“Dream until your dreams come true.” — Aerosmith Who minds making love to a beautiful woman? B5 was a man like any other, and making love to a lady who had powers was indeed special. But it was late at night when he dreamt of his soul mate and his reason for being. He fought this before, when to him …
Who Am I to Burden You?featured in the poetry forum August 2, 2015 :: 0 comments
Annie sang a sad song, while they died of aids, smiling for the camera, on the Live 8
the smile said, “Who am I to burden you, with my death?”
So instead they gave, in their dying time, smiles all around.
They gave, when all was being taken, when the light was soon to dim.
Oh mother, oh Mother Theresa, oh mother, where are you now?
In my dying time, I would not presume to burden you.
So the last you see of me, is this lovely smile.
Good-bye. And their song was over.
Another slice o’ the soundbite cycle. Appeals to our mercy chalked up to marketing. No ears, no ears. – mh clay
For the Love of Snakes: Dr. Veenum and Dr. WangOctober 18, 2014 :: 0 comments
The letter said this project could change your life, so he sat in his University of Arizona-Herpetology Dept. office waiting for this Dr. Wang to appear before the United Nations. They were showing the general assembly on the cable news station, which was full to capacity, with folks standing on the sides. Protocol and safety were at their usual high …
Secret: Hawaiifeatured in the poetry forum June 10, 2014 :: 0 comments
just for I
one million small places
in tiny bird or gliding fish
or, hearken back to a day
a father/daughter wish
small wind musses a bent, funny palm
a tourist, a trinket, a Japanese girl giggling bright
a silent hall, in a royal palace hotel
a waterfall at lunch, for just my tired butt and me
been through the heart and artery of Waikiki and the Oahu island girl
secret pace, light my face, sing to my soul
put my happiness in a genuine koa bowl
Every holiday destination has a happy hauli to buy the local merch and take those selfies by the sea. Mele kalikimaka! – mh
Music To My Earsfeatured in the poetry forum April 7, 2014 :: 0 comments
a nervous laughter arose from the crowd
“So true, so true.”
What was once the sweet music of your voice, so gentle and loving
Like string quartets and cooing doves and the trickle of a stream
Has turned into a siren scream, or nails on a chalkboard or an LP needle dragged scratching across the surface of the vinyl
Oh lovely grape in such a vintage, to vinegar you have gone
From the freshest baked bread, to a stone cold, rock hard loaf
The milk sour, and a loving glance to a killer’s glower
The crowd now shifts restlessly in their seats, the couples only look at each other from the periphery of their eye sight, not daring to see the cold, dark stare they fear is there
But, wait a minute!
Not knowing from where or when, sometimes a spark, so small as a sandwich or a rose brings us back to the good graces—-and we remember, falling in love all over again
The crowd shifts, looking at their partners, “So true, so true.”
Kind cold cuts with modulated mayo on sliced, forbearing bread. A reconciliation sandwich; always better than that bitter pill. – mh
The Limited Steps of An Old Manfeatured in the poetry forum February 24, 2013 :: 0 comments
walked across a manoa park sunrise scene
layed before me like a morning feast for my eyes to eat and eat well
he only has less steps to go than I and mankind
it is his time going golden into his sunset years
mine is in the middle of the sky
but soon dropping behind a mountain
only the book of life knows how many steps we take
it knows when we take the first steps free of parents
it knows when we take the last steps free of parents
this is how the general story goes
and in the wink of an eye we say, “Too soon, too soon.”
then the old man was gone from my sight
That slope is slippery enough. Definitely, please, NOT “too soon.” – mh
The Bubble Gum and The BullfrogDecember 10, 2012 :: 0 comments
Dandy Wharton and his son had put the boat on the trailer and were heading out of the lake. “Dad, I see that frog again!!” “What? Where?” He stopped the car, and the two guys saw a raccoon struggling with gum all over it’s head and paws. The frog hopped off into the water. Peabody had some licorice and a …
Bastard Slope of Paradisefeatured in the poetry forum September 30, 2012 :: 0 comments
Head’s smile where
surfers trek to ply their craft
Lies the bastard slope of paradise
Rising from the rush of breakers
Vigil stood by the Coast Guard Cyclops eye
Snow White would find near perfect in their wickedness
twisted thorn trees clawing at her dress
Black silent monster bees buzz by the flowerless plants, to suck sap
A small red eyed devil-the mongoose that came long ago to catch rats
jumps from trashcan to trashcan eating man’s refuse
in residence with the other bastard slope dweller, the undomesticated cat
The grass is so dry, it would be easy to light and watch this hell burn
This bastard slope with chained trashcans and twisted trees bleeding poison
but there is a garden and there are runners and walkers, wave stalkers
and a beautiful blue-green emerald sea with pink and purple clouds
with a red lighted buoy to light the way for wayward mariners
Just out of reach of those thorn branches that draw blood and try to hold you back from falling down and breaking your bones at this dangerous cliff
This bastard slope of paradise
Even in heaven there is garbage, picked up by saintly sanitation engineers and dumped on this bastard slope. – mh
Mud Bucketfeatured in the poetry forum October 20, 2011 :: 0 comments
It’s the weirdest thing I guess I do
and telling you, means we are special friends
I am a full grown man that makes mud pies
no, not with my grandkids or their friends
no, not to lure kids to a nightmare
I simply am a full grown man that likes to make mud pies in his backyard
like a man that likes to dress in his wife’s clothes while she is at work
I go into the backyard, get some dirt in this old mud bucket
I get the hose and I make mud pies
I put stuff to represent toppings on them
I have it down to an art form
Hmmmm, we wonder, what backyard flotsam would suffice for toppings; fudge chunk, cherry swirl or pistachio nut? – mh
Skyla’s DreamcakeSeptember 5, 2011 :: 0 comments
“I want to swim with a mermaid.” ~ Skyla 5 yrs.
Because I’m 5, I can’t decide what kind of cake I want.
So I had a dream.
And I, I dreamed my pillow—was a dreamcake.
Baked by baker fairies, named Wiff, Pritz and Larry.
I got icing in my ear, and a candle stuck in the other.
It’s made my bed a sticky mess, I’ll not tell mother.
I managed to blow out a single candle that had stayed lit on my nightstand, as the cake slid out of bed.
I thought of the ocean and cleaning the icing off my hair and head.
And my dreamcake, for dear dream birthday wish, presented me with pretty girl on the coral rock, tail and hair that went swish, swish.
“Skyla”, she said in tempting mermaid voice, “would you like to swim with me?”
And into the ocean, knocking off clumps of icing they went.
But the water woke her up, and to her surprise, only a faint smell of ocean lingered. And a wee bit of icing on one finger.
A single fish scale, lay shining like a rainbow on the spread.
Sweet! Mermaids, cake, dreamscape – a happy birthday indeed. I’m still smiling. – mh