Jumbles and Images

A Son In The Soft Grass of Spring

2007-06-12T10:14:00.000-07:00

The Soft Grass of Spring

Where are you going?
Is there wisdom in the breeze,
music in the dry summer air
as you longboard the hills,
careening down, hips shifting left and right?

When you smile and hug,
my world falls into order.
Neither words nor time
matters at this point
--or perhaps ever.

But I worry if my love
will get lost in your desire for a car,
your first girlfriend,
or when you move away?

For I'm only your mother.
Your stride will will grow longer,
your reach will go beyond mine.
The truth of a parent's journey?
Raising you means letting you go.

But now, you're smiling,
twirling in the soft grass of spring,
singing a song of the breezes
defining your way,
brave and willing, as only you can.

Ashes and Berries

2007-01-16T20:58:00.000-08:00

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.

Outside, where the agapanthus
sway in the night jasmine breeze,
Come hold my hand, run by my side,
just like the kids we've forgotten to be.

Call out to the horns, tambourines and kazoos.
To help 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

2007-01-16T20:54:00.000-08:00

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 into your winter jacket.
When the frost is heavy and the fog thick
find and open it,
then sift the universe in your palm.

Let the constellations and the planets
Let them leap and flirt
skittering through the veil 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,
placing them in the darkest night
patterning them to your desire.

2003

Release

2007-01-16T20:47:00.000-08:00

By Kanani

It was time.
Overdue,
Time to relinquish
The need, to cede
The power to those guarding
A lifeless rock from a surging sea.

Let them be.

The jump was easy, the ride less so
--I was a speck
in an uncertain sea
no fight, just ragged fear
landing tiredly
on a distant shore.

On foggy mornings,
feeding the koi, feeling the beat of wild
parrots lifting their wings,
the outline of the rock appears.
Hush...think of those still living
on their lifeless rock.

Let them be.

2007

Alphabet Prayer

2007-01-16T20:35:00.001-08:00

By Kanani Fong
For Chester Aaron, For Berlie & Sam, and all my friends --who have seen and lived in war.

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 some war
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 "missiles" and "death."
I grabbed an old spoon
and 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

2007-01-16T16:15:00.000-08:00

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

Water On Glass

2007-01-16T15:55:00.000-08:00

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