take me back...

 

waikiki. wailoa. puueo. mauna kea. kona. HILO.

--

the colors, the breeze, the swaying of the trees. the peace, the ease, and the warmth of the water. i know home will always be there. and i know i will always go back.

the city of art, food, and brotherly love

we arrived at 8 am and hit the streets. there was lots to see. we spent the morning exploring the vibrant colors and rich aromas of the italian market. on the way to south street we gazed at beautiful murals and mosaics, and finally stopped to savor my very first philly cheese steak.

it was a great start to the trip. next stop, LOVE park. and go figure, that's where we get pickpocketed. right in the heart of the city of brotherly love. i wasn't on the west coast anymore.

i never knew how hard i had to be.
all this time i was just trying to learn
to be.
hardness creates a shell
too thick to return to
the core within.
but i cannot forget. however long,
however far.
LOVE.
when you get too hard,
too drowned in concrete,
they just become letters.
backward they are
EVOLving
in the wrong direction.
a city is only as modern
as its forward thinking of love.
whether brotherly, otherly, sisterly,
you to me
and me to you.
my love, without love
i would just be me
and you would be
a cold, windy, just a little too hard
you.

--

as i look back to my week in philadelphia, the ups, the downs, the city, the suburbs, the family, the foes, the parties, the hangovers, and most of all the love--i see the beauty in the realness. it is truth and it is life. i can only be grateful for it all. mahalo to the bobbs for your amazing hospitality. and mahalo to philly--for showing an island girl how to swim in the concrete jungle.

art without limits...

...it is almost a redundant statement. The inherent meaning of art holds that there are no limits to creativity. Still, our modern society seems to have forgotten that notion. We have put a higher importance on subjects like math and science which, without pushing the boundaries of the imagination, would never have made the advancements they did. It is a relief then, that there are groups like Art Without Limits that remind us when it comes to art, limitations should not--and do not--exist.

No where was this more evident then at Ayni Gallery in Santa Barbara this past Saturday night, when Art Without Limits hosted its first annual "Coming Out" event for their emerging artists. Musicians, photographers, painters, poets and writers took the stage to share their craft with an ever appreciative audience. I too, swallowed my nerves and read two original poems. I owe this feat in great part to my two amazing mentors: Sojourner Kincaid-Rolle (poet/writer) and Ann Dusenberry (actress). Together they help me both hone my skills as a creative writer, as well as practice the art of sharing my work in front of an audience.

Following are the two poems I wrote and shared, as well as photos from the event (taken by another emerging artist: photographer and dear friend of mine Shannon Jordan). It was truly an inspiring evening. Thank you to everyone who came out in support of art.

xoxo...lika


My Wolf and His Dog
His shaggy hair, bleach white as the Pennsylvania snow; fine as hot beach sand.
it blows everywhere; getting all tied up in sailor’s knots.
It is a strong mane, framing gentle, weathered eyes that have seen too much,
and yet not enough.

Her hair, it goes everywhere. Pure white flecks of Tala’s soul left anywhere she touches.
And anywhere is everywhere my wolf goes.
She follows, as I will.
Loyal beings we are; wolves in a pack.

“Follow me across the sea,” he says.
Tala leaps aboard, as I dive in to swim alongside the giant sea vessel.
Ramblin’ Rose carries my wolf and his dog,
up and down the ebb and flow of the ferocious blue.
Is it safe to climb in?
Where I am, the water feels cool and I float with ease.
Like the sea, I am liquefied.
Do I belong on the boat?
I belong with the travelers, with my wolf and his dog.

I am a traveler and I am his wolf.
I will listen.
I will protect.
I will follow.

“Follow me to the farm,” he says.
I say, live off the land and I will live with you.
Let the dog run the rich acreage, and we wolves will howl at the moon;
we’ll watch the sun come up over the ridge and set among the waves.

Let’s follow the waves!
Tala leaps and rolls in the sand, mimicking our motions in the sea’s curl.
As we paddle in, the moon rises.
She howls at it too.

--

For she is your wolf, and you are mine.
The day you found me I became your loyal moon howler too.

So wherever you go, or whenever I do, wolves wandering as we must—
in hunt of adventure, of knowledge, of self—
We will know to seek the moon.
I will howl,
so will you, my wolf,
and Tala dog too.


The Rhythm of Time
How to wait without waiting?
It is an art as fanciful as dance and music.
I find the tic tocs of the soul’s clock placating.

Sit under a mighty oak that’s shading
time’s melody; among the fallen leaves’ fine ruin
is how some wait without waiting.

The slow pulse of seconds is infuriating.
Still, the rhythmic beat will move you through it:
the tic tocs of the soul’s clock are placating.

The leaves sing a tune, as swaying
branches dance under the sky at its bluest.
How one longs to wait without waiting.

Sunrays fall and quickly time is fading
into shadows whose sound is fluid,
helping the tic tocs of the soul’s clock be placating.

Soon the jingles of the stars are cascading
and the sound of time finds its true fit.
How to wait without waiting?
Let the tic tocs of the souls clock be placating.

from where the sun will rise..

"it is wise to realize from where the sun will rise,
for to fret upon it once it sets leaves one with just regret." 
-lw

what painful pleasure to be torn between two suns--one that rises through the mist of hilo, and one that sets within the waters of santa barbara. the single solar center of the universe appears to have two faces in two worlds. yet, it is a sublime existence beneath each beautiful blanket of beams. rooted in the earth of hawai'i with branches blossoming in the california breeze, i often wonder which sunlit path to travel. but both roads, i find, are ultimately lit by the same sun.

hilo, where the sun rises,
where i too rose.
this, i never forget.
when the sun sets,
whether deep and dark
as if never to be seen again
or fiery and full of hope,
where ever i am
there is hilo.
there is sun through rain.
where ever i am
i know,
there is not two,
but one.
and i rose in hilo.

can't stop, won't stop

persuade. pursue. persist. push through :: sunrise to sunset. no stopping anytime