Aloha! Once you arrived to Hilo, go through the small open airport. There should be palm trees slightly swaying high as if they were overseers of the island. If they are swaying, it should rain soon, but it rains often on the leeward side of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. Don’t think this day is a bust. Rent an economy size car, leave the airport, and cruise onto Kamehameha Avenue through Hilo’s downtown. Notice how the place gleams with history along the ocean.   Unique shops line the area with different kinds of woodwork, glasswork, and jewelry. Do not be overwhelmed. Instead, find a little native man under 4ft tall, by the name of Kumu. He will have a small dog in a coconut bra. Buy some strawberry papayas from him and only him. Eat them. It’s okay. Leave Hilo and hop onto Highway 19. Remember not to pick up hitchhikers. It could be the fire goddess, Pele.   Not too far away from Hilo is Rainbow Drive, a huge waterfall that falls 80 feet deep. Several rainbows ...

Why do you love a woman who just uses you for your money Loving another foolish man who cries BE BOLD Tell her you will leave Why do you continue to let a man bruise your beautiful body Covering bruises with makeup and lies BE BOLD Tell him you will leave We’re losing time loving people who don’t love us BE BOLD

My mind if so vast that Poseidon is jealous of me My thoughts are the currents to the future Most of you reason-haters will never be free Ride my ideas like waves and to me you should suture If I could date my mind It would be better than Obama’s No compromising just adopting ideas like babies each one of a kind No offense Obama but I prefer my mind to be like my mama’s I like brain massages from Bill Gates I process images faster than any hard drive Don’t be fooled I’m still old enough to appreciate Kathy Bates Her misery says my mind will be worth millions, dead or alive Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me Me, me, me, me, me, me ,me ,me 

"The Little Girl Who Wanted to Be King" by Louis Toliver Jr “Alright, boys! Hold it down!” King Pete beat the jungle gym with a large stick like a gavel. “The Jungle Boys is meeting now!” he climbed the top of the jungle gym and sat on top of them as if he were above a kingdom. In the distance, on the other side of the playground, there was a playhouse, where all the ones The Jungle Boys didn’t speak of spent their time, The Wasteland. The Jungle Boys was an all-exclusive all-boys club that met during morning and afternoon recess. Pete was the eldest second grader of Mrs. Marion’s class at near 9 years old and therefore he felt that gave him leadership of the club. Roll call went as follows:…Andy, Jimmy, Johnny, Jamil, Phil, Justin, Matt, Tommy,   Simms, and Judd… “Here!” they chanted in unison. “Alright, first business, The Jungle here is getting too small for the membership. We need to vote on a new location to have our meetings,” King Pete poked out his ches...

We Winter Dragons ensnared in deceiving chain-link vines, fire within our veins. The whole hostile world is beset by cold, yet soon to go up in flames. Death before rebirth written in rhyming verse, look between the lines. Bringing Strength out of weakness, Confidence out of doubt Light in the darkest of times. Our art a metaphor for where we are, our canvases are readied and primed. We paint with reckless passions laid bare, read into our lyrical designs.

In this old costume store, a shrine of a mannequin with old fashioned clothing stands hidden in the very back, away from anyone who might show interest. At one point in time this mannequin might have been beautiful but who would know? White spots showing from underneath the white painted skin, black marks all over the face maybe from overuse. Maybe it's a shrine because it's more realistic and unique of its kind with the worn lipsticked lips and fading eyes. Those mannequins seen in the real stores, dressed with their custom designs, the whatever kids are interested in, the whatever is more dessert for the eyes – they just don't know. This older mannequin seems to be wiser than that especially with its collection of different sparkling, red, Dorothy shoes below it. The mannequin must believe there is no place like home. And maybe this is not its home. It could be that this mannequin knows that home is the most real place it can be. Home is the only time it can be ...

Oh America, my heart pumps love for you But, of course, my heart bleeds for my own self more Often I cry at the sight of anything blue And to the thought of those thinking I’m just a manwhore I also think of starving families, parents with no time for their kids Kids abused at home, mainly by society One that votes its rights away for more reality TV bids Okay America, I get why you reject sobriety I wear my heart on my sleeve and my back This is my puzzle to solve, just like “why I don’t have tits?” And why I can’t afford to buy a vowel from Pat Sajak When my heart is as beautiful as Vanna White’s shaved armpits Oh America, if your heart was as big as mine You’d make it your profile pic on e-harmony online

As a child I held you in awe. I watched from your shadow the esteem you held my mother in and the romance in her eyes. From my sensitive perspective you were always larger than life, a man beyond  my comprehension. Your presence was constant, our role as your family never questioned. From my very first memory, you were there and we belonged to you. As I grew through adolescence, I drifted from your shadow to a corner of my own and  confusion overwhelmed me. I cannot bear to think of how much of your character I missed out on knowing during those  dark years and despite my rebellion, still I saw my mother glow and I knew that you were good and  eventually admitted that you were right. As a young adult I quietly asked admittance back into your life and you rejoiced. Again, a man  beyond my comprehension. I worked hard to get close to you from that time on and never did you let me down. Your response made me w...

Here's to the mystery man sitting in the corner I saw him looking blindly Not knowing I was staring from the opposite direction He couldn't notice me I was bound by the bar stool under the bleak light No attention was on me except for the swirling smoke Here's to the booth and the barstool Here's to the mystery of our relationship Starting off as oglers then to friends then to committed contestants in the game of barflying Here's to the booth and the barstool Here's to the mystery of The Bulldog How I found my husband there Well, that's a miracle Here's to the mystery of love and commitment Here's to the booth and the bar stool Where roaming eyes became a mysterious matrimony and a solved case of love.

  An outcast maiden’s virtues a witch’s jade upon my breast a darkness among church pews locked inside my treasure chest Little candy apple heart lost and improperly dressed my hidden core pulled apart locked inside my treasure chest A demon’s surging black blood a defined and hidden quest a twisted, drooping rose bud locked inside my treasure chest A blurry vision of love tucked away in a warm nest I’m yours, a captured white dove locked inside my treasure chest

Sadness; Emptiness; A path of destruction. Tiredness; Sickness; A cloud of delusion. Ignorance; Laughter; Patching up the whole. Happiness; Joy; The strength of every goal.

Too bright she burns, a fragment of the fire That flames within her eyes will immolate The unsuspecting subject of her ire, Reducing him to ash, a dreadful fate. And so she shines, her brilliance a mere mask While cowards walk around her, daring not, Their courage insufficient to the task Of walking though her fiery onslaught. Until he comes, inured to pain and death, Oblivious to all but her bright blaze, And braves destruction in a single breath To be incinerated by her gaze. To ash they both are rendered by the sight But flare again to fiery flame, too bright.

For their environment says they’re competing Really one is aware of that and the other is not Even though they are both the same Nevertheless one wants the other out Endless secrets are ammunition for each other Many ways to get underneath each other’s skin Yet they choose slyly to care for each other

Follow close behind me Follow close enough to feel me Last time the house was empty I gave myself to you inside the night No need to take the sun’s advice Come after the moonlight waves Inside I wait by the stairs  My love still built strong and sturdy So follow close behind me And let me lead you to the bedroom

When they say we can’t but we can: happiness encapsulated in time: every good road taken has been taken: people who were far away remain close: Thanksgiving diner served every Sunday: pulses of fabric knitted in unison: music stretched along the horizon: directions mended by similar scars: bolted fingers bonded by leaves: love built in a rock formation: he can: she can: they can: I can: you can: we can…

The woods distorted our reality and footed dusty trails muddled the way. Passioned trees undiscovered. Sneaking through the bushes like fleas fleeting. Cruel, smart hidden insects. Moving beyond rock beds into graveyards. Old metal molded, fearless dark, absent sun. Conquered woods play away from rigid home, a place of protection enclosing the imagination expanding the closeness between us. We were then children, we are still now. Footprints remain in the woods…