Hawai‘i Literature & Art
— Since 1978 —
Music rings, chuckles through COVID-19’s dark orbit, the beating wings of blue birds over rainbows raised by elbows, the whispering sway of kaholos in rhythm to flashes of IZ out of a Bluetooth sound system. We practice hula on the stage of an empty outdoor amphitheater, masked, six-feet apart. A fluid grace unmoors us from…
in five large black plastic pots on my lānai, watering, and fertilized with care, I am satisfied, bear the slight tremor in my hands that grows more visible, so much so that I sometimes hide them when I talk with people, self-conscious, suspicious they may be staring at this infirmity judging me, he can till soil…
You now call me an old man An over the hill seventy-one-year old But you have no idea at all What you are looking at You see the rough bark Of the old tree Not the rings of age Of experience, laughter and pain You see the brownish decaying leafs Fluttering hesitantly towards…
Aloha, aloha, aloha. Dis da tird an las prompt for Novembah. 100 words only. Not 99, not 101, but 100 words on da nosy-lani. from “Painted Passages” by Gail N. Harada 1. The even weave of the canvas becomes a familiar as childhood, perhaps an expanse of sky or sea the ground we walk on…
Flying down Kamehameha Hwy towards Haleiwa at eighty miles. Suddenly, sirens and blue light behind me. I slow down, stop on the side of the road. Young police officer walking towards my car. “Uncle, what you doing speeding?” It is Jake, one of my son’s friends. “You know I should be citing you, but hey,…
When I Am Gone There’s something about stones that lure us to remember loved ones who have passed on. At my father’s grave, we stand hip-cocked or sit, chatting about Sissie’s new boyfriend, and life on this side of heaven. I wistfully look at my Dad’s gravestone. My boys say, “No need for you, Ma! …
We Are Made Of Star Stuff Carl Sagan got it right, It’s just that it gets buried From everyday shit That pile on and on You know what I mean, The baby born before high school graduation, The welfare and food stamps used with head held high, The HPD husband who fooled around And even…
He knew facts of every refrigerator and range. Still he wondered why local couples walked right past him and went straight to the haole salesmen. Right past the short, pudgy Chinese guy in the short-sleeve white shirt and the crooked tie. Shet, I can sell just as good as dem. He started with a clip-on…
Remember, this month we’re writing pieces that are EXACTLY 100 words in length. Prose, poetry, a hybrid style, anything goes, but make sure your entry is exactly 100 words. The title does not count in the word count. * * * * There is neither light nor fuel for light in the paper lanterns swinging…
The best thing to keep in mind when you are asked to write a hundred words on any topic is that it won’t be deathless prose and that all you really need to do is keep picking them up and putting them down like a middle-distance runner, not worrying about cleverness or elegance of expression…