“Soulful Strings”   stings finely tuned he starts to glide his bow   the sound hollow, yet full of vibrato   calling forth, the light of day she awakens   the sweet sound strumming her along   warming the dawn smoothly   saturating the air…

The Flame to Your Stars   Out in the desert, a sky filled with stars I sit in the darkness, a fire burns afar I shine light upon it and realize the view The stars, the flame, the light – all for you I think…

8 Joint custody joint custody 2 it’s been long enough. I watch your chair for unauthorized activity, wait for the light to change, for the wall to dissolve in hot flowers, for the wind to weave another day of movement, laundry comes out of the…

It’s 2 am and the street lights are not working again. Darkness sweeps the road outside The familiar looking strange. The curve of the bow, plucking music from my soul. An aged soul that wanders in and out of rooms Listening to the soft breaths,…

This island has felt many griefs Blood flowing in generations past The sacred valley of Iao The battle of Olawalu Blood red Wai sacred bones buried deep in the hillsides But this grief is new Modern Instead it is ash Homes leveled Businesses gone Artwork…

Solar Impact Morning light creeps between the slats of blinds It tumbles over the window sill It puddles on the floor Morning light seeks the dusty corners Illuminating unswept recesses Pointing its shameful finger Morning light shimmers off surfaces Blooms like algae Occupies all the…

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Here I go driving past the crooked creek We’d throw stones in its pockets and try to pick them up again, only a wish away from desperation It’s today that I’m reminded of you Don’t know where I’m going and even though it’s not been…

There is a coffee shop I frequent everything but the coffee a cliché old building, exposed brick plants, hand-lettered signs roasting their own blends alchemy of ‘house-made’ syrups – lattes you long for, unsure why depending on barista, music mix runs the gamut from eclectic…

cw: allusions to abuse/cycles of abuse, all metaphorical though It was impossible to predict when hands would be gentle or cruel. Sometimes, hands would feed it its self-imposed diet of poetry; and other times, those same hands would try to starve it and eat its…