The impression in the path

Through Nuuanu where we tend to the unseen

and plant paths that lead to places praise

behind the shafts on streams

blending in to canopies and dreams.

There are no cars beneath the eaves of ancient trees

but the old road at its root is an intermediary,

a dead end where one keeps going

there is always rain

it is part of the unknowing.

The pilgrim in the valley

amongst the stones and the streams

substances to gather

he comes baring shadows.

Part the leaves

pull through sleeves and enter slowly.

Trees quiver in wild communication

of something coming

the night

in a masquerade of clouds

dances across the sky.

Shrouded mountains in morning

the soul, the impression in the path,

seeks no followers.

Close to the wet breast of forest

it maneuvers its feet in flecks of light

radiating off of bamboo dancing in the darker places.

Like Spring on its long way down

the mountain of melting

white wash over smooth stone

go alone and remain

open to receive

momentum, seasons, cycles,

rain seeping into the earth

like disparate dreams of fractured places

filling the mind with pools of inverted faces

sweats of anticipation, encouragement, indifference,

the unknown assuring that chapters finish

as feathers spread in the sun

to soar you from chopped off islands

in a sea of becoming.



Something vagrant like the breeze

Something vagrant like the breeze

There is a calling out through the chimes

in the narrow spaces

between neighbors and lives.

It spares you the voices

by carrying them off

beyond padded hills

it sprays the waves and

displays a dance of palms.

It’s whistling in the ironwood pines

ringing the bells of flag poles.

These traveling companions;

wind walking beside me, on a lane, leaves lonely

the moon balanced on a ridgeline

Behind the clouds, the peeking stars, the fast moving sky,

quivering leaves of descending eyes

dripping tears on parched skin

like a  blistered asphalt whim

and a plumeria leaf that rolls to its completion

only to begin again.

Dancing against fences

like specters climbing chain link.

Finding their fallen amongst the tangle of trees.

Leaving a prayer to this motion,

weaving an offering on the river top,

a thought as the sun goes down and the sky goes out,

something to begin and end with.

Empty me into the sea

with currents that speak of waves

that breach the empty beach

of stars you could practically reach.

Night is but an unprepared speech

that echoes in an empty hall.

Fall rain, burst from a swollen vein,

carry me through rivers of blood and drain

these streets of debris

tree trunks and mud wash through the city

like an emphatic victory.


Happy Summer Solstice! The change of season is a fitting place for me to begin this journey for I feel this is a significant transition for me.  For years I’ve kept my writings, observations and fragments of poetry in back pocket journals.  These little notebooks would follow me everywhere; through idle time and in the workplace, on the road and in the depots while traveling abroad or along the familiar streams and well worn paths of hikes  I’ve done countless times at home.  They were both friend and confidant, sometimes the only ones , certainly the most consistent. A place to map out or come to an understanding of both the internal and external states I would find myself in.

As these words and journals built up in dusty drawers, I began to re-visit them. I would pull out lines and thoughts that interested me, change a few words and transition into new pieces of writing. Each time new layers of meaning would be revealed depending on changes in my thoughts or in my life as a whole.  I got to thinking that these fragments of writing, whether I liked the way they sounded or not, were never truly finished.  Instead, they were like seeds or embryos that later writings would be born out of.

Through this  blog as a medium I hope to add further layers to these writings,  moving from the mostly personal relationship of myself to my journals into a more public space where feedback, interpretations and responses will be welcomed and encouraged.  In this way collaboration is possible.

Some themes I would like to further explore, for example, the individual’s relationship to nature, the traveler’s relationship to the road or the writer’s relationship to creativity are common threads that run throughout these notebooks and can become topics to discuss and elaborate on in this forum.

Thank you for stopping by and taking a moment to read. Until next time.