Saturday, April 5, 2014

The Emerald Forest

Over millennia or least centuries
Some say less than 200 years but that seems so short a time
The emerald forest happened
It began with magma spewed from the earth
Trees and ferns grew out of desolate lava beds
Dropped leaves that became soil
Fell over sometime and rotted
Each year ferns and trees add scant inches of stature
Now the untoppled ferns form a high canopy
Fairy tale green amidst the twisted trunks of ohia
You may slip orchids in where the branches once were
Purple, gold, white, colors of wine and birthdays
Flowers open down leafy stems
Blooms open upon hand-like sprays
When the furious rains come
The orchid petals cling like sturdy fools
Take their lengthy pelting
Without a tear and answer with perfume smiles
Beneath the robin’s egg blue sky
Below epiphytic aerial root structures
Amongst the twig and golden furred homes of apapane
Stands this human shelter
Platform without walls beneath peaked roof
Garlanded with crystals of light
Floor polished brown and smooth underfoot
Come share in the elixir of the misty woods
We will open vintage wine and drink from favored goblets
Glass blown from molten globs
Feel your blood spirit replenish your heart beat deepen
Here, there is poetry of place
Yes, here there is volcanic magic

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Pink Morning with Slight Chance of Hurricane

Mistral Pampero Sirocco
These are names of the winds
Chinook Diablo Westerly
Don Juan de Marco keeps these names in his pocket
Kolo-āpu‘upu‘u blows mist down the mountain
Constellations brilliant overhead
Still you feel it on your skin
Kalāhuipa‘a awakened us this morning
Boulders skidding in the breeze
Trees dueling their branches whipping like swords
Don Diego among the palms
How do those pink clouds survive this force?
As I watch their lipstick colors even and still
Oblivious lizards slap at flies with their tongues
Orchids push out another spike of flowers
The world will not blow away after all
The dogs are quiet
Here the air does not howl, here peace will find us

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Day of the Barking Dog

Out in the jungle he speaks to me
Voice for a deaf person to hear
We’ve walked together five years now
He knows we understand each other’s language
So I must go now
He speaks of the importance of the moment
He knows better than I
Nuances of the day
Now he has shared with me his
Soft blanket of thick moss
I with him some bread and cheese
Here there is contentment

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

April First at Kilauea

In the night rain the volcano’s mouth yawns wide

Water plummets inexorably down that throat

Making a steaming cauldron of liquid rock soup
Lei of vapors swirl about the cauldera
Deep gorges fluff with heady steam
Dark forest breath redolent of wet orchids
Underfoot browned fern fronds feel to be sponge
Dogs sleep peacefully in the corners of the house

This is the rainforest

Wetter than the ocean 

Where if fish could fly they would be in their element
We are water

Dry is a phantom

Here, you know the truth of us