Amerasian message

Its not my luck
As I lie here and you fucked me
Tucked me in this blind lust
Hate, taking the form
Of crust left upon my abdomen
Stuck bottle and umbrella
Inside
My cries run quiet
To your moans of indulgence
And I look into your eyes
Searching
For a fire of memory.

Perhaps you enact a past
Of grandmomma being raped
By slave masta.
And the whips upon his back
Made your daddy slap
Her face when she was pregnant
With you
And she was left alone on cold streets
To raise a son with role models
That sold crack for greens
And you were left with dreams
At the end of gun barrels

I look for a light
Dim like the red laterns
Of the district.
And you continue to suck me
Dry.
Skin and bones like children
In shivering homes
Frail and hungry.
Rice patties blossom
But so do land mines
And they bleed
Like my pussy
And you thrust like
The cum of a maxim gun
And I cry like they must have bled
During World War One.

Perhaps the barks of drill sargeant
Built a fortress around your heart.
Because underneath armor
Do comrades wear swastikas.
And they tease you for being a piccaninny
Cause you dared to smile at the red sunset
Above a green plain.
You came to the bar to erase
A past that never ends.
And the body desires exit.
Fill a vessel with
Tears
from generations.

I search in your eyes for a memory
When I arrived upon your silted, delta shore
In a double hulled canoe.
I saw you from a far
And brought a jar engraved:
Ma hal ka.
And your spirit heard the song.
Followed the melody back
To a bamboo forest
And the tarsius monkey’s eyes
Shone like the moon during an eclipse.
And its gaze witnessed
Our love that spilled the riches
Of caori shells upon brown
Fertile soil

Perhaps the child held
The memory in its cells
Despite the lines
That divided our lands
Severed, we struggle to remember
Amidst the silence of looted legacies.
Perhaps this violence brings us together
We lie in the heaving of trauma
Filled with sadness splattered
Skin to skin, cold and hot sweat
Collision gives birth to memory
Who breaks the myth of boundaries.

Black Streets

Black streets
Black dreams
Black sheaths
To cover the heat of our rage
Disengaged in the now
Triggered by the brow
Fists in the air blow
By a know how.

Assimilation created
This creature of consuming tendencies
Yet a history to shed
Treason and hypocrisies.
Mom and Pops taught me to
To be silent
Yet ancestors haunt in
Nightmarish dreams.

Black wreaths
Black trees
Black feats
To adorn the mantle
Of model minority
Born in the womb
Of momma’s western logic
Forming
Echoing in the chambers
Of her fruit growing
Plucked from the tree
I eat the fruit of knowledge

Black seats
Black treats
Black cleans
This white washed existence
Through the pulse
Of hip hop inundation
Elevation as a crab clamped
Identification
Yet recognition when released obligation
Reflection as addiction
Solitude as friend
To accompany me
As homelessness

Gift

I want to withdraw from the world. Just to rest and recollect, and come back to my body. Come back to caring for myself. I can't just put and put. I can only give so much. The end product, the physical product, is not the goal. But, the practice of working together ethically and rigorously. The practice of making many dreams a reality. My gift is to write about these dreams and reflect what people believe and hope for, to inspire them and bring them one step closer to manifesting multiple, diverse realities.

Our dreams will never be the same. We have all been shaped by unique experiences that only each person can self-determine their value. But there can be coordination and partnerships. Creating projects that has meaning for all of us.

peace to you world, and the many animate and inanimate beings. May we struggle to become our dreams.

Hawaii's history and globalization

We live in the belly of the beast
reflecting its rage
through drugs and alcohol
sending kids to war
our schools don't tell us shit
that remnants of the spirit
still within

we still livin
breathin

Imagine
through our actions
respond differently
create community
where we can think together
on our own terms
make music that tells
our sharp analysis

superferry chains
that island's
imprisonment
from schofield to pohakuloa
the practice on us like killing fields
kids dream of bullets
and mothers birthin soldiers
schools to make our minds
like factories
our bodies perfected to a technique
of cash registering
and this fake aloha spirit
complacence, non-confrontation
propaganda to silence us

I speak with a sharp tongue
to tell the effects when they come
reflect on the self
and histories of displacement
look on faces men, women & children
blood runs through each of us
streams in an ecology
we grew together planted by scattered seeds
uprooted from stolen lands
nanas and tatas got struggle written in their hands
hold them like a book
cause knowledge is wealth
eternal
in our selves.