Michael's Fáilte

Welcome to these writing warmups, blatherings, rantings, meditations, perorations, salutations, latest and those on time, those narrative, declarative, interrogative, gollywogative and other outdated, belated, simulated musings, perusings, shavings and other close calls, with no disrespect intended, that's why no real names included whenever impossible to avoid the guilt that came in the crib for uttering something that would hurt or injure those in authority, being of everlasting servitude to all and sundry, having chosen the road not taken and the frost on the pumpkin long before the kettle turned black or the cat found its own tail fascinating,
Your humble servant, etc.

The island writes in fire and steam each morning on the pages of the sea

The island writes in fire and steam each morning on the pages of the sea
Lava Meets Ocean. Lynx, Starboard Side. Day 2.Early Morning, July 8 2006, Looking for Flashes off Chain of Craters, Big Island

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Upolu Airport Road Pastoral

I’ve always liked the view despite the clouds

the telephone poles their sagging lines

playing slack key up and down the straight road

the way the northeast winds suggest each turn

of the languid mobius windmill blades


the way the cattle people this scene fretting

into each other’s skins in these wide open spaces

or the egrets who rise up from their cross-eyed

meditations and hold steady their white

brush strokes against the lapis lazuli


the fierce channel where Maui heavily

weighs being an island against being

a mountain anyway what's in a name

that a search engine can't tell me

all I know is one foot in front of the other


and thoughts from forty years ago

looking to land—too much is never enough

we seem to say but now I wonder about

the mess we’re in how separate we feel

just because we can pick up our feet


or take pictures with our iPhone

see that cow over there the one who

attacked the backhoe back when this was just

a field you know before the windmills came

that was a sight the cow charging the digger


defending her turf her patch of earth

she knew something we were slow to get

the winds of change and the roots

of technology running deep right here

in mid-Pacific where the whitecaps

hide the latest splash of a whale from us

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