Desire for love
to return to some safe place.
That is an illusion of security
in this labor
of reclaiming space
physical, internal, imaginative
or otherwise
create bricks from evidence
deposited in archives,
books, words and songs,
foods and dance
lands and memories,
such an arduous journey!
Yet no rest for the weary
nomad
whose genetics is to be
a wanderer,
lessons of ancestors
travelers across
floating worlds
that sunk and rose
in the fluid universe
of homelands.
Where then
can I stop to drink?
Take a rest?
In the temporal space of embraces
and loving making
that eventually ends
in the morning.
And the permanence of absence
is the only source of sanity
in this materialistic realm
that reduces magic
to physicality.
Oh, can I love
this ephemeral mystery?
Can I risk in
unfixity?
Will it ever beget a body
of my dreams
that is hooked from the sea,
manifested in prayers and dreams
for the days of peace?
Or perhaps again
I fall into
the prison of illusion?
Whoa is me...
Living in the mind
that seeks
bricks to build
rather than
courage to erode
and live underneath
fragile sandcastles,
units of infinite homes
that connects resting places
of ancestors who rode
canoes, boats, villages a-moving
to the currents of the time.
evolving, surviving
never left behind,
Oh, Self!
Let me love this truth
Let me love,
these roots.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
My Love for You!
much love for my homegrown
multicultural peeps
grew up amidst intersections
of migrant and indigenous pathways
lost, found and lost again
roads that they walk and
create as they walk
becoming the love that they reclaim
in their bodies,
where different truths synthesize
to run blood in their veins
undocumented, unfixed
geneologies
that are in texts of written words
stories
music
food
lands
human bodies touching
and read with fingers
that trace carefully
like when we study books
of our friends and families
faces
like when our feet
walk ever so softly upon
the text of the land
so deeply,
we learn and come to know
so much knowledge all around us.
Blessings for the way
we are given our senses
and indulge in the wisdom
around us,
always.
multicultural peeps
grew up amidst intersections
of migrant and indigenous pathways
lost, found and lost again
roads that they walk and
create as they walk
becoming the love that they reclaim
in their bodies,
where different truths synthesize
to run blood in their veins
undocumented, unfixed
geneologies
that are in texts of written words
stories
music
food
lands
human bodies touching
and read with fingers
that trace carefully
like when we study books
of our friends and families
faces
like when our feet
walk ever so softly upon
the text of the land
so deeply,
we learn and come to know
so much knowledge all around us.
Blessings for the way
we are given our senses
and indulge in the wisdom
around us,
always.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
to my lord: walk with me on this journey
This school
on the surface
levels
feels so
different
intentions
in the air
in the building
archi
texture
in the vibes
of people.
competition
of thought
thinking of truth
seeking truth
but what structure
of truth?
when we grow down paths
farther and farther from
you.
you who is
everywhere
pervasive
yet unseen.
our minds are
to the illusion
upon facades
of buildings
upon faces thinking
hard
upon shaking hands
clinging
to cigarette
butts
pens
and pencils
fingering
at keyboards
seeking to
fulfill the intention
of these
institutions
we are
embedded in.
And yet
you are there
mysterious
unseen
outside and
within
these paths
over beaten
over walked upon
logic of thought
frought with own mystery
to no where
but anxiety
and nervousness.
And yet
you grow
along side us.
Like the breeze
that is not felt
unrecognized
but shudders
the cold body
who has forgotten
that you offer a sweater
always
in the sunlight
that the trees
and plants
know.
but human minds
upon the path
to absence
invisible
abstract lands
where life is
growing
simplistic truth
that is
not complex
yet you are
complicated
and the sense of you
makes me cry
want to cry
amidst this place that seems
like
the no crying zone.
cause the people
are the bricks
upon building facades.
and our minds
are the grout
that makes cohesive
this thought
of building empires
of simplistic truths
concretized
that we lose our feet
to feel you.
disembodied into the sky.
we stare at the blank blue
simplistic
abstract
freedom?
o lord,
i pray that you
keep me warm
in your heaviness
sadness
that others feel
but deny
like manicured gardens
poisoned in toxins
of perfect minds
please help me
be like you
unseen
but thrive amidst
this world where you inhabit
but not only
How much I love you
but will never
grasp you
because you are more
than this building
this brick
i think.
you are this brick and more
forever
i seek to fall among
these thoughts
that build high!
on the surface
levels
feels so
different
intentions
in the air
in the building
archi
texture
in the vibes
of people.
competition
of thought
thinking of truth
seeking truth
but what structure
of truth?
when we grow down paths
farther and farther from
you.
you who is
everywhere
pervasive
yet unseen.
our minds are
to the illusion
upon facades
of buildings
upon faces thinking
hard
upon shaking hands
clinging
to cigarette
butts
pens
and pencils
fingering
at keyboards
seeking to
fulfill the intention
of these
institutions
we are
embedded in.
And yet
you are there
mysterious
unseen
outside and
within
these paths
over beaten
over walked upon
logic of thought
frought with own mystery
to no where
but anxiety
and nervousness.
And yet
you grow
along side us.
Like the breeze
that is not felt
unrecognized
but shudders
the cold body
who has forgotten
that you offer a sweater
always
in the sunlight
that the trees
and plants
know.
but human minds
upon the path
to absence
invisible
abstract lands
where life is
growing
simplistic truth
that is
not complex
yet you are
complicated
and the sense of you
makes me cry
want to cry
amidst this place that seems
like
the no crying zone.
cause the people
are the bricks
upon building facades.
and our minds
are the grout
that makes cohesive
this thought
of building empires
of simplistic truths
concretized
that we lose our feet
to feel you.
disembodied into the sky.
we stare at the blank blue
simplistic
abstract
freedom?
o lord,
i pray that you
keep me warm
in your heaviness
sadness
that others feel
but deny
like manicured gardens
poisoned in toxins
of perfect minds
please help me
be like you
unseen
but thrive amidst
this world where you inhabit
but not only
How much I love you
but will never
grasp you
because you are more
than this building
this brick
i think.
you are this brick and more
forever
i seek to fall among
these thoughts
that build high!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Postcolonial Poetry
Its the kind of writing that makes you see yourself within dominant systems that organize the world. To recognize our complicity in what we call unjust or corrupt, helps us to recognize the mechanics of colonialism and neo-colonialism.
The Realm of the He'e
by Ellen-Rae Cachola
June 14, 2009
The wandering fish of mu
travels through
the realm of the he'e,
an octopus that sucks truths
like a hungry ghost of landmasses past,
Forgotten, misunderstood
in the back of memories
He shoots
tentacles far and wide
to feed off wisdoms
that become centralized
in his computer like brain.
Some say
in Haleakala and Kihei
Don't you know
the he'e's suction is thick?
To slough
it off
is tough
cause its like quicksand traps.
Can't get out
like abusive relationships
between nations
thought to be in love.
But really,
where is the love within?
And on those long tentacles
that stretch,
thousands, millions, quadrillions of suction cups
grow like opihis mutated
with teeth,
bloodthirsty
tastin salty
quick to judge
good or bad morality.
and yet people eat them
like nothin'!
And then
when the person take one shit
thats when they spread
to different lands
cancerous coming up
indigestion of consumptions
pullin triggers of guns,
as if bullets were dollar bills.
Pay for a future
that can be worn
not to heal the wounded heart.
Broken shards
floatin onto shore
sportin aloha shirts
as if all is well
when the soil grows
too expensive neighborhoods
pushing into backwoods
what is left?
but the rage
when the message of survival
faces title
waves drownin the Hawaiian landscape
Addictions
just to get by
land prices
keep risin like insecurities.
Jobs and education
for born and raised feed
disconnected stems of proteas
lie at unmarked graves
displaced
names
waitin to be regained
by those those who seek to retrace the footsteps
1898
manifest destiny
when the world
was blinded by colonial mentality
crystallized
the erasure of memory
of the he'e who brought to life
culture from east to west
west to east
turned him into a beast
when he is just forgotten, misunderstood
in the back of your memories
Welcome, to the head of the he'e
some think they come to escape
to run away from the discontents
of suburban landscapes
or fast pace of city life...
Consume exotic fruits
to include oneself in the garden of eden?
The truth is that story's value
was subject to inflation
commodification
reduced to economic narratives
of divide and conquer the wealths
that lived as land bridges
across island nations.
and in the poverty and absence
lives the wisdom of endurance
amidst a world blinded by arrogance
and yet, the songs of the past
played a rhythm of bodies paddling across
vast oceans
farmers striking injustice of unemployment
and dreams planted in rows of Hawaiian soil
waiting for the time
when children would
sing knowledge of ancient lands
echoing in the doldrum mindsets
of masses
This name is the frequency
indebted to essence of memory
planted in land
and grew people who choose to eat
for continuity.
Respects are paid
as food laid out
to the he'e
entangled in all our histories...
The Realm of the He'e
by Ellen-Rae Cachola
June 14, 2009
The wandering fish of mu
travels through
the realm of the he'e,
an octopus that sucks truths
like a hungry ghost of landmasses past,
Forgotten, misunderstood
in the back of memories
He shoots
tentacles far and wide
to feed off wisdoms
that become centralized
in his computer like brain.
Some say
in Haleakala and Kihei
Don't you know
the he'e's suction is thick?
To slough
it off
is tough
cause its like quicksand traps.
Can't get out
like abusive relationships
between nations
thought to be in love.
But really,
where is the love within?
And on those long tentacles
that stretch,
thousands, millions, quadrillions of suction cups
grow like opihis mutated
with teeth,
bloodthirsty
tastin salty
quick to judge
good or bad morality.
and yet people eat them
like nothin'!
And then
when the person take one shit
thats when they spread
to different lands
cancerous coming up
indigestion of consumptions
pullin triggers of guns,
as if bullets were dollar bills.
Pay for a future
that can be worn
not to heal the wounded heart.
Broken shards
floatin onto shore
sportin aloha shirts
as if all is well
when the soil grows
too expensive neighborhoods
pushing into backwoods
what is left?
but the rage
when the message of survival
faces title
waves drownin the Hawaiian landscape
Addictions
just to get by
land prices
keep risin like insecurities.
Jobs and education
for born and raised feed
disconnected stems of proteas
lie at unmarked graves
displaced
names
waitin to be regained
by those those who seek to retrace the footsteps
1898
manifest destiny
when the world
was blinded by colonial mentality
crystallized
the erasure of memory
of the he'e who brought to life
culture from east to west
west to east
turned him into a beast
when he is just forgotten, misunderstood
in the back of your memories
Welcome, to the head of the he'e
some think they come to escape
to run away from the discontents
of suburban landscapes
or fast pace of city life...
Consume exotic fruits
to include oneself in the garden of eden?
The truth is that story's value
was subject to inflation
commodification
reduced to economic narratives
of divide and conquer the wealths
that lived as land bridges
across island nations.
and in the poverty and absence
lives the wisdom of endurance
amidst a world blinded by arrogance
and yet, the songs of the past
played a rhythm of bodies paddling across
vast oceans
farmers striking injustice of unemployment
and dreams planted in rows of Hawaiian soil
waiting for the time
when children would
sing knowledge of ancient lands
echoing in the doldrum mindsets
of masses
This name is the frequency
indebted to essence of memory
planted in land
and grew people who choose to eat
for continuity.
Respects are paid
as food laid out
to the he'e
entangled in all our histories...
Monday, May 11, 2009
i want u
i want you
to teach me
how to be in love
in ways more
than we commonly know
i am not just
desiring your touch
body kisses
and words that
weigh warm
upon my chest.
but the chance
to be in silence
and aware
heightened
cause there is more
than meets the eye
when we
share space
our forms
will touch
and enjoy
the gifts
we are given
but our love
expresses
the depth of
how far we came
through lives
let go
of masks
charades
and now
we are able
to not pretend
but be
our real
naked
selves
to teach me
how to be in love
in ways more
than we commonly know
i am not just
desiring your touch
body kisses
and words that
weigh warm
upon my chest.
but the chance
to be in silence
and aware
heightened
cause there is more
than meets the eye
when we
share space
our forms
will touch
and enjoy
the gifts
we are given
but our love
expresses
the depth of
how far we came
through lives
let go
of masks
charades
and now
we are able
to not pretend
but be
our real
naked
selves
Can I Love
Can I love
and believe
I am worthy
to be free.
not confined
to the borders
of narratives
that exploit
across the lands
and seas
where I bleed out from
and into.
Diffused
identities
I am not familiar with.
Offspring
I am alienated
from.
Can I love
and feel beautiful
in my skin
that in my land
I belong
and feel fertile
to nourish my soul.
And the buds
that emerge
are the markers
of my continuity
prosperity
thriving
the markers of
balance
a chance
to live.
Can I love
to express
more than just
a body
but a spirit
that isn't to be
bought or sold.
Our exchange
has no law
that determines
our roles
as we lay together
express the awe
for each other.
the sacred moments
we share upon this earth.
and believe
I am worthy
to be free.
not confined
to the borders
of narratives
that exploit
across the lands
and seas
where I bleed out from
and into.
Diffused
identities
I am not familiar with.
Offspring
I am alienated
from.
Can I love
and feel beautiful
in my skin
that in my land
I belong
and feel fertile
to nourish my soul.
And the buds
that emerge
are the markers
of my continuity
prosperity
thriving
the markers of
balance
a chance
to live.
Can I love
to express
more than just
a body
but a spirit
that isn't to be
bought or sold.
Our exchange
has no law
that determines
our roles
as we lay together
express the awe
for each other.
the sacred moments
we share upon this earth.
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