Kailua Poems

I’m in the air

Air mixes with air
water with water
Phil says that I’ll be in the air
Lost in the other passengers on the plane

Lost in empathy for audible side sighs
and aware of twisting glances
some mundane pain and some real misery
some genuine joy would be
uncomfortable to find and experience

Can i not lose myself here?
Drinking soft water on an airplane above the great pacific?

Socialized to lose my innate and Godly dialectics
Those peaceful paradoxes that bless
a receiver with such sweet tension.
Our primitive brains seeking comfort and
death in objects of false understanding.

On Saturday I will concern myself greatly with
the first football game of the season.
the lord’s university vs. a worthy and secular foe

On Sunday I’ll bless my baby to have joy in a fallen world

This week I go snorkeling with my in-laws in paradise

To Tiger

Dear Tiger Woods,
I’ll give you your privacy. I’ll give you your privacy if you take mine. I’ll avert my eyes at the check out stand. I’ll change the channel when they’re talking about your personal life– but I want you to know me personally. If it’s by way of 2010 fame and internet expose or by some other way is of no consequence.
I want no privacy. I want facebook friends to blog about me to their followers. I want to be the subject of a twit or tweet. I must be made to feel that I’m influencing another being. Even Han Solo was pretending to be a loner. Tiger, buy me a puppy.

Yours truly,
-Amerca Vespucci Capeccino III

Imagining a beach scenario

Child has red eyes
in salt water
wife has beach sand between
toes. i hunger and thirst
the bottled water works and this sandwich does
not suit me
i’d like to live
providently but
right now I
will choose death
in a 9 dollar
cheeseburger that tastes like regrettable sin
Then I will
assert without shame
the reality of my choice to said wife

man makes fire
man buys expensive meal
We will survive!

A Psalm for thine offerings

The river is a song
The stream a song
The ocean is one song.
with waves for rhythm
time kept by a wind washing

i can hear the pull and feel
it tear at my own dust and sand.
Soft skin erosion to continue this as I sometimes hum along,
sometimes listen.

She’s written a song today.
There are many songs in His song.
My God it’s beautiful!

To the ocean

I would call you a tease
if you teased.
I thought you teased
in every move.
But seeing the continuity in your
waves I know you are steady.

Harsh in beauty and discipline Impeccable in timing and flow;
You take no altering thought of me in the moment.
You are the moment,

If I could lose myself
in you then I would
feel the fullness.
I can come close with this
wind against my face.

I’ll hold this and this I’ll experience both
the contentment and the wanting.

The Streams

That doesn’t matter

It don’t have time for it.

The river is bold

It cuts throats.
Flows where it can

and will.

Holds both ends –

life and death.

and begins and ends

again and again.

In Songs

I don’t want to go inside.
I want to stay in your wind
Your waves are too beautiful
to leave to go indoors
and eat cereal.

These songs touch me.

I’ve felt embraced by breezes
that cannot be anything but your touch.
I’ve laughed at the thought
of my pretentious tears – feeling
your closeness on a resort
beach amidst the other tourists.
I am a fool – it’s obvious
and the best thing I’ve known for along time.
I’ll be your fool in your wind amidst your fools any day
Thank you for this small song.


at times i want to do nothing.
no need even to breathe.
no need.
no want.
just a station and statue.
a stillness like a
finished chair in a room
in a cabin in the woods


You are immovable
and always abounding in your works.
No ears for hearing my
Are there songs if there is no one to be sung to?
I would continue to sing to the rocks even
and waiting for your erosion I would change and decay.


Being one alone among
many wanderers
I acknowledge my want
for the just distant – the not yet reached.
My wonder needs a distant
home to reach for fullness and just fail.
A comely figure in the wind
A heavenly carrot attached to slender string and stick.

This is a way to wander – not unto
the lusts and moneys and fleshes.
But into wanting to be heard by waves and
wind. wanting the mountain feet to give for me as it does for the streams.
If mountains would be moved by my touch or glance then would I be content in love?
No I must be reaching.
Must be a wanderer
Must wander in deserts and reach for you – real and unknowable. unfinished

Dialogue between solar power and the “said Smith” – (or Icarus P. Pratt pleads his case demonstrating boldness and humility)

SP: Don’t fly to me foolish boy
be content with my glow
stay grounded youthful heart

keep feet on dirt and rock
only gaze toward and not at me.
where is your fear? do you not
listen to the traditions of your fathers?

You dream to be exalted
beside me
but your pride blinds things
as they are.

Everyday I reach you warmly and you feel it.
You perceive it as a beckoning call while the others would flee this heat.
Do you think yourself loved above all others?
I bathe all of these low things
with my light.
Surely you can see
Can you not see?

SS: I am youthful but I can see.

Because of you I can see.

And in your touch I feel your life

and mine borrowed.

I come to you with boldness

yes. Not in pride of self.

I surrender my self and body –

my foolish wax wings to you.

I come not to be exalted

beside you but in you.

I am nothing.

I know I am nothing – just this desire.

Even this acknowledged tilt upward is yours

and it must return!

Will you not allow me

to enter your warmth?

Will you not take me apart by

elements and allow me to become

part of your glow

and glory?

I would be in your reaching

if you would let me come and live.

SP: I will


You burned me
Did you not ask me to burn you?
I did.
I did ask you to burn me.
Do you now want an apology?
I do not.
I did not know my foolishness.
I forgot the reality of being burned by that heat.
I imagined the romance of it.
It is not romantic to me now.
I am uncomfortable with blisters and regret.
Pain of discipline sounds more romantic to me right now.
You almost always forget.
I know!
i’m trying to always remember.
I know.

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We’ll fix it in post.

We’ll fix it in post

We’ll fix it in post

We’ll fix it in npost

Wi’ll fix it in apos

Swils sfils o


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other poems

THE SORROWS (Rated ‘R’ for mature themes, uncomfortable realities, and misunderstood reasons)

It’s just a small thing to me

Everything that happens all the time

It’s just a piece of the world

A part of the whole of it

In the ugly beautiful brilliant corner

The scared and shamed shadow corners

Lack of light leaning from light

Held together by expanding dissolving circle ends

It’s a great big piece of these gathering pieces of universes

I’ll be sad and know it

Know what it is

and I’ll like it like soup

THE DIALECTICS (Received messages approved in the here and now by myself in December of 2008)

Do you believe all things?

I believe some things

I lie about most things

I sleep at night

I misunderstand almost everything every day

I would be ready to be shown things as they are on rare days

My eyes don’t see well

They’re not made for seeing

They’re made to hide things

These eyes are good for little decaying shapes that don’t fit into the earth or the body

Some rusting device – nothing real

In not of

Lose to find

An embryonically divine natural enemy

Eat fruit to live and die

And live

Die and don’t die

Change nothing when you change

Can you follow me?

You can’t do it can you?

Do it though.

You’re not a demon

You’re not a god

You’re not a human

You’re everything

You’re less than the dust

You’re nothing

I love you and you can love me.

I’ll try to seek after all things.


Is there a question?

I have nothing for you that is new.

No riddles to solve or banquets to plan.

It’s just me.

I want to come

With something worth while

Something exciting or mysterious

I have me and I am afraid to give it away

I want to keep it and hide it and burry it and save it for fear

You understand that. Can’t abide it though and I’m glad.

Make me reach right?

I know your answers but am weary

Of believing it.

Weary of feigned effort. Weary of effort.

Weary of plural marriage and race relations and mohawk judgments.

I know… “it’s not you it’s me.”

I’d like to hear real words from you.

This song helps me to feel like you can speak real words to me.

John Coltrane keeps playing like you’re there.

Real improvised tears-

From your miserable joy.

How would that be!

Oh, please let it be

If I knew you were crying right now that would help.


She’s sleeping with a baby inside her.

The baby’s awake?

Baby’s moving she’s still.

Natural enemies and friends to God

Put together and held together by all things

All opposite things.


Don’t worry about worrying

This is normal to be worried about worrying

This is normal to be sadder today than yesterday

This is OK to be a person who is struggling

This is OK to be getting older and less sure

It’s part of it

You can love this too

You can’t have it

You can’t keep it

You can try

You will


Where would you keep it?

You don’t have any shelves on your shoulders

No storage in your organs or vessels

All must eventually be given before being asked.

All must be lost.

It’s mana – it’s not from here

don’t try to use it for what it’s not intended.

Don’t be afraid of serpents.

You’re lying to yourself with your closets.

It’s funny and sad and I understand that you need to

Store things to feel safe.

You’re afraid that all will be lost without control.

You’re right that all must be lost.

And it’s OK to be afraid today –

You’ll grow up and learn something

about illusions and fear.

WOULD TO KNOW (Today I would not be a swine to your pearls)

Today I wrote that “if I knew you were crying it would help”

I meant that.

Today I would not be a swine to your pearls

I would not hearken to another thing other than your tears

And your fullness.

But I think you have been crying and I am a swine. I don’t understand this

But making an attempt so

If you will-

I will become a lamb

(and then likely wander).

But I won’t walk off cliffs or into darkened dens.

Wanderings will be somewhat acceptable

A slight grazing on a distant hill before coming at your call.

I would come back every time.

And at night I’d stay up and listen to your sad Sheppard songs

The ones you would sing about the lost lambs.

I would want to stay close to hear you cry about those lambs

To understand the reasons for the world.

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INTERNATIONAL DEVELOPMENTALISM (mutual aid, interpersonal meandering and an intrapersonal conflict)

A little brown coyote.

Every night or every so often it comes to my back yard.

Let me start this again –

A little brown coyote –

Comes to my back patio for scraps

Down from the foothills (I live in the foothills)

I’ve come ­this close to touching it’s nose    <>–     <____)\?

I’m trying to show you something with this

I Keep telling you the wrong way


I’ve trained a little brown person

To beg at my patio and I’ve come so close to touching its dirty little face.

I feed it scraps and it brings me good news gospel of my salvation.

I feel proud of my efforts to serve this little Mexican person from mexico.  (doing the right thing)

We’re both afraid of the world and lacking but we’re believing.

We believe all things and we fear all things.


I don’t think I should have to know. I know less now.

Won’t be fearful about all that. More secure maybe seeing this ‘weakness.’

It’s hard – like learning how to forget how to ride a bike.

Yesterday I was the king of my culture and a slave to my heuristics.

Now I will be the willing servant of a belief in the unknowable.

I’ll know that I know


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one of my favorite songs. by george

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a song

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