Returning From Old Hawai'i

My oldest and best friend Waterfall 

just died of heart magick

so I missed his wake on Hippy Hill, 

and got on a plane

and went to old Hawai'i instead

to explore a new grandson's huge eyes 

and sudden smile

and wonder how fast a soul 

could transmigrate

I let my son drag me into a 

Hawai'ian jungle of strange plants

to see a yurt for sale in the dead of night

far from buslines, far to the nearest bar 

or the outdoor loo

built of twigs and branches 

and a volcanic mud floor

windows peeking out at the birds

the mynah plucking at plumeria

I don't know if I can be a jungle woman,

retired to solitude and contemplation

can a laptop outshout the birds

can a yellow birdie hopping 

on an iron fence painted the same color

find safety and peace
and a warm send-off into the air

on sunshine wings flagging 

too fast to follow

The waterfall beckons.

Darkness smiles.

To be a drop of water falling

to notice that it is water and

splashes into a single waterfall

through the elements shining

and a dream of an elephant,

splashing and laughing in the

waterness of the falls.

We drove out to the volcanic flats

in the area where the goddess Pele/Kilauea

flowed and covered my son's house.

We went to an old rough-built lean-to 

sitting on the black swirling lava rock

already crumbling and servant 

to green shoots and plants.

The young man who had lived there

died and left dozens of photos

of friend and twin family alike

wind and rainswept on the walls

of his two-sided shack.

Personal items lined the walls,

a pallet with his sleeping bag still there.

A man figure made of wooden planks

and painted jolly smile and round eyes,

arms swinging, almost a windmill

with tiny bells hanging from painted 

hands and fingers, waving in the wind

rain already soaking painted eyes

that had tiny streams of blue running

down his face, scarecrow straw hat

picked apart by black birds.

A shrine of black rocks, with his photo

a young man healthy happy and smiling

little plots of red and yellow flowers,

a plastic lei of white and blue

green shoots of plants already

growing up through the rocks.

Tom looked into a little carved box

on a small improvised table inside

the lean-to, lifting the lid, to finger

a few buds of marijuana 

half-destroyed by weather and time,

tiny pot seeds chewed by tiny insects

into bits of seed and holes in the whole ones.

My ears hurt from the wet wind that blew,

even sitting on the pallet protected from the wind

by the two walls lined with photos.

I longed for a hooded raincoat and scarf.

But then this young man grew up here

and surfed the magnificent ocean every day.

No water was foreign to his spirit.

The Merry Monarchs

The Merry Monarchs dancing

Hawai'i hula, be-flowered

and long grasses waving,

sunful colored fabrics tied on

and green leaves crowning all.

No smiles of laughter

ever surpassed these happy faces

children of palm and beach and ocean,

red of goddess Pele mountain of fire 

over all, building anew

touching the dancing, churning sea.

Crying with laughter

sons and daughters of 

Liliuokalani and Kamehameha

still here, dancing royal history

and tribute to the land,

and sea, and sky.

Jehanah 2010