Hawai‘i Literature & Art
— Since 1978 —
It’s true. I recommended the age-old old-age topic to the Buckaroo. Cocky me thought I could write a piece so full of longevity’s rewards as to inspire universal admiration and anticipation among the young. Starting with “Sure beats the alternative” and thinking to mine a rich vein of elder advantage, I falter at “the alternative”….
Looking at my naked self in a full-length mirror reveals a diverse palette of possibilities, some anticipated, some not. It seems that by choosing sudden baldness over the more gradual male pattern alternative, I have opened up other coiffure possibilities. In fact, invited them. Nay, demanded them. Judging by the preliminary stubble, I will have…
ON HE RODE — Chapter Thirty-Six The truth is, I don’t take offense easily. Cleverness and subtlety, even sarcasm and irony, are mostly wasted on me. I can get too tangled up in trying to make sense out of what just happened to be offended by it — or even to know if offense was…
PERAMBULATIONS (100 words first) In the very old days, Walking four miles From Belfair to Bear Creek After basketball practice Got me home Just in time for dinner. No mean feat For a seventh-grader, But, back then, Nobody thought much about it. Everist and Makela ran Most of the way, Ives at their heels. Me’n…
Write one piece twice, twenty-five words in one, a hundred in the other. Or a hundred first, then twenty-five. I chose the latter. Good fun.
If your the art of poetry mentor asks you to write the same piece about writing twice, using twenty-five words in one version and an even hundred in the second, would you write the big one first, then cut it back for the second try? Or would you write the small one first, then expand…
Was it three years ago or four when I thumbed my way across the country’s biggest state, the beginning of an adventure that has taken me up and down the Coast, over to Hawaii, then Europe, then Hawaii, now here, the second-biggest state? Four, I think. A lot of stops along the way. Not a…
Souza was the first to go, then Bert, then Bert’s wife, then Mark, then Joe, then Joe’s wife. Lights dimming, burning out all over the neighborhood, darkness descending, settling, stilling talk-story shouts, taunts, laughter. Visitors remark on the quiet. It’s so peaceful. The wind in the ironwood. The birds.
“Need help?” I inquire through my open shotgun window. The family assumes a defensive posture that has Daddy holding a jack handle at the back of the car, Junior crouching unarmed behind him, Mama looking stern behind Junior, and Sis leaning on the right front fender behind Mama. “Flat tahr,” Daddy answers. “Bad luck,” I…
One summer I towed a Citroen 2CV From Hamburg to Copenhagen Using two silk neckties as rope Connecting it To the Dutch bicycle I rode. It was faster And more reliable Than the French car Into which I’d crammed All the shit A novice traveller to Europe Just might need.