Coloratura

It would have worked better for the soprano coloratura 
Had her face happened fifty years later
Instead of painting lipstick so far outside the lines
She could have had injections
And those eyebrows
Up close it made no sense at all
That they were drawn in 
Surprised arcs into her forehead
Like muddy rainbows
while her real brows were strong lines down by her eyes
Her face up close needed kinder attention
Someone to love her softness
And marvel that from the rosebud like lips
Came a song that would gather tigers with its power
Challenge the weather
And likely lift boulders to lofty spots in the sun

The Braided Tree

Today I saw a tree
It had a hundred trunks
They flowed down from the top branches
Laced themselves together
And reached right into the soil

The tree was narrow like a pencil
Tall like a forest conifer
Leafy wispy and woven
Unlike the others
Whose trunks grew from the ground up

I could tell right away
It had grown itself top down

Walking close I saw the way
the trunk had braided itself
there were footholds and handholds

Grasping tight I pulled myself upwards
Scrambling straight up
brushing cheek with bird wing
Until I was next to the sky
Enfolded in blue
The earth below now belonged to others
And I belonged to the sky

Such is Life Day

This day smells like cinnamon
and tastes like maraschino cherry you made
on the chipped enamel stovetop
I covet every time I hide in your secret
garden where we sip tea
from half sized cups set in pretty fluted saucers
the pattern is called
dance of the grasshopper
It was devised on spruce pine day
boys were shooting off rockets
shy smiles of unimagined success
moon launches on far Fridays
backpack slung onto a railroad car
hooch in a paper bag
flung far as duties left undone
songs not yet sung
one string hanging loose on the guitar
in my back pocket is a square envelope
holding the D string
Is it the one?

Homecoming

When next you see me
a beachy glow
will enfold you
In puakinikini fragrance
soft petals
promises of sunrises

The scent of the air
Will whisper
you will know
all about being back
in your first deep breath

you will feel yourself
fall back together
you will wonder anew
at the softness of black sand

you will be
in that place
where even a nomad
lingers long

April Begins

April you are upon me like a familiar lover
Laying over me promises
Suggesting nuanced splendors in my ear

Of course I succumb to your tender embrace
Warm winking and wet kisses
Growls and sighs amidst the birdsong sweetness

We have awakened together
And you have extracted promises from me
And I from you
In these days, we will move as we will through space
But as for time, it will be slow
Slower than the winds carrying clouds
Slow as the growth of the ohia
Slow as the hapu’u sigh at any midnight

And time
Time will become another story the wind tells
And we can listen and then tell our own story.

Outside There is the Sun

But here I sit coldly
It is the cold of the uncertain plotting of life
perhaps more so of the unfurling of life
the unsteady gait of final chapters

As if on a distant hillside
The old ones of my life have aligned themselves
Still skirting death and yet
They hold hands and flirt with the darkness on the other side

Inviting the grim mask of those tomorrows to step aside
I hurled myself at the jungle
clearing cutting tossing aside armloads of debris
Cutting a new path a clearing an exposing of living trees

Until my arms burned
The birds assured me there was no lament
no helicopters say the volcano is quiet
It will not last but there will be laughter and tears

Everyone is trying to name the answers
If you look in the back of the book
You will see
No one knows what they are.

Things that matter

These things matter
a floor of much walked on wood
or stones into which dirt sinks like water

the gentle touch of a big dog
fur damp from rain outside
lightning forcing stark contrast

the effect of very dried fruit slices
or paper like bark

I have always liked light on water
ripples like time
or laughter

slivers of joy
lights of mirth