Under the rising sun

The enemy came

Wearing my face.


And so we all became the enemy.

The enemy on December 7th who wore my face is not me.

A Muslim  terrorist is not my neighbor from Syria.

That black man who robbed me at gun point is not the next black man I see.

We may dress as, or wear the same face of your enemy, but know this:

Cow 1 is not Cow 2.



Do check out my story in the Sacramento Bee that came out today in the Forum Section.

Trump and Haiku

There will be no haiku poems on Trump for the next four years in respect for Basho, Issa, and all the Japanese haiku poets who found beauty, elegance, inspiration, meaning and simple joy in nature, people and our universe and who sought and found the most select language ever available to share this with us. But…I will still write non-haiku, loosely written verses:


The gigantic kite soars

Toward the hot orange sun

Deaf to voices from Icarus’ flight,

He hurtles down and buries

The country in black ash.

Hey Frances, you forgot my frontal view.

I’m going to Hawaii soon to visit their classrooms so schools in Sacramento, let me know if you’d like a visit; I’ll have you writing poems in ten minutes.



Look who paid me a visit during the holidays. Yes, Wordsworth of my four children’s books of Wordsworth the little mouse poet who makes a difference with his poetic voice. But more than his visit, I heard this today. Remember Janet, the autistic woman who is finding such comfort in Wordsworth? Last night, her family found her reading the poem on thunderstorms from my book,Wordsworth the Poet. Janet is extremely afraid of thunder but last night, she fell asleep with the book in her hands. Thank you, Wordsworth!

Hawaii residents…another end to one of  our Hawai’ian history. Journalist Lawrence Downes’ mother is from Pepeekeo.

As a child, on sleepless nights, I felt comforted by the sounds of the sugar cane trucks hauling cane, feeling I wasn’t the only one awake. This has ended.

Sounds of Old Plantation Days

I miss the sound of the cane trucks tonight

Hauling cane through old sugar towns.

Not the bounce and rattles of the empties,

As they head back to the fields

Over the twists of narrowing country roads.

It’s the dull muffled thump of trucks

Laden with tons of fresh cut sticky cane

That pass my silent, sleepless nights.

I’m not alone on these nights,

In company of faces sitting high

In darkened cabs, the glow of half-burnt cigarets

Hanging from their lips like summer lanterns.

frances kakugawa


Those biscuit ads from McDonald’s finally got to me so I went in to get a biscuit for breakfast. I also asked for Senior coffee. The young girl looked suspiciously at me and asked if I were really a Senior. I told her I could  be her great great great grandmother. Did she make my day.  I walked out thinking I gotta work harder at making this world a better place for our youngsters. McDonald’s managers out there…please don’t tell me these gracious workers are told to say this to anyone who look 90 and older. Hush.