The Soft Grass of Spring
Where are you going?
It's a mystery to me.
Is the ground still,
or does it shift?
Is there wisdom in the breeze,
and music in the dry summer air
as you skate down hills,
or skip home from the bus?
The divine is simple:
when you shout Mommy, Mommy,
or hug me tight 'round my waist.
Time stops, and nothing else
matters, at this point
--or perhaps ever.
But sometimes I worry
Could my love could get lost
in the clatter of branches,
the swoosh of cars,
or the drone of planes overhead?
This thought surfaces when I am weak.
For I'm only your mother, and
your stride will grow on this winding path.
Together, we will find
an outcrop of stone, where the natural
truth of our journey's exposed:
raising you means letting you go.
So I close my eyes,
I see you smiling, arms wide,
twirling in the soft grass of spring,
singing a song of the breezes
defining your way,
brave and willing, as only you can.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Ashes and Berries
Roll out the thunder,
the soft autumn rains,
listen as raindrops turn into swift rivers
burnishing rocks into smooth river stones.
Wait with me, 'til the rain goes away,
and crickets begin to scrape and play.
Outside where the agapanthus
sway in the night jasmine breeze,
Come hold my hand, run by my side,
just like the kids weve forgotten to be.
Call out to the horns, tambourines and kazoos
to set the beat in the warm velvet air.
Dance with me? Kick off your shoes?
Take off your bowtie , your button-down shirt,
cha cha with me in the mud by the creek?
And when the berries of holly scatter,
tumbling in the waltz of a north winter wind,
come build a fire and toss in the lists
of the things people think we should do.
Ambers of time float into the night
Glowing and flickering, then nothing at all.
So take my hand, curl in my warmth,
watch the fire burn to white ash.
Measure by measure, the sun will peep
up from the indigo shawl of the eve,
revealing our footprints, the berries and ashes,
and the agapanthus that sway in the breeze.
the soft autumn rains,
listen as raindrops turn into swift rivers
burnishing rocks into smooth river stones.
Wait with me, 'til the rain goes away,
and crickets begin to scrape and play.
Outside where the agapanthus
sway in the night jasmine breeze,
Come hold my hand, run by my side,
just like the kids weve forgotten to be.
Call out to the horns, tambourines and kazoos
to set the beat in the warm velvet air.
Dance with me? Kick off your shoes?
Take off your bowtie , your button-down shirt,
cha cha with me in the mud by the creek?
And when the berries of holly scatter,
tumbling in the waltz of a north winter wind,
come build a fire and toss in the lists
of the things people think we should do.
Ambers of time float into the night
Glowing and flickering, then nothing at all.
So take my hand, curl in my warmth,
watch the fire burn to white ash.
Measure by measure, the sun will peep
up from the indigo shawl of the eve,
revealing our footprints, the berries and ashes,
and the agapanthus that sway in the breeze.
Lift
By Kanani
For my son
Let me gather the universe,
put it in a sack of purple.
Orion, Pegasus, Cassiopeia,
the Moon, the Sun,
the rings of Saturn.
Let me tie it with a ribbon,
and slip it in your winter jacket.
On those days when the frost is heavy,
the fog is thick and your heart is heavy,
find the sack and sift
the universe in your palm.
Let the constellations and the planets
skip like whispers of orange leaves.
Let them leap and flirt
skittering through a sieve of clouds.
Orion's dogs shall woof and whiz,
Delphinus will swim and chatter.
Let them curl and wrap your fingers,
soft as willows brushing earth,
sing to them and they will settle.
Lift them up, star by star,
and place them in the open sky,
patterning them to your desire.
2003
For my son
Let me gather the universe,
put it in a sack of purple.
Orion, Pegasus, Cassiopeia,
the Moon, the Sun,
the rings of Saturn.
Let me tie it with a ribbon,
and slip it in your winter jacket.
On those days when the frost is heavy,
the fog is thick and your heart is heavy,
find the sack and sift
the universe in your palm.
Let the constellations and the planets
skip like whispers of orange leaves.
Let them leap and flirt
skittering through a sieve of clouds.
Orion's dogs shall woof and whiz,
Delphinus will swim and chatter.
Let them curl and wrap your fingers,
soft as willows brushing earth,
sing to them and they will settle.
Lift them up, star by star,
and place them in the open sky,
patterning them to your desire.
2003
The Fangs Of Power
By Kanani
And so I have relinquished
the need, given back
the power to those who
cling, hanging on to it
as if riding a raft
in a powerful storm.
I have ridden the current,
at times a speck
in an uncertain sea
with no fight, but a ragged fear
and have landed on this
distant shore.
In this small paradise,
there's a pond.
A jagged rock
rises from the center
away from the ferns
that grow where I stand.
On foggy mornings,
as I feed the koi and feel the beat of wild
parrots lifting their wings to fly away,
I see the outline of the rock
and think of those still at the mercy
of the turbulent sea.
2007
And so I have relinquished
the need, given back
the power to those who
cling, hanging on to it
as if riding a raft
in a powerful storm.
I have ridden the current,
at times a speck
in an uncertain sea
with no fight, but a ragged fear
and have landed on this
distant shore.
In this small paradise,
there's a pond.
A jagged rock
rises from the center
away from the ferns
that grow where I stand.
On foggy mornings,
as I feed the koi and feel the beat of wild
parrots lifting their wings to fly away,
I see the outline of the rock
and think of those still at the mercy
of the turbulent sea.
2007
Alphabet Prayer
By Kanani Fong
For Chester Aaron, For Berlie & Sam
I was going to write a war poem today,
but I took my son bowling instead.
He struck six pins,
picked up the last four with a spare.
One push of a button,
the target reset.
I thought of writing a war poem today.
but I drove my daughter to the store
to buy a pink tutu, matching slippers,
a wand with streamers and a crown.
Like a fairy, she waved at the picketing
protesters on the way home.
I started to write a war poem today,
but I made alphabet soup instead.
Letters roiled to the surface
to spell missles and death,
with an old spoon,
I stirred down the words.
I stopped writing a war poem today
to spin a globe, touch the world
with my fingers and whisper prayers.
Then, at a table set for three,
I sat with my children over hot steaming bowls
and swallowed the language of war.
2003
For Chester Aaron, For Berlie & Sam
I was going to write a war poem today,
but I took my son bowling instead.
He struck six pins,
picked up the last four with a spare.
One push of a button,
the target reset.
I thought of writing a war poem today.
but I drove my daughter to the store
to buy a pink tutu, matching slippers,
a wand with streamers and a crown.
Like a fairy, she waved at the picketing
protesters on the way home.
I started to write a war poem today,
but I made alphabet soup instead.
Letters roiled to the surface
to spell missles and death,
with an old spoon,
I stirred down the words.
I stopped writing a war poem today
to spin a globe, touch the world
with my fingers and whisper prayers.
Then, at a table set for three,
I sat with my children over hot steaming bowls
and swallowed the language of war.
2003
The Lily Trail
By Kanani Fong
Feathered, red leaves patter
hitting hard the wind tossed cliffs,
ravens caw and scatter,
on the lily-trail to a skiff we sailed
curling ‘round a penny moon.
Swift winds sang the scent of lilies,
in one melodious and howling riff,
cutting through blue waves hewn
under skies of pearls and azure.
We wove our hands and lost the measure
of the breadth between the stars,
locks flying, sails pushed taut
swept along with swooning pleasure.
Venus lit our endeavor
with marigolds and saffron light,
kneading our two hearts forever,
gliding on the ravens caw.
And when you died
pebbles swept away the shells.
Build no more driftwood spires
for the bonfires that kept us warm,
and sail no more on gales that slice
the single soul left back on shore.
Weave now, nets used for fishing
Build small fires just for one,
Leave the marigolds untouched in fields
And take no more wonder in the stars.
Feathered, red leaves patter
hitting hard the wind tossed cliffs,
as I climb past the lily trail
ravens caw and scatter.
2004
Feathered, red leaves patter
hitting hard the wind tossed cliffs,
ravens caw and scatter,
on the lily-trail to a skiff we sailed
curling ‘round a penny moon.
Swift winds sang the scent of lilies,
in one melodious and howling riff,
cutting through blue waves hewn
under skies of pearls and azure.
We wove our hands and lost the measure
of the breadth between the stars,
locks flying, sails pushed taut
swept along with swooning pleasure.
Venus lit our endeavor
with marigolds and saffron light,
kneading our two hearts forever,
gliding on the ravens caw.
And when you died
pebbles swept away the shells.
Build no more driftwood spires
for the bonfires that kept us warm,
and sail no more on gales that slice
the single soul left back on shore.
Weave now, nets used for fishing
Build small fires just for one,
Leave the marigolds untouched in fields
And take no more wonder in the stars.
Feathered, red leaves patter
hitting hard the wind tossed cliffs,
as I climb past the lily trail
ravens caw and scatter.
2004
Water On Glass
by Kanani Fong
And the tide surged toward the shore,
gathering strength as it drew near, dissipating
into a soft table of moving calm and the woman,
with eyes the color of water on glass, wondered if he
was on a distant shore, separated by an ocean, beyond the equator,
over the Mariana Trench; is he walking along the shore, breathing the crusty air,
feeling the swirls of water around his ankles, the sand between his toes, can he sense that I am with him, I hope that he is--for this is what bonds us now, this water, this air and the waves that rush to me; she waited, closing her eyes, and when his embrace came to her
in the wind whispering through her silver hair she knew, someday,
when her work was done and the pink rose bloomed,
they'd make footprints together, find shells, sand dollars,
and carry them in his overturned hat,
she bent to pick up worn pieces of glass--blue white and green, the edges gritty yet smooth from the tumbling of water on sand, and she thought yes, this is what life is about, waiting for time to wear roughness away until there is no more hurt;
this is what she thought while walking along the shore
missing him, breathing him, never wavering as
her thirst for him grew deeper and bluer,
then as if summoned, a gentle noise rushed toward her
and the strongest wave lifted her from the grains of sand,
as the woman, with eyes the color of water on glass,
drifted with the current to his sea.
2002
And the tide surged toward the shore,
gathering strength as it drew near, dissipating
into a soft table of moving calm and the woman,
with eyes the color of water on glass, wondered if he
was on a distant shore, separated by an ocean, beyond the equator,
over the Mariana Trench; is he walking along the shore, breathing the crusty air,
feeling the swirls of water around his ankles, the sand between his toes, can he sense that I am with him, I hope that he is--for this is what bonds us now, this water, this air and the waves that rush to me; she waited, closing her eyes, and when his embrace came to her
in the wind whispering through her silver hair she knew, someday,
when her work was done and the pink rose bloomed,
they'd make footprints together, find shells, sand dollars,
and carry them in his overturned hat,
she bent to pick up worn pieces of glass--blue white and green, the edges gritty yet smooth from the tumbling of water on sand, and she thought yes, this is what life is about, waiting for time to wear roughness away until there is no more hurt;
this is what she thought while walking along the shore
missing him, breathing him, never wavering as
her thirst for him grew deeper and bluer,
then as if summoned, a gentle noise rushed toward her
and the strongest wave lifted her from the grains of sand,
as the woman, with eyes the color of water on glass,
drifted with the current to his sea.
2002
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