Oh, to sail upon the sea.
To brave that which so scares me,
To leave land and life behind,
To sever those ties that bind.

To experiance all those amazing places that I so want to SEE!
That will be something that will forever impact me.
But oh,
Can it happen?
I don't know!

I'm really sick in my body,
Even though I have never said,
It is true that at times I,
Who so loves life,
And beauty.
Have wished to be dead.

Sometimes it is hard to continue on,
But I CAN be strong.

Because I want to experiance those places,
To see,
The world,
The tropics,
Those places,
That make me hope and dream,
The sea and its steams,
There is so much to see!

Dear God,
My lord,
heal me,
Let me be healthy,
So that I can live my dreams,
And photograph,
And experiance,
All that is in my heart,
All that is me.

I want to feel hot white sand beneath my feat,
To stand underneath the Saharan sun,
to feel that great heat,
To Stand upon Rapau Nui,  
To FEEL that island beat,
I want to gaze upon the pyramids,
That are ages old,
To gaze upon greek statues of Zeus,
Marble and Gold.
To see forests,
Forever untouched by man,
To visit places,
Unique upon all the lands.

Seattle is my home,
From Father Mountains,
And Mother sea,
But I want to see those places that I always dream of.
Lord,
God,
Let me be free,
Let me healthy.

Or,
To hell with that,
Let me,
Be,
Tenacious enough,
To do what I dream of,
Anyway,
Good God,
Just let my spirit soar,
Let me see,
Let me Photograph,
Just,
LET ME BE FREE,
Just let me open my eyes to beauty,
and let me see.
(with camera in hand)
Long I stand,
Healthy or not,
Let it be known,
Life's,
God's,
Gaea's,
Great beauty,
I have sought.

Gone on too long,
This poem has rambled.
Dear lord,
Let me,
See.  

At the end of my days,
Be it months or years,
Let me see those mountains,
Seas,
Shores and streams,
Let me see those places,
that constantly show up,
That shine through my dreams.

Let me see,
With camera in hand.
Sick or healthy.
Every part of me,
Will do my damndest,
to fight,
To take pictures,
and to stand,

Upon those shores,
sands and streams,
that beckon me,
through my dreams.

Maui Clouds are rolling by
Palm trees shimmy and Hula in the breezes
Gently embracing the ancestry, ,tradition,
and people who care about what was and what is
Their ancestor’s (Kapuna)memories and achievements are profound and respected
As is wisdom
Grateful to hear the language and words with joy everywhere
It is truly magical and mystical
Honolulu, Oahu ,Kapalua Maui, Kauai and Kona
Peace  and calm
Joy and wonder
All Majestic natural beauties
Royalty and  Pleasure Personified
Love for Mother Nature and her children
Don't forget Hanalei in Kauai's North Shore.
Rugged and pristine.
See Poipu on the South Shore
of Kauai where Jurassic Park was filmed
Ma’lama  Makai- care for the ocean
Ma’lama ka’aina - take care of the land
Ku’u Pu’uwai
Land is the source of knowledge
Ma’lama Ika Aino
Dear Hawaii Maholo
Mahalo nui loa
Mahalo nui
A hui hou. Til we meet again
Anuenue means Rainbow
Please visit Puff the Magic Dragon in Hanalei if Peter,Pail,and Mary mean something to you

This clade of “tree”
if  you can believe that
! That this is   what   the
...      silversword alliance technically are.
It's closely related              tarweed...


The first **** wasn’t lonely for long and had
multiple terrains to colonize.
& tall tales take solidified liquid form
from the something
making water like fire
or air we can’t see floating like ice.
Pushed in a away a tsunami
seem small as they cross over the ocean.

Only they roar
louder then anything heard, but a drip
silenced lost lost
to deaf ears
empty troughs of the dunes  
soft sand triumphing over the oceans.


The four subclades within the crossing times
sowed their alliance,
silversword are the tall tales
detail of long ago seemingly insignificant kept
life form, form life , forms
forms life

we know because it’s indistinguishable from the rest.  

probabilities estimates Vertical
no horizontal or dashed lines.
Bound by the ' it was', see.
we are to the way we
were. Read the possible
probability of a tale, A tale  

of a tall tale. Told.
Origination, will, times. They tell,
seconds per island
complex (from left-to-right:
Kaua‘i, O‘ahu, Maui Nui, Hawai‘i).

And then there was orange, glinting in a pile
from the ground outside my second story window.
I sit and count the scattered papers on my
bedroom floor, thinking, "Maybe someday the
past and present will meet," though I know full-well
that they already have.
Now it is twofold, it is insult to injury, it is
twenty seven eleven.

We are lies, aren't we? We are thankful for
the unknown. My father sips scotch and devours the
truth. I catch my connecting flight and travel back
in time. The man in the blue coat is replaced by
the man in the black hat, the man with the feather
hat, and the man with naught but war paint.
It is like the movies, I decide. I settle on a log bench
and read the classifieds in the newspaper.

Mother and father tell me to count my blessings
as if they are sheep. I tell them that their analogy
is flawed. Morning comes and I tie a string around
my ring finger, proclaiming, "I am here to collect
thanks! Bring out your wish lists and your tattered
diaries!" I am a liar; I am thankful for nothing but
sickness and ink. I write "twenty seven eleven"
three hundred times and vow to make a difference.
I fill my car and my fridge and roller blade up
the mountain, chanting, "Noa! Noa! 'Oia'i'o! A'ole
mahalo nui!" My cries go unheard and I sulk
back down, a landslide for the ages.

I begin to write poetry that oozes pretension and
reflects obsession. I try to pronounce the disease
and instead find myself bound to a table crushed by
feast and fear. I have written "twenty seven eleven"
on my forehead and am forced to listen to the "Lord"s
and "grateful"s and "God"s and I have had enough.

I break free and head for reason.

Ei fu. Siccome immobile,
dato il mortal sospiro,
stette la spoglia immemore
orba di tanto spiro,
così percossa, attonita
la terra al nunzio sta,
muta pensando all'ultima
ora dell'uom fatale;
né sa quando una simile
orma di pie' mortale
la sua cruenta polvere
a calpestar verrà.
Lui folgorante in solio
vide il mio genio e tacque;
quando, con vece assidua,
cadde, risorse e giacque,
di mille voci al sònito
mista la sua non ha:
vergin di servo encomio
e di codardo oltraggio,
sorge or commosso al sùbito
sparir di tanto raggio;
e scioglie all'urna un cantico
che forse non morrà.
Dall'Alpi alle Piramidi,
dal Manzanarre al Reno,
di quel securo il fulmine
tenea dietro al baleno;
scoppiò da Scilla al Tanai,
dall'uno all'altro mar.
Fu vera gloria? Ai posteri
l'ardua sentenza: nui
chiniam la fronte al Massimo
Fattor, che volle in lui
del creator suo spirito
più vasta orma stampar.
La procellosa e trepida
gioia d'un gran disegno,
l'ansia d'un cor che indocile
serve, pensando al regno;
e il giunge, e tiene un premio
ch'era follia sperar;
tutto ei provò: la gloria
maggior dopo il periglio,
la fuga e la vittoria,
la reggia e il tristo esiglio;
due volte nella polvere,
due volte sull'altar.
Ei si nomò: due secoli,
l'un contro l'altro armato,
sommessi a lui si volsero,
come aspettando il fato;
ei fe' silenzio, ed arbitro
s'assise in mezzo a lor.
E sparve, e i dì nell'ozio
chiuse in sì breve sponda,
segno d'immensa invidia
e di pietà profonda,
d'inestinguibil odio
e d'indomato amor.
Come sul capo al naufrago
l'onda s'avvolve e pesa,
l'onda su cui del misero,
alta pur dianzi e tesa,
scorrea la vista a scernere
prode remote invan;
tal su quell'alma il cumulo
delle memorie scese.
Oh quante volte ai posteri
narrar se stesso imprese,
e sull'eterne pagine
cadde la stanca man!
Oh quante volte, al tacito
morir d'un giorno inerte,
chinati i rai fulminei,
le braccia al sen conserte,
stette, e dei dì che furono
l'assalse il sovvenir!
E ripensò le mobili
tende, e i percossi valli,
e il lampo de' manipoli,
e l'onda dei cavalli,
e il concitato imperio
e il celere ubbidir.
Ahi! forse a tanto strazio
cadde lo spirto anelo,
e disperò; ma valida
venne una man dal cielo,
e in più spirabil aere
pietosa il trasportò;
e l'avviò, pei floridi
sentier della speranza,
ai campi eterni, al premio
che i desideri avanza,
dov'è silenzio e tenebre
la gloria che passò.
Bella Immortal! benefica
Fede ai trionfi avvezza!
Scrivi ancor questo, allegrati;
ché più superba altezza
al disonor del Gòlgota
giammai non si chinò.
Tu dalle stanche ceneri
sperdi ogni ria parola:
il Dio che atterra e suscita,
che affanna e che consola,
sulla deserta coltrice
accanto a lui posò.