My somber shoes lit flint blue sparks
walking over the best parts of your grave
Tell me, did they bring you here in a human bearing vehicle?
If so you could have saved some money
The supermarket
across the street is open late
I think I’ll go over
and get champagne and a single rose
for my next corporate values trainer
The waitress at the restaurant in Kapaa dressed non-threateningly in black pants and shirt. Her sleek, long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Our eyes meet for a second and I hold my gaze for a split second longer than decorum allows. I see she is not another expat but a true daughter of the islands with the fierce beauty and wild gaze of a gazelle, her onyx eyes dark and lovely. She loses her careful mask for a moment, returning my look with unguarded island beauty.
I hear the paddles begin beating in angry rhythm on the sides of the war canoes. I have transgressed. I looked the chiefs daughter squarely in the eye, breaking taboo law. I am now subject to its harsh justice.
I am in the surf swimming for my life.
I have one small chance–if I can reach the outer reef alive ahead of the canoes full of warriors, my life will be spared. Spears shatter the water around me. Every gulp of air comes with the shouts of the blood lust closing in behind. My muscles are tearing themselves with the effort. Canoe paddles rhythmically vivisect the distance.
Shrill cries from shore. Mind split in two watching itself with odd detachment.
Vision narrows to a blue tunnel…can’t feel my legs…ears buzzing..floating…above the canoes…high over the reef…
Two Bass ales arrive at our table. “Your steaks will be up shortly,” says our waiter. A family with small children sits down next to us. The chiefs daughter picks up a stack of dirty dishes three tables away and walks back towards the kitchen. Someone brings a battery powered candle to our table. And I wonder if lived or died out there where that lone paddle surfer in the red board shorts is just now clearing the breakwater.
Steamship Carp
Lascivious Hibiscus
No-cheat Grass
Canadian Bunch People
Hearts of Commerce Lettuce
Lesser Ukelele
Runny Rubby Stuff
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Are we done shouting at each other?
Calling each other names?
Good, because I like the way you wear clothes
I like your smile— the same now as when you picked berries at twelve,
Waterskied at twenty,
Celebrated ground hogs day at thirty,
Leaving muddy toys on the back porch doormat for the kids.
Can you stop being such a princess?
No, on second thought.
Don’t.
Standing on our Kauai hotel balcony
At night
I see lights in the sea
Hey, Babe what are those
Unearthly lights like dolphins on fire
We finally realize they are people
Offshore swimming together
Wearing headlamps
Why are they doing that
Like they had nothing better to do
This morning clumps of people
Standing on the beach
Looking out to sea
Immobile, transfixed, reverent
Hey Babe, what the hell are they doing
Tai chi?
No one’s moving…
Then I see the whales offshore
Breaching–one after the other
Slowly like the children of giants
Playing hop scotch
Like they had nothing better to do
Oh
Last night and now
Oh
Kapaa, Kauai
Palm trees are built to feather the wind. In a hurricane they absorb the wind’s energy like a natural spring, releasing it between gusts. In a light breeze each grassy leaf acts independently, cupping and then quickly spilling the wind by pivoting slightly. The effect is to make every puff of the air flowing through the tree distinctly visible, while transmitting almost no energy to the trunk, having little in the way of a rigid branch system to do so anyway. Brilliant.
This morning I watched a mother sandpiper and her two chicks hunt for insects in the sand and dried leaves at this tree’s base. It was as tender a domestic scene as any family outing by any other species.
Woke up this morning hearing magpies calling to each other outside my window. Wikipedia says they are fiercely territorial and very smart. in fact they are the only animal that recognizes itself in a mirror. I’d love to know what a magpie uses this skill for. It seems to be a hardship to most humans.
The palm grass asks to be anointed
And lowly stalk becomes a bower
A sleepy sea minds not it’s mounts
Lifting armies to deliver
The requiem smithed from simple tunes
Rolls crescendos ever higher
A broken heart unseen in grieving
Hears heaven’s song in neighbor’s chatter
He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.
–Samuel Johnson
rain smears the windshield
claymation athletes running
leaves and dogs float by
George Romney is a man on a mission from God. Descended from a long line of church leaders, he has worked for years to fulfill his Mormon destiny by becoming President of the USA. A former Mormon stake leader — the equivalent of a cardinal in the Roman catholic church — Romney is the wildly successful religious insurgent who is carrying out the expressed purpose of the church’s founders, namely to literally take political control of the country. The presidency for him is as much a theological post as it is a political one. While the wing nuts worry about Islamic extremists and sharia law infiltrating government, the beast with the fixed gaze of the righteous, taught in the church from birth that lying is OK if it protects the church’s interests, slouches towards the temple. Abraham Lincoln said if the USA were to disintegrate, the threat would not be external, but come from within. Lucky for us the beast has plastic hair, a spinning moral compass and acts like an action figure from Toy Story 3.
I saw Yoyo Ma’s live broadcast of the Goat Rodeo sessions last night in a local theater. As a string band musician of very modest talent but a huge appreciation for the genuine article, it was a joyous thrill ride through American roots music elevated to high art by great masters, easily on par with Aaron Copeland and others who have mined this rich vein. For an encore they played Bach, including a bowed bass playing an equally challenging melodic line as any other. Incredible. A goat rodeo is a term used by pilots referring a situation where a hundred things have to go right in order to be able to walk away from it. Considering that this felt like a four part, lyrical, aerial ballet by close order jet fighter planes, the title seems appropriate.
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