Strung together elegantly
Silken ribbons connect
smooth shells
And kukui nuts.

Though it is not vibrant orchids
Or a beautiful hibiscus
It carries their memories
Gently as the waves
Kissing the sand.

The shells remind them of
Past reminiscences
Of younger days in rustic Waimea
And delighted smiles
At Hanauma Bay,
Watching colorful fish
And gliding sea turtles.

The kukui nut
keeps them grounded together
So as not to drift apart
In heart.

He strung it around her neck
And softly whispered in her ear:
aloha aku no
*aloha mai no

-Until We Meet Again-

Pele has lost one of her lovers.
I miss the goddess in all her majesty; Her deep blue oceans, sweet sandy beaches, Her dark black hair billowing down like the lava from the peaks of Her highest volcanoes.
Her seven sacred pools, each one cascading gracefully into the next, all finally spilling into her magnificent sea.
Her gorgeous body will forever entice my mind, with hair dark and beautiful, inhaling the scent of fresh pineapple and coconut, a hibiscus flower pinning back strands of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes, they were just as deep and amazing as the sea, something with which they were so familiar.
With lips red and lined with Hawaiian love songs sung just for you, tasting as fresh and young as the ocean itself.
Her body was adorned with fresh tropical flower leis and Kukui beads falling gracefully over ancient Hawaiian dress; all made from the same grass and leaves coming from the islands many trees.
All encircling those perfect hips, born to Hula and sway to any island rhythm, be it the slow and steady rattle of the Uli Uli, or the fast and powerful beat of the Pahu drum.
Finally pushed over the edge by the sight of her long tan legs, not shy to the suns warmth and fiery grasp, ending in bare feet more familiar to the islands then we’ll ever be.
I miss her and all her islands.
Oh, how I miss the island paradise Hawaii.

Southerners said “You’re white!”
They’re black, and that’s not all right,
But you’re okay because you’re white.”
But that’s not right because I’m not white.
I’m sort of a pasty pinkish beige
So, why is it the rage to say white?
And black? That is usually the wrong tack.
I know people that say they are black
And others yak about black folk
In hateful, racist jokes, but they too
Are not black. They’re color runs from
As light as a cup of milky tea
To the color of a kukui nut.

So what is this black and white crap?
It’s a trap for some who don’t know
What to call other people because
They’re trained to call other people
Some name besides just people.
It has to be what color people
Trained under school bell and steeple
To talk this way and veer away
From the point they are making,
The risk they are taking by seeing
Something else besides a human being.
Instead they focus on something unreal
And therefore manage not to feel.

It’s really so sad, and so demeaning
To zap so much meaning from someone
Who has a life, loves, joys and pain;
Let's remain aloof from giving names
And incorrectly worded colors to them.
Don't pretend that you are being kind
When you teach yourself to be blind
To the beauty and the joy of boys
And girls who are not from your race
And to replace love and opportunity
With fear, suspicion and enmity.
It is quite simply a common tragedy.