I walk in the store thinking Notahaolenotahaolenotahaole Singing to the Jpop on the store sound system Customers stare when I buy natto. Then I pick up nori flavored potato chips Notahaolenotahaolenotahaole I put the natto, daikon, anpan, nori potato chips, and a box of miso on the counter “That all sir?” I answer my phone…

She knew everything. At least she always sounded like she did. “Riesling goes with anything,” she proclaimed with authority. Those proclamations always came before an audience of more than me. After a few weeks with her I was beyond impressing. “Anything?” gasped one of her vapid coworkers, the one who crocheted those doll torso toilet…

I no understand How some people, yeah, Follow words they scratch down on one long piece paper, Like at Foodland, yeah, The lady in front me at check out, Looking at her list: cereal, bread, cheese, wine… She forgot the wine, ask me, Can save her spot? I say, “Go for it,” cuz, gotta show…

He held his left lat with his big right hand and doubled over, gasping with laughter, struggling to keep the fruit jar in his left hand from spilling. Old Slim Remington finished a full gallon of Petri fortified white and watched TV evangelists every night of the year. Bought us beer and never took a…

Wine make da words come Fast sound good until you see No mo aloha

The words you speak spout an armed force of meaning deployed to overwhelm me beating my brain with your Scrabble victory vocabulary triumphing over me while you further drop fancy phrases to boggle my mind always in a specially covert way that makes me think we are not ever having an actual conversation but some…

Going grocery shopping in September? If you have a Maikaʻi Card, you can make a donation to Bamboo Ridge Press (#77156) at any Foodland or Sack n’ Save for the Give Aloha promotion. BR Issue #106 is here and we’re celebrating with our Annual Wine & Words Fundraiser. But this year is a little different!…

Rekindling the breath Stoking the fire of words Stories come to life

Sucking thoughtfully at his purple, throbbing thumb, He examines the new deck: It looks good, feels strong, Feels right.

Here, the short grass is an emerald green – moist from sprinklertone, tinged with honeydew scent. Here, the street lights, low-sodium auroras, are soft yet sullen; lacking the light-heartedness necessary to stretch into midnight skies. Here, even the low, somber hoot of a distant owl lends itself to a surrounding silence – a silence borne…