See The Boy

See the boy. The boy sits. Silent and still. Still except for his furious little fingers, flicking around a controller. Eyes hung. Gaunt. See his eyes, hypnotized by the cherry apple corvette. See him crash it into pedestrians. 100 bonus points.

Grandfather Apelu sees the buzzing glass, sees it draining the boy dry. Dry of thought. Dry of action. Dry of life.

"Tana. Why don't you play outside? The sun is bright. The wind is strong."
"I'm okay, grandad."
"I don't like that thing you play on."
"I know grandad"
"Turn it off boy. Turn it off."
"and do what?"

"If you turn it off, I will tell you a story."
"No thanks grandad"
Apelu rises from his chair, and stares at Tana.
"Just a quick story boy, then you can go back to playing your tv thing".

Following a sigh of protest, Tana turns it off, then places himself with crossed legs at the feet of his grandfather, who has now returned to his seat.

"This is a story I heard the Reverend say some time ago".

Our Pacific is not small.
Vast is our ocean.
Stretching from the east
to the west.
How deep is the South Pacific?
emerald green to sky blue
and darkest blue seas.
Four winds blowing
In the changes of time.

Pasifikan do not forget
who you are and where you
come from.
This is home and home of our
Ancestors.
Follow your heart
do not be small in mind, spirit
and heart
because our Pacific
is not small.

Grandfather Apelu sees Tana's eyes have widened again. Widened as much as the bright smile that reaches across his face. Much has returned to the boys eyes. Wonder. Excitement. Life.
Tana is alive once more. Saying nothing. Eyes fixed once more but this time on his grandfather. Apelu glances at the television, and curses it in his head and in his heart. Apelu sighs in resignation.

"I don't like that thing you play on".
 "You can go back to your tv playing now Tana".

"Please tell me another Tama o lo'u Tama".

Constantly in Motion

Constantly in Motion

Life as a child was not very intriguing.  I loved the simple things.  But, I always yearned for more.  I want to leave my home, I wanted to leave Vermont, I just wanted to explore.  "I want to be anywhere but here," I would say.  Vacations and traveling for a few weeks would not quench my desire to travel.  I counted the days I would be free.

Then, I left.  Not far at first, off to the city.  Only four hours away.  Loud buses, trains, parties, horns.  Never a second of peace or quiet.  Impossible to hear the birds chirping.  Everyone rushed; never a chance to pause and take a breath.  In the city of Boston.

Then, I left.  Not that far, only 4 hours away.  To the peace an quiet.  Where the Amish with their horses and buggies were a common sight.  My walk each morning included birds, and squirrels and - if I was lucky, - a woodchuck.  People relaxed and hiked.  But, it was too quiet.  In the village of Potsdam.

Then, I left.  Far, far away.  On a 50 hour journey across the equator, across my country, across the Pacific Ocean.  Where I have yet to meet an unfriendly Kiwi.  Where the beauty extends beyond the beaches and above the mountains. Auckland is quiet at night and lively in the day.  Perfect.  In the country of Aotearoa.

But, it is not home and soon I will leave.  Continue travelling the world. Constantly in motion.

But, I know I will return.  No matter how far I go Vermont will always be my home, in the end.  Just as it was in the beginning.

Dear Brown Brother.

Dear Brown Brother,
Sometimes I am brown and sometimes I am white.
Sometimes I will claim to be one,
But this usually ends in a fight.

Am I a Half Kast?
I am half brown.
I am half white.
No, I am an out cast.

I can't speak the language.
I can't play rugby.
I can't sing.
I can't dance.
But boy can I eat.
I have an islanders appetite,
But a white mans appearance.

I understand the traditions and culture.
I know the Pacific way.
I get the jokes.
But do you care?
No, all you see is that I am fair.

So dear brown brother,
Am I still your brother,
Even though we are not the same colour?

Fogs of War -Creative Response

In this world of dominating deeds
I'm colonised and pressured to confess.
I'm white and shine within crowds so bright,
Even though I was raised in dark lights.

Birthed in a place of diversity
White is brown
Brown is black
And black is white

Like the colours of the rainbow
Blurred and in-twinned
Once alone, no longer
We string strong ties

My ancestors were the colonisers
They misplaced their right of land
A mistake that faced furious fires
Then displaced others right to stand


It was the shivering hot coals
That kept my Great parents going
They stuck to greedy goals
Not knowing, they lost the greatest thing.

Stretching their hands far
The Old World grew vast
But mothers base withered away
Displacements disease spread fast.


New Zealand was colonised
Caused hurt and confusion
So many are marginalised
Identities now forgotten

Shadows are chased, beaten to hide
I understand, sympathetic
As I am made little
Like a candle surviving in the dark.

We may be on different sides
Separated by culture,
Linguistic language
And difference.

But where the end lies
No matter the feelings
Nor individuals eyes
One will always be above the other


Fighting fogs of war





Creative Response to;
    Grace Taylor -Navigating Spaces
    A Book and a Pen by Vaine Rasmussen

The World Before Colonialism

(This is written as a general response to several poems and my experience on study abroad in New Zealand.)

The World Before Colonialism:

A world once with
The Tapu and the Ngaru


The Haka and the Poi
A Hangi and a Marae

Now replaced by
Atomic bombs and rifles
Obesity and Victoria's Secret

Things lacking in spiritual being

If I couldJust take a peak

Just to see
Just to know

Where in my imagination
I could be
Singing Pokarekare Ana
Under a Kowhai tree

A world where
My ears could hear a Tui call

And not a single
Unnatural sound

But, how could I know?
How could I see?
What colonialism took away
From you and from me

I read to remember
I read to find

Third World Notes For The Kiap

This is a creative response to 'The Bush Kanaka Speaks' by Kumalau Tawali

One World. Two Worlds. Three worlds.

First World:

Car in the Garage
Brick in the road
Gun in the hand
Christ in the heart
Human in the culture

Second world:

Sand on the shore
Coconut in the tree
Kava in the belly
Tapa in the story
Human in the culture

Third World...

Is there?

Only around those who think there is.