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shamamama Apr 27
Hungry.

In the silence,
of this afternoon,
they arrive, ready
to feed children who wait
in nest high above.
Their high whistle dancing,
pierces the soundscape
These mejiros--yellow with sharp white eyes,
Comb through hibiscus bush
Finding a meal
Hidden within
Like  parrotfish
Munching through coral reef,

I sit under tree listening,

Abruptly
The seashells to my mind
Fill with shrill sounds
Of mothers scolding monsters,
A quickening--
Their white eyes dart like fearful
squid flying through
brushy undercurrents.
Underneath,
The small lion cat
Stalks the
Hungry sounds
In the bush

the Hungry looking for Hungry
Mejiros fill the landscape here, they are active feeders and singers of this tropical landscape.  I played with metaphors from the land and from the sea--reflecting on Hawaiians who match something from the earth and something from the sea.
3.4k · May 14
The Whisper of the Dragon
shamamama May 14
Kolea sees the rising of Orion's belt
and follows the belt into dawn's day
He spent his winter on green pastures on an island
nourished by rainwaters which have fallen
swelling into rivers and red dirt

Plumage changes, reminding him of his return
to the Alaskan tundra
How can he know this path of
three thousand miles across ocean
to ancient nesting grounds
his grandmothers used?
What faith does he need to ride through
currents of air across vast waters to reach land?

He arrives in green tundra,
and finds his feathered brothers and sisters,
Seeking his mate,
they dance and unite,
then begin their nesting ritual,
Eggs laid, patience sets in

Time well spent, the eggs are ripe to hatch
emerging birds open mouths wide to
feed and grow strong--
Those bones, those feathers, those wings
must be mighty  
for the journey home

They watch the sky for the sign to return,
Some seekers who have called him papakolea
follow him now in double hulled canoes
praying to the night sky,
While papakolea listens for the
whisper of the dragon
thrashing across dark skies

In the middle of the ocean
he rides on dragon's breath
to find a pasture on an island
where he had fed a year ago,
Paddling canoes, tracing after stardust
from papakolea
they reach the shores and reunite to land
In this way
Seabirds and seekers
find reunion
Every May, for maybe thousands of years, the kolea (pacific golden plover birds) begin their migration to Alaska, to meet their mate, and lay eggs.They all return in August, to rest and feed up for the next migration. I have often wondered how they sense their traveling time--I have also wondered how the Hawaiians found the islands---and so a while ago, I wrote this poem, to explore this.  One of my Hawaiian elders shared that the Milky Way is "the dragon" in the sky, and as the Milky Way rotates in the tropical night sky,  the dragon is "thrashing" in the sky.
3.3k · Jan 27
I want to go Fishing Mom
shamamama Jan 27
Streambed calls to you
Calls to you to share its stories
Trickling water over rocks
Melt into your timeless day,
Your hands gently caress the living water
You feel its gentleness,
Its strength, its current flowing
through your soul

Where are the fish you seek?

As you sit,
Palms dip in water,
Slowly, Slowly
They come, one by one,
To your cup of hands
Curious, cautious
Tasting finger, nail, knuckle

Cupping them gently
Seeing their colors and shapes
Testing their braveness
Wiggling fingers, they dart and dash
This is your way of fishing

Young hand touching fish,
human spirit touching the spirit of fish
You sense one another
How long can you visit?

Land friend meets water friend
This is what you mean by fishing
fishing, nature, human spirit, young child, living water
shamamama May 27
Pull the weeds, plant the seeds
this is what the garden said

choose what stays
choose what goes

be mindful when you do

the silver oaks darken the sun in the mind
trim the trunks, so light may you find

the bindweed traps the heart
clip the vine, free the art

the poison oak stings your delicate hand
let the goats eat these weeds right off the land

the pompous grass clouds the soul in your eyes
pluck these weeds before they set and rise

the deadweed piles darken your spirit
compost the weeds, lighten your merit

plant the seeds of love, hope and color
water with nourishment, fertilize with wonder
and you will warm the heart of another

and then,

begin again,

pull the weeds
plant the seeds
I feel like my garden has been talking to my soul and I want to share the conversation.
2.9k · Jun 4
Spirit Moves Through You
shamamama Jun 4
I see it in your eyes
    In ways like you are the otter
I see it in your positive flow
    In ways you are the magician
I see it in your smile
    In your flight
I see the bird in your heart
    I see the spirit moving through you
This is a birthday poem for my dear friend who swims like an otter, flies like a bird, and smiles like a magician
2.9k · Apr 11
Mother Taro
shamamama Apr 11
I met Mother Taro once,

        She is an angel you know

I saw her in the greenery of
John Pia's Taro Patch.

She dawned the past, the present
and the future
More plant than woman,
and yet more root than angel wing--
Though her heart shaped wings
Repelled water as well
as any albatross or nene.
A rare bird in spirit.

She shared her plight to me
Of this modern time,
Watching the changes
In the faces of human kind

She remembers being a Goddess
And providing for all the people
In a time where she
traveled with the people
Over waters near and far
In double hulled canoe
To share her spirit
With new families.

And now, she feels like a myth
Told and retold by the elders
Alive more in the memories
And less on the land.

As she spoke, the message
Became more and more clear.
When might and power and greed and money
Seem of more value than
Root, wing, earth and pluck
We must take the time,

take the time

To tend each keiki and tend with care
So they may multiply
In healthy soil, water and air

So We the Living
Can live into eternity
For the winds of time
Will spite the might,
She said.
Seize this time
Seize this  day,
Seize this moment
to tend
We the Living.
May John Pias Taro Patch live on into eternity.
1.9k · Apr 29
The Mist Turns to Rain
shamamama Apr 29
Gentle silence unfolds into chaotic cacophany
My eyes once dry
open wide to watering
the rain outside
the tears inside
washing away debris
from the forest
of confusion
watering my seeds
of awakening
to this truth
now
The once quiet night turned from pattering to battering, pounding and sounding --more like the rain of jaguars and wolves awakening me into my thoughts...
1.8k · May 7
Timeless Wings
shamamama May 7
At first we flew with timeless wings
Into the dreams and beyond.  
And when the truths came
and monstered us all,
we had to cope or fall

I WAS walking on eggshells,                  
Walking on the razor's edge,
         I fell  into life
onto the ground of truth
                                           He IS walking on eggshells
                                           He IS walking on the razor's edge
                                           Life on one side, Death on the other

We are not Born in the air with timeless wings,
           Gravity grants space and time
                       And yet still
            What is up must come down
  
May the landing  be gentle,
like a lion's roar when it
comes to the mountain peak to
announce itself,
May it be wakening,
like the first summer sunrise burning into the day,
May it be embracing
like the entwining vines
racing upwards towards the sun
to gather all the light
Facing the truth around addiction, codependency, and just understanding what really drives us to be alive, drives us towards our own truth, surrendering to the pain of confusion and not knowing.. I write this poem, because always, always , even when my heart is broken, I am in favor of choosing life and the light.
1.7k · May 17
seaworthy
shamamama May 17
.                                                 sea and sand,                                          .
                ­                          salt and surf, foam and
                                       froth, greet and gather, tumble
                                    and turn, rock and roll, spray and
                                 spin, cross and current,                roar        
                               and rise, crash and curdle,                mix
                            and mash, blend and bash, drip
                         and drop, pour and plunder, leap and
                     layer, mound and mist, shine and sheen, scoop
                  and scale, spread and span, fall and falter, leap and
               layer, splash and spire, bubble and brine, writhe and write
         s             e            a           w           o           r            t           h           y
reflections on the ocean surf
shamamama May 8
Some strong sensations on my ankle
Unravel me
Dissolve me

Remind me
When pain and suffering
Led the path

I thought it was real,
Was the only,
Was the only way--

And now I wake up to ten thousand
Hairs on the soles of my feet
Tugging me
Into the day
From starlight
And ancestors
Going my way

Remember, remember
I walk on these feet
With curiosity, flexibility,
Wonder and love

Grandmother Earth
Is right down below-- So
Today I can step on
The ground with pure joy,
Embracing this place by
Loving breath from my soles
A Long while ago I was challenged for a few weeks by my legs, I learned to approach life and "my doings" with reverence and love to ceremony, intention, and awareness.
shamamama Jun 11
if i could pay you in poetry
would you prefer
fiery and feisty
loving and longing
crazy and crafty
scentual and sightful
playful and pranking
guru and gonzo
singing and songing
listening and lightness
softing and sensual
tender and tinder
laughter and limitless
insight and winsight

tell me,
what poetry would you
put in your bank?
On the notion of money in the bank, I wondered if he world would be different if we paid each other in poetry.  What do you think?
1.4k · Apr 28
Milkweed Angel
shamamama Apr 28
One drop of Dragon's breath
Stirs sleeper from dreamtime,

She wakes from the womb of creation
Where shadows dance into form
And reflections live in the past

Bound from silken fibers,
This ancient changeling,
Slowly creeps from cocoon.

Perching on branch
Impulses of flight and
A longing for air and nector
Breathe life into capillaries
And Rivulets newly knit.

Unfurling shape in patient sunlight,
Wings born of a great sleep
Reach into the light,
Waiting for droplets of life
To pulse in her being
Unveiling an opportunity
To fledge.

Where does her life begin and end?
She lives like a drop of water in a cloud.
Changing form from river to ocean
Evaporating to rise and fall
As snowflake on frozen pond

Where does beginning begin?
She  perches on tree of life
As sap flows life into her veins
Like a tree she waits.

Once Caterpiller
Once in darkness
Now life as Milkweed angel.
Butterflies are a beautiful mystery to me.  My latest understanding is when they go through metamorphosis, they literally turn into liquid to reform.This has me in awe!
1.2k · Jan 27
Rock
shamamama Jan 27
"What's your birthstone?  
I don't know, Oh, I know--it's rock."

Black rocks baking in the sun
dot this beach
Like chocolate chips in the dough
They call to us
Come climb,
Come hop on us
Find treasures hidden behind and between
All our dark shadows,

Lying as still as stone
A large rock shape,
Oh, it's grayer
and duller,
and there's sand sprinkled on it,
And it's moving!
It's Living Rock,
The monk seal napping
from its morning meal.

Yes- we watch others walk right by him
caught in their words,
Unaware of the living amongst the rocks,
Living Rock doesn't care
His belly is full

Gray sleek shape
massaged by the wind
with feast in your belly,
So mighty tired!
You taste your sleep for days,
Clouds cover the day's starlight you seek,
Your body begs for light, and yet
Nobody can wake you from your slumber
Not even the high pitched voices
of children playing
nor the fishing lines in and out of the tide

What of your dreams
Oh Large Gray Rock
Do you dream of the ocean tossing
Fish  into your mouth?
Or of the warm sun coming
to bake your skin?

The salt water dances up your nostrils,
You lift your head in mild protest
Then let it rest on your
Ancient bed of coral and shell bones
My feet love to dig into your bed

No insomnia for you sea creatures,
Maybe I should count monk seals
Instead of sheep when I want to sleep,
Your body clock measures time
Not in days or hours
But in meals, in hunts
In fullness, in emptiness
Your sleep is well earned
My friend

We can learn from you.
You bask, dream,
Then awaken renewed
To taste your ocean again,
Rock, monk seal, ocean,  beach, renewal
1.2k · Jun 16
Message to My Father
shamamama Jun 16
I know you can hear me
I saw you in my dreams...
When you lived on the terrestrial plane
I think we both spoke different languages.
Both about love,
Just about different ways of loving...
................Just so you know..............
I love you so......
Even if before you turned to fine dust
You never really
Got to see and feel
The depth of my

          I      

    l  o  v  e    

  y      o      u     

Written
In the language you spoke.
a message to my dad.He passed away two years ago, and he has visited me in my dreams.
1.1k · Jun 29
Bird Song
shamamama Jun 29
Melody
Lifting the veil
From dream world,
Remembering me
Into this body
Song bird
Gently strumming
My soul
Waking me
Into this day
I like the feeling of just waking up with bird chorus , (not by alarm) and just slowly letting myself feel the transition from dreamworld into waking world
936 · May 9
The Distortion
shamamama May 9
Innocence saw the truth
The mind filtered it, and
Misery spoke it (to him)
He heard it
And sharp anger impaled it
Revealing the remaining
Fragments of Adulterated
Distorted Truth
Making sense of distortions and how unhealthy communication and stories whittle away truths, diverging towards a shallow muddy puddle of view.
869 · Jun 5
Wise Whys
shamamama Jun 5
We weigh the ways of the woes

We woo the ways of the whys

We woo the wise with their ways

Why wait?
All these sounds, needed to be together, and perhaps there is some wisdom in the wise whys.
841 · Apr 30
The Sunrise is Forever
shamamama Apr 30
How long did I believe
The sunrise is forever
He told me
And I saw the golden hues of hope
Sculpted into forever
And a day--
Until one day what was inbetween
All the sunrises emerged
And I tasted the bitter,
the butter, the batter of all the other.
I feel like poetry helps me to learn how to process all the uncomfortableness of life unfolding, and lets me peal away layer after layer, to uncover what is ready to be understood.
789 · Jan 27
Umbilicus Blues
shamamama Jan 27
After the birth,
this blue I feel,
I wear it like a robe
tied around me.
its edges hang beyond
floor length
Trailing behind and around me,
Laid out for your posterity.
I touch the still moist umbilical cord
spiral it,
leave it to dry.
I want to cry when I touch it
I am becoming me again, just me.
Now there is a you and a me
I look at you little one
your perfection
Delicate fingers and toes
Pink complexion, gentle hair
I know you are a miracle,
and I cry.
Your umbilicus fell off today.
Your belly button is your own now.
I witness you unfolding into this time,
limbs filling out into every new now,
My ****** expanded for you
And now it shrinks down everyday.
My *******, a river of milk flowing
To meet your hunger,
I hold you to my heart
And I love you,
Every breath,
Every finger,
Every toe
Every look and sound you make,
Every second-- I pour forth with love for you
How will our time
Be together
Will I listen well,
Will you show me well?--
You still see
the invisible umbilicuses
tracing back through every birth to
the original Mother
To the Great Oneness
Every you, and every me
Connected to the Source
To the Breath of Life
Now---- I can see this blue I wear
As the ocean around me
And I can feel the waves
washing me, washing me, washing me.
Mother, birth, postpartum, blue, cry, Source
761 · Jun 25
flow
shamamama Jun 25
feeling the current
tugging at my sleeves
rocking me from my stasis
turning me into liquid
when i thought
the ground was firm beneath me,
heels feel the crumbling
quaking beneath,
just letting the flow
breathe me into
this next song,
new key,
new rhythm,
new tones,
timber through me
just letting the song merge with my state of being and take me
shamamama Apr 12
......Finding the words
                            to describe the feelings.....

                        Just by moving through the ocean

Inside, I am swimming,
swimming to get away,
swimming to come home
to what I knew.
I know I can never be the same again
Knowing  what I know now.

I feel the hollow dust of
of confusion
swirling inside me
I feel my impossibility---

like I am trying

to catch

each dust particle:

every old idea I have ever had,

before it lands and

makes me sneeze --only to blow

all the dust particles back into chaos,

so I hold my breath....



.....pause....

....breathe in.....

...exhale ....s  l  o  w   l  y .......

.....embody this moment....

and become, one who CAN.

...leave this terrestrial moment....

...and go into the water....


And when I imagine
I am the whale,
I am the vastness within and around
I can just breathe and swim

I catch
all the plankton spinning in chaos
after they have been
cast into the ocean currents
and the plankton come to me,
the plankton feed me
one by one--
I can fill my belly
with all these
            d o t s              o   f
                    f     o     o      d
Gathering, harvesting,
plankton combing through my baleen,
I am fed, I am nourished,
just by moving through the ocean.
I am free.
Sometimes its hard....to find the right words to describe the feelings inside.
581 · May 24
She Painted Peace
shamamama May 24
She painted peace over the wounded mouths twisted with lies, truths unspoken, love never claimed,
She brushed them with the pink of a newborn baby's lips

She painted peace over the hands that held weapons, fingers that had pulled triggers to **** or maul,
She scraped them green as the new shoots from blades of grass reborn in the Spring

She painted peace in the hearts of those women and men who held broken pieces filled with sadness, scarred with inner rage
She colored them red of the rose in full scent and full bloom

She painted peace on the eyes and bodies of children stripped away from their life force, their source of mother
She traced them the purest blue found in the color of water at dawn's first light

She painted peace in families torn and broken
She swept them with all the colors of the rainbow appearing just after the rain, when the light shines through with hope

She painted peace in the indigenous souls torn from their culture and land
She circled them the color of the green flash-
the flicker of pure green born after the sunsets, existing only for a second

She painted peace in the unborn and the born whose differences bring challenges to them and their families
She skimmed them with lavender fields blooming in the swirling winds, with the sounds of the bees buzzing in joy and abundance

She painted peace over the wounds, the carcasses of animals fallen in a frenzy of human greed and misunderstanding
She whisked them golden as the sun rising in its glory to begin a new day

She painted peace over the ghosts of the forests and their inhabitants
She rolled them the brightest yellow of the night sky--the first star rising-guiding us though the whispers of time steering us in the darkness

She painted peace in the waters, the rivers and oceans who were littered with the makings of man 
She glided them silver to reflect the light that is always around

She painted peace on the earth and women--places torn open and stripped, laying barren, vulnerable.  
She covered them the rich colors of terra cotta- freshly made pottery from hands who love creation

She painted the air, the unfiltered air, clogged, imbalanced
She flowed it clear, the color of innocence - when we look into the eyes of the newborn, and those just about to pass.

She painted it all,

And when the summer sun melted the colors and subjects, she molded the forms, colors, scent, textures and sounds into the shape of love as eternity.
She sang the sweetest birdsongs into the new day bringing in renewal  

She painted peace into all of life.
Sometimes I cannot fix, forgive or forget, and so I can make art and learn to how to accept and evolve. I listened to the song Imagine by John Lennon, and this song, inspired me.
shamamama Jun 4
ludicrous without the laughter
this
Absurdity

sun baking villages of wild flowers for dead bees
bare earth torn to discover luminous oil
what are we doing?
why are we here?

why are the floods pouring from the sky?
Extraordinary tears
from lives spent
no more
to be seen again?

summer mountains
getting covered with winter snow
why are the polar bears
floating on glacial ice away from their livelihood
Why are the seasons changing,
from spring into winter
and from summer into the unknown
why are the whales swimming
to the shore?

Did we rewrite the wheel of time?
did we change the drumming of the drummer
without asking why?

The cotton clouds above me
silently scream as they stream
into the empty sunset
in the darkness of my mind

I have heard to act like we are
walking on our grandmother's face
when we take a walk on our earth,
What would grandmother say
if she were here today?

Stop!  See
the basil buzzing with a bee
Listen,
let your eyes
fill with the light of hope,
feel it,
and
let
this
gold
ray
touch
the
sun
in
your
mind
to
illuminate your landscape....

...I remember,
I remember why we are here
and what we are doing

don't let
someone else's
thoughts and actions
tear your earth apart

let the earth sneeze
let the bees breeze
let the sunshine awaken
let the dry rocks get covered with river clouds
let the tears fall,
touch and listen to grandmother

if the old footprints on her face
do not say I love you,
how can this next step say
I love you?
I have difficulty understanding life--how the past darkens what is here now and the future. I write to move through this "not understanding" and to shed rays of light into my mind to chase away the darkness, reveal the jewels of hope.
544 · Jun 11
how songs are born
shamamama Jun 11
sublime
luminous
strum
showering
poppies and poodles
puppies and puddles
seeping
surreptiously,
stepping
starlight
into my soul
strung these pearls together into a poem song....
532 · Jan 27
Lost Teeth
shamamama Jan 27
You smile-
With new spaces between your teeth,
Newly lost teeth
Cast off to the tooth fairy,
You trade in
to get your new teeth
I hear your laugh,
You flash your toothless smile
I smile back,
The twinkle in your eye tells me
of the wisdom born in you,
The landscape inside your mouth
growing upwards
Like mountains in your being,
Your innocence  birthing into new life experiences
shaping who you are,
Your new toothless smile tells me
of your growing confidence,
You pat me on the back
"It's OK mom, I know who the tooth fairy is,
You don't have to explain."
Your eyes sparkle with magic,
You tell me who the fairy
Really is.
teeth, innocence
411 · Jun 6
the practice
shamamama Jun 6
everyday?
really!  Yes.  
choiceless.
I'm tired.
I'm sore.  
I don't want to.
Show up.
Be present,
do your best,
breathe,
wake up,
practice
and
life moves
through you
in the most
extraordinary
ways
I wrote this poem to bring positive attitude around daily practice.My special needs son has a daily 1+ movement practice to help him develop his brain and to become masterful in his life.I have a strong commitment to help him with this neurological reprogramming.
288 · May 12
My Grandmother's Kimono
shamamama May 12
-----------I weave my grand                     mother's spirit to life--------
             when I paint with my             words what she dreamed
             in her life.  My grandmother's kimono sat in the dark never
            worn; so needs a     dusting--I lift it up      into this light to be
           seen, to be heard,      to be felt, fabric of          loving  heart
          dreams to be.  It's     not perfectly shaped   or tattered or torn,
         rather fermented       beyond her time  to      take form.  My
       Grandma loved  to        eat her white rice          she ate thirty
      seven million grains      of rice by the time         she reached her
      104-- Born on a             sugarcane plant'tion         on the coast of
     Oahu, a child in               the tropics then a       teen in Japan. Her
    family returned to          their roots to learn,    & grow, reenter the
   cultural force. She                discovered her              new talent as
                                            ------------------------------
                                  ­              K  I   M   O  N  O          
                                               ­     A R T I S T
                                            --------------------­----------
                                       Kikuyo  Yamamoto became
                                     liberated as an artist and then
                                     her life changed as her family
                                    demanded she leave her position
                                   and marry away to a Japanese man
                                    who lives in California (my Grand
                                    father).  The matchmaker said it
                                     would work really well....She
                                   endured life as an American farm
                                     wife, then life in Japanese intern-
                                    ment camps. Five  children, nine
                                    grandchildren...Dear Grandmother
                                     I know you had lots to surrender-
                                           I honor your life as mother,
                                           grandmother, and artist --I
                                          wove this poem in the form
                                       of  a kimono for you  May your
                                         spirit rest in peace. I love you.
This poem is woven with rememberence on the eve of mother's day, to honor and love the enduring nature of my grandmother. Long ago she shared with me, her possibility of a career in sewing kimonos when she was a 20 year old in Japan, and how it was not a choice within her family. Marriage was the way. She was born in 1909, and lived till 104---she loved her bowls of rice; I have heard each grain of rice is a god, so may she be empowered 7 million times over with the god of rice in her spirit belly.
234 · Jun 14
silver lining
shamamama Jun 14
there is a richness

        in not knowing the future

and believing in love,

trusting in the universe;

even though

        the weeds are growing strong

the clouds are dark

and some of these thoughts

are not the seeds I planted.

        remember the silver lining

sewn in the seems

of all clouds

and the gold in the

seeds I have planted...

         weave the silver from the sky

to the gold from the earth

hold this fiber

to my heart

          and let the drumbeat of

love inside

synchronize

to the future outside
Sometimes I have to dream way beyond the potential hypnotic day  and spin magic to muster up the courage to face the future
169 · Apr 28
Swami Says
shamamama Apr 28
Swami says
There is no escape
To be who you are.

Yes that's right
You can run and hide
Strategize or divide
But there's no escaping
Who you are my friend,
Yes there's no escaping who you are.

When temper
flares high
sending anger darts awry,
Go to the ocean
and cool off
my friend,
Let the waves ripple over you
And let this layer
wash off in the sea

When the blues are blue--
The tears flow
From your depths of your soul--
Release this ocean of feeling,
Let the sounds of those tears
Ring to the ground

When joy bubbles into your heart,
Weaves a smile on your face,
laughs you, tickles you
Share this my friend
Let it touch another
Weave this joy into the
Fabric of all life

In this moment
Be present to who you are
You are the one you've
Been waiting for,
You are the one you've been
Wanting to know,
No need to run
Circle on back to yourself,

Swami says there is no escape
To be who you are.

Be the one.
I met a swami many years ago, and his words, "You cannot escape who you are" really struck me....and this poem came to life.
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