Occupy Surf

Aloha poets--occupy walls of surf. Enjoy!

The Wild Jungle Tigress

        Something resembling hope enters into his awareness in the darkness of theJungle. So, he thinks, time doesn't exist here, or it would like him to think so. Cool moonlight falls with a quiet, as if delivering silence were a nightly chore. This is exactly how this forest kills, with darkness and quiet, as it sleeps--cycles set in motion by an ancient past, not waiting for, or expecting, anything new to be learned. Trees set back from the sheer cliff offer a meadow.  High ferns shelter the opening where death will occur because someone or something forgot a duty and now she, this rainforest, the ancient one, will not forget and serve the sentence. Why is water so unstoppable, dripping off the sheer rocks?  These primeval waterfalls fall by their own hand.  Intimate dances of the ancient past have made it through eons. Why is it so difficult to teach theHumans; to have their feelings come back to life and stir inside them?  Something is home here. Something knows how to climb the rocks, how to breath air into its lungs, how to put off the moments until logic would perfectly place itself, something like a motherly unseen force, breaths, as if heard  before.  Why don't we just keep our softness, allow the moon to bring a familiar glow. It's theTigress in a strange force field today and I fear the outline of her body against the rocks will fill you with uncertainty you won't recognize, will haunted you inside, freeze you.  

     You will give theTigress a focus more than awake, with slow leanings across her body in the moonlight.  Her eyes will open wide as her sleek body stares and her back stiffens.  Her stare will love wildness. Her vision in the dark would be perfect. The dim blue glow of the moon, or of something, dances on theJungle's resonant floor through the canopy, it offers more than mere moonlight.

The Jungle

The Jungle

     Daylight gives up to a cool, dark, drowsiness on a jungle grid (the jungle itself appearing as an array of isolated cells), where solitude is complete—no sounds and, just as perfect as the clearest blues and greens any (human?) eye could imagine. Suzi pauses for a moment as if she were letting the stillness leave her unconvinced of its isolation. Up the mountain, samples remain, leaves uncollected, roots uncut. She is sensing a natural dwelling, a place where a (spiritual?) gatekeeper might dwell, a housing for a finite number of entity states. There is the ocean below (to which the jungle calls softly)--making its noises almost sad, far away, water tumbling the distance, as if the jungle has become its own automata and, Suzi its only neighborhood--shining, fluorescing against even the bluest moonlight. 

     It seems the jungle holds its own glimpse of what it is now and, possibly, how it will be. It has constructed its own dwelling and now, simply, seeks a timeless new spiritual advice from ...what? Is this primal jungle the DNA headwaters that led to the God gene, so pervasive and, in full expression across the globe among theHumans (yes, masking as blushing bride, one who stares into the very face of love itself). It has been faithful, at least to the ocean, the sky. It acts child-like: never angry, always hungry. Its sounds and colors take Suzi nowhere--at least in the sense of theHumans and, yet, still at night, Suzi does notice the stars do come out one at a time. She does notice. 

The Good Poet

The Free Thinker

     

     Cooper was now thinking this through. He thinks, It was the Tigress that approached him as if  religious representation--enlarged eyes, thin figure, skin as if she wore a natural robe. He crosses his thoughts over to the right side of his brain and gives more thought. At this moment, this nanosecond, he could be sitting around a campfire somewhere. He has enough knowledge of primitive art--stiff and naïve (at least in the realm of a pragmatic survival). For a time in ancient history, art depicted only the animals (food?) running wild, in groups Was this the art that heralded the onset of genetic perspective and, soon after, the god gene must have emerged, right? By the 21stCentury, the secrets of icons spouted off--the most ancient of artistic traditions and considered by those ancient peoples the most powerful art--in arrays across the internets, then after that, with the surge of TV, comes the rise of brands. If it goes much further, faith and humility will have a fight on their hands, but for the moment, and for the near future, Cooper will remain here (as a free thinker?). He is a remnant entity, a remnant of a lost republic, really, from a not-so-distant past when republics were defined by their geography.

flash fiction

Aloha poets,
Flash fiction from my novel, "The Outpost." Enjoy!

...a nature's heaven...

Florescent mists gather in the distance as parched granite dust clouds from the volcanoes pass silent on the south horizon. Darkness settles.
The tigress rests on the mountain floor, a steamy setting of tropical thickets. Giant ferns dance against the wetness. Koa and Monkey Pod trees stand majestic, hopeful, now host to a silent audience, ghosts of millions of creatures who once lived here.
Suddenly, a presence is sensed in the banyan grove. The tigress discards her sleep as if instantly disrobing. A reddish gaze emerges in her eyes from deep fires. She comes out, an inspired Olympian given one chance to demonstrate her gifts. The focus of a gentle tactician in need. Moon sparkles the jungle floor through patches in the dense canopy. Her raw urge leaves no shadow against this night. Her eyes designed before glamour and gene therapy was ever invented by humans. Her sounds pure. A damp, dark place this, her nature's heaven lay, her only honest place.