flourishing signature
upon our huaka’i our journey in learning
as if to say yes you’re going the right way

ʻOlepau

This distance between us is growing
This first day of August clearly saying
Here I am look around just let yesterday
Try pushing past with its just one more
Thought let balance find its way all over
Again and again and a single spider
Suspends herself between arica palm
Legs and purple leaf vitex spray beneath
That strand of silk Haleakala smiles
In a lei of slow moving clouds we’re all
In suspense it’s over this season my Irish
Ancestors called Beltane fun as it was
Watching all those hot-blooded young
Women leaping around the tent on the mountain
The next day I planted half a dozen lavenders
The smell of peace still on my fingertips
It’s the waxing gibbous moon called ‘olepau
Whispering now’s the time for planting ulu
Or string beans I take this to include lavender
Movement is good what’s not moving
I ask you the time for planting sadness
With its scent of dust is past besides this
Isn’t just another orbit in space marking time
If we’re going to grow up and become flowers
Then we need to be students of movement
Swelling breaking opening emerging
Forgetting the madness we call our busy lives
The twisting and blinking between blossom
And wilting till we grumble about the mess
I’m going to make one now I’m going to prune
All the dead branches from the old lime tree

Stopping

Last night the usual confusion around Hawaiian pronunciation and meaning
When the singer Mila sat across from us after his set quickly pinching tears
Away from his eyes while he explained his take on Queen Kapi’olani’s poem
Ka Ipo Lei Manu written for her husband David Kalakaua in the late 19th century
When the king was in San Francisco when the queen’s love poem became
A song of mourning it was not the iwa bird the black streamlined
Thief we call the frigate bird the one who glides in ahead of the storms nor
Was it iwi the bones the bones we felt chilled earlier when Mila sang falsetto
No it was the little i’iwi its yellow plumage telling us it was a young bird
In the rain on the mountain the queen thought there would be more and I
Cried again hearing him say it realizing I wasn’t finished either this morning
I’m still walking in the rain wishing I’d paid attention when but when
Is a moveable feast and I always hesitated hungry as I was this morning
Two iwa birds sailed out of the confusion over the windmills at Upolu
Soared between two arms of a storm feeling its way along Maui’s shores
And slopes and Kohala on our side of the channel where does the iwa
Bird stand still I wondered my runaway mind jealous of those hollow
Bones that streamlined form I got drenched by the storm’s embrace
Stripped off at my truck this is what stopping looks like an empty day
On the calendar a photograph of a butterfly on my wrist I’m remembering
Other times alone long ago moments when I stopped and boiled rice
Swam naked thought there would always be time I live in a place still
Grieving for the dead king what’s left of the i’iwi birds follow the uplands
Curving their beaks toward the nectar like yesterday’s right here there’s
No metaphor for stopping even a rock moves its molecules slo-mo
Allows itself to sink beneath the surface stopping’s a verb curled up
Under the hau tree healing itself minding its own unfinished business

Still Speaking To Each Other

The day the white-eyes come the little mejiro
Hop-flick their way branch to branch outside
Windows intent on bug catching with their needle
Beaks they sing on oblivious to my gaze
My wide-eyed hunger for moments like this
When beauty stands still and vibration holds
Its breath I’m holding mine too as I study first-
Hand distinct plumage and perfect Sumi-e
Circles ‘round each eye everything’s hungry
On this planet I’m eating seasonal appearances
Of little passerines and they’re eating little bugs
Eating little buds but there’s gut-ache
And heartburn ahead for all or one of us
Because there’s too many of us because there’s
Not enough and the precious akepa can’t keep up
And when we’re not looking the mejiro invade
Hawaiian forests the truth of the falling leaf
Spiraling to earth in a summer breeze
Is written in a language spoken when every
Living thing was still speaking to each other
Nothing fell off the cycle of life without a smile
Sadness didn’t tighten the lips or furrow the brow
Breathing in was breakfast and breathing out
Fed the world out of the forest a hawk soars
An i’o now we’re the ones outside the windows
Turning and turning necks at their limits
Eyes feasting on this morning’s cloudless
Sky and a roofline followed to the edge of blindness
Where three geckos inch towards each other
Sticking out their tongues tasting the sun

No More Waiting

A heavy rain dunk the biscotti bite
through the next thought and the next
Tahitian ginger blossoms strewn
under their bush-become-tree reaching
over the quartzite jigsaw we named lanai
I find myself counting the white petals
eight all told in each there’s a number
shaken loose by the downpour but this
isn’t about one overdue gardening project
everywhere I look’s the same if ever there
was a sense of control it’s been shaken
loose too and all illusion of order with it
Monday last I cut back one night blooming
jasmine outside my bedroom and another
near the fire pit the Queen of the Night
reduced to knee height twice afterwards
seeing I’d made small wounds openings
where fear flushed through so fast I was ready
to accept responsibility for new empty space
ready to plant something less overpowering
a scent such as cinnamon gardenia ready
to turn my back on it give resilience a chance
allow the cut branches to flourish anew
can I keep this up this cutting and shaping
this risking this turning my back on emptiness
one thing about a downpour in the night
so heavy it pushed through leaks in the roof
I’d thought repaired it’s left the air
refreshed breathed into hesitation
it’s cool this relief with beauty in disarray

The End Of Fury

My mother likes to say she used to walk to the end
of Fury looks you in the eye as if you’re intimately
familiar with this street as if her passion and will
can be measured by common coordinates she who
cannot put her finger on the common world of Other
certainly not easily theirs is a distant country with customs
and peculiarities she navigates with good manners
red-headed wit and phrases so well-turned
they slip like fish through her lips and leap
ladders passeth misunderstanding into
upstream waters calm and only disconcerting
when you realize she’s bestowed upon you
her kind of Irish blessing speared you with
cliche so if my daughters crossed the road
without looking or never cashed the birthday
check or went months without calling then
the apple didn’t fall far from the tree never mind
her own core and seed’s descent from the heights
as it sought to pierce the surface where the roots
embrace and home again all the way from Fury
spent at last vulnerable though not without
her camouflage of wit her red hair faded now to gray
a softening transforming my old dear mother
into a bundle of smiles eyes still vivid twinkling
with less of a sharp edge the words I love you
spontaneous and most disarming people say
it’s a generational thing can it be true can love
swim this easily from the lips looking for calm
in a burgeoning world the branches quarreling
entire libraries burned to the ground by the time
we reach the end of Fury and head back humbled
wizened bereft grieving alone is it only then
we notice the road home is longer than we imagined
and anyway it’s bad luck to go back

Eggs With Garlic

I have a feeling of love can I live on that
maybe that’s why I’m jumpy rushing outside
to meet the earthquake turns out to be
an 18 wheeler on the mountain road no
a military helicopter no it’s the wind thundering
over the soundbox of this house guess I’ll turn
around go back to the pan add some garlic
to the eggs limit myself to one shot espresso
a splash of water I know I need to calm down
but I keep expecting something maybe that’s
all part of waking up on an island at low tide
as for waiting I’m done with that me I’m
working on riding the moment like a bicycle
with no handlebars whatever happened to
balance anyway quick dissolve the little mind
that pushes me into near atrophy before it’s
too late give me some turmeric and the blood
of a beet pour off some elixir from the slimy
fungal creature brewing in the dark my gut
needs its effervescence today my heart
is that flock of seedeaters contracting
from out of the blue onto a patch of uncut
grass they know the difference between
a crack in the world and a tradewind
playing basso profondo for breakfast

Let The Light Back In

A hand took the light last Friday I’m still reeling
Here’s the floor here’s the bottom to this darkness
I’m on my knees but I don’t know if I’m praying
Or looking for a way out such a light that word
Lost whispers in my ears and it’s true that’s how
It feels when everything’s loose in the world
Where’s the hope when such a shock takes our
Breath away it’s dark all right he was the sun
Rising on our dark differences I was living
In a flat world till this happened this morning
The ground falls away spills over the edge
Am I blind? I’m reaching out trying to understand
Why beauty is now homeless and hard to find
Before this happened life was bent to its task
Getting spending turning soil or wheel casting
Lines into the sea bending to a child is this
What it takes to rip open our complacency
And let the light back in? Is the cost of standing
Up for a woman for a faith for a choice that hurts
No one the life of a young man setting out
To shelter the world a hand took the light
The darkness is blinding but that hand has
A mother too tonight light your candle tonight
Light a thousand candles against this moment