King & Kalakula Ave.

Prologue/Setting: It's a gritty sunrise. Empty, deceased- I gape at the different forms of social atroscities & see there weight. Airport bound.

Resting in a bed- street. A young adult takes up room. Bus stop, pedestrians wait, Ala moana bound. Eyes flicker to to the sleeping mass- taking up space. One bench of two. Shoes with heels pressed down like house slippers black souled, empty nests. Two properly perched alligned stars. Brown smudged toes exposed to wind and the rising light, are attached to feet, intertangling with intamacy.

The street pulses on. Sheer chiffon trails off of aTurquoise fashion dress as a street is crossed. Business phone calls are ended, texts from books call concentration. Chills, dense flat bumps rise on his toroso, rearranges. Many eyes look momentarily, but don't see. Blackberry texts, travel books in Japenese, Hello Kitty. 

Epilogue: Bus 19 arrives. I take a seat and out the window, watch a flock of black birds chattering in the intersection.

Search to Find

I've always asked alot of questions. Sometimes I'll obsess about answers. Thankfully as I SEARCH for a certain answer, I eventually FIND it in the most suprising ways and places. The chain events from question to answer becomes a poetry. I love the "Divine" for this, for he/it/she  knows exactly how I love my answers served. Receiving answers by far,  have been the most memorable turning points of my life. The relief of an answer always seems to hold the same qualities: induce humility, awe, and requires nothing. Surely, answers are gifts.



Time eeks a crystaline melody,
delivering wordless answers
to my defiant "why, why why" strung questions, hung
to be scissor string, cut

By patience
the natural hum of growth,
following a river's flow

By neutrality's eyes
arrows and signs,
sweet direction,
of the Way

By InSight
observational perspective
coupled with a hearts' intention

the whispering of God's lessons.

By moment
light, breaths,
touch, taste, smell, hear,
to truly see.

My questions release, popped thought bubbles
Freedom.


Alive, a moment I hold like a baby chick, fuzzy feathered, fragile.
Joy seems to be more a potion, then a notion.

Honolulu Daze

After spending three weeks working and backpacking Kauai, I headed to Oahu. My next adventure was to be determined by receiving my GI Bill education check. I was broke because I had miscalcuated the date I would be receiving the money. I knew the money situation would work itself out (money comes, money goes) but my biggest obstacle seemed to be adapting to life in the city after having had a transformative experience on Kauai. With new eyes, I questioned my old surroundings. What I saw left me, well, coping. In this journal entry, I'm scribbling, pen in hand over a freshly digested meal. Sitting in a corner seat in Shirokiya, in Ala Moana mall, solo. Ala Moana is Honolulu's largest mall, known for its high end stores, galleries of clothes. Flourescent lights, people milling like ants.



All these unrecognized calling signs, are popping up- this cheap journal, this given pen.

I'm buzzing on a binge to the crunchy to the salty, into the sweet and then the fried.
Eating delectubile meat purses, Shirokiya.
Trying to put some size back on, subconciously. Glurping, fussing, and unwrapping- brain wants more.
Stomach turned off, not in body nor soul.
This buzz buzz is too loud, to hear the brink of my thoughts or the expanse of my spirit.
Coach, Fendi, gold strapped purses, high shoes, tiled sidewalks.
Bright colors, cleavage, advertisements on shirts.
Craving some satisfaction in one more mochi ball? Crispy. warm. relief.
Mixes of cultures- whose happy? whose happy? whose really happy?
With the lightening in their eyes, feet touching earth ground.
Shopping bags flutter, call attention. My mind stalls, heart retracts, beatless.
where's belonging now?
           in gelato crepes?
           in spicy seaweed rolls?
My feet look used.
My skin taunted over biceps
My legs two lions
My belly a warm churning stew

My tounge ticks tales of
Yesterday's focused destinations-
 mere pinpoints on the horizon
sunlight drenched wisdom flooding out of revolving strangers
divine
caught up in breathes that link to form moments.
move only: step by step

Yet today, my bank owns me- calls me home.
Ma bought my aiplane ticket,
va payment's gonna come any day,
The tag of my bathing suit sticks to my fresh tattoo.

Nominate me for Office

(This is an oldie I rediscovered which was written while I was working at the Mental Health Clinic at Hill AFB as a civilian)

Tricked you: This has nothing to do with my future campaign- but has everything to do with OFFICE.

Work day poetry: Inspired by Philip Levine

Watch the sunrise, sleep eyed, navigating traffic, kind of ride. Yawning off dreams.
Courteous hellos and good mornings are mumbled, fluttering between acquaintances. Tight threadbare smiles are to accompany.
Strut hallways, windows reflecting florescent lights, blocks out streams of sunlight.
Grumbles of stress bubbles, abbreviated sentences, paper stacks, gross body language, and ignored questions, hover in a sulking cloud. Storms are due according to the weather forecast.
Click, tick, tappity, to: seems the desktop just holds you. Under the chin, around the middle, even massages you a little. Locked in a concentrated hour to hour stare-- infinite portal/\ ball and chain.
Frequent time checks. Potty breaks. Calendar checks. Smoke breaks. Bank balance checks.
$5.65 – McDonalds (breakfast on the go)
$45.00—Chevron
$72.39—Macy’s (30% off sale)
$9.99—Walmart (dvd special)
$25.00—Liquor Store (evening unwind time)
Total: 1 ½ days work
Joy is a top hat, worn only for special occasions

Beige

I’ll take Neutrality for a ride in a black beauty with chrome, long nosed with blinging rims, rearview mirror glintin in the sparkle of sun thrown from the day’s light. Neutrality will sit passenger, and I’ll look it once over while I cruise the highway. No subtle looks- I’ll stare memorizing its archs and curves. Imprinting its message on the cells of my body with every inching glance up and down its frame. Neutrality sits, neutrally of course, legs crossed in a balance posture, translucently dissolving into the back ground- at one with seatbelt door frame and the landscape sweeping past in faded wind strokes. Neutrality talks about lullabies of child hood memories, mama’s death, and the gift of age in a monotone voice, as if pedaling down the painted yellow line on a hill- toes brushing pavement as she picks up speed. Neutrality sees no point in fabricating opinons, but laughs a lot- more than I expected. I ask it a question but it returns my question with an arced eyebrow that looks like a smirk turned upside down. Tictac teeth emerge from ginger blushed conchs, “Breeze.”

 So I hop from freeway to a town road, turn the music up louder and find myself singing off key in an ice cream shop. Neutrality tries all flavors and orders some of all.