Hawai‘i Literature & Art
— Since 1978 —
Speaking to the gods We had a long talk the other day – the gods and me. I thanked them for my good life, and they said they had no more to give, and I had no more to ask. “Cashing in your chips?” they asked. I said, “I know you would like that because…
I asked a palmist for my future. Looking at her, I asked impolitely, “What do you mean ‘used up?” She replied, “You married flowers.”
Dream Lover as if in a dream sliding off a silver moonbeam you come and lay down by my side – you touch my bare shoulder, wash my back with your hair, and press your scented body to mine. Your voice is wet with promise to love me till the moon shadows leave the wall,…
Drama In our small world we create drama to others – curiosity to the world – unnoticed.
Story Number Two * * * * * Nighthawks – Chapter 1 When you wish hard enough for something, you might get it. It was getting late, and I moved over to a barstool to tell her that I was in the mood for her. She looked at her watch, took my hand, turned it…
Angry, I pulled away from her and looked down the bar for my safe bet laughing with another leftover. Turning to my palmist, I asked impolitely, “What do you mean ‘used up?’” She replied, “You married flowers.” I softened and said to her that I knew a place that would take us forever. “You can…
Nighthawks-Chapter 2 While waiting for her reply, the last call bell broke the silence, and the “leftovers” raised their brown stained fingers from the water-marked bar for one more. Downside the bar, a glassy-eyed strawberry blond with a scrambled egg hairdo gave me the once-over with a toothy smile, and for a moment, I thought…
When you wish hard enough for something, you might get it. It was getting late, and I moved over to a barstool to tell her that I was in the mood for her. She looked at her watch, took my hand, turned it over, then rested her chin with her other hand and looked at…
Broken Wings You can find these people with broken wings who were once angels but flew too close to the ground touched the earth with tips of their wings and became grounded. You can find them in bars, sleeping on park benches, playing slot machines, praying to match.com, glued to their cell phones, and evenings…
When I think of painting you, I think of dust and roses tossed into a confetti starred night. We should all remain incomplete for someone to apply the next brush stroke or another stanza in a poem.