Memorial Day Poem

The soldiers stood cemented to the grassy ground

Like statues while Buddhist sutras filled the air.

Movement would dishonor the man who once stood

In his uniform, like his comrades today.

The three-gun salute, the wailing taps,

The precision of the folding of the flag,

A salute purified by white gloves

For the presentation of the symbolic flag.

Each step of ultimate precision, a tribute to dignity,

Honor and respect for the fallen soldier,

From the country whom he had served

With love, dignity and honor.

Whatever Alzheimer’s stole,

All was returned to him today.

Whatever memories forgotten,

The country that he loved, remembered.

A final rest in peace.

from I Am Somebody:Bringing Dignity and Compassion to Alzheimer’s Caregiving by frances kakugawa

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Wordsdworth the Haiku Teacher

My fifth Wordsworth book is sending me to Hawaii in June-July. I’ll be in Hilo:

Basically Books: June 24: Saturday.

Time: 2:00

There will be signing and a short discussion on how I wrote all five books. Wordsworth promised to make an appearance, too.

My Oahu visits are still in pencil; I’ll be posting the Oahu events and schedule once they’re in ink.

Please drop by to say hello.

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Wordsworth the Haiku Teacher

My fifth Wordsworth book in my Wordsworth the Poet series is here. I’ll be in Hawaii for book signings, talks on Wordsworth and other workshops. Stay tuned for dates. Hilo friends, I’ll be at Basically Books on June 24th at 2:00 p.m. I’ll be discussing how I wrote all five Wordsworth books and Wordsworth promised to make an appearance. Please drop by to say hello.

My Oahu events are still in pencil. I will post them when they’re in ink. I’ll be speaking on caregiving and will do a poetry writing workshop along with book signings.

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I Should Not Be Allowed Out of the House

Part I: I should not be allowed out of the house

My shopping cart began to squeak with the most irritating metal against metal sound, so high up the scale that mice in ceilings would have fallen dead. This was at Emigh’s. Shoppers began to frown at me. Then one man  said aloud, “I like that sound!” I looked at his smiling face and said so all could hear, “And I love irritating people!” The only person who laughed was that male shopper. I squeaked my way to the cashier.

Part II: I should not be allowed out of the house

 When the optometrist said, “Since you write children’s books, what do you think of what’s going on with our children?” I used paragraphs to give my views on political adults who are interfering with our children by banning books and controlling learning. I went on how our children won’t be able to think, make the right choices, blah blah blah. I even suggested that all teachers change their last names to Gay. After I got through, she merely said, “Well, there are some bad things out there for our children.” I realized driving home that my vision and hers were charts apart!

Part II: I should not be allowed out of the house

I walk inside the mall for an hour before the shops open . Often, it’s the security guards and myself  in the mall. The mall is filled with beautiful plants. One of those plants is selling for $27 or more at Emigh’s or in supermarkets. So, why can’t I just snip off a cutting and start my own pot of greens. Who would miss a five inch cutting? There are two such pots in one corner of the mall. I could easily hide one in my pocket. Then one day a security guard told me how safe the mall is because there are more than 150 cameras in the ceilings. Omg, I thought, I could have been arrested for stealing had I taken just a few inches of a plant. But the thought never left. Two days ago I saw the gardener working with the plants. I asked to see his trash bag for any shoots. When I told him how pricey those potted plants were, he asked which plants did I like? Without a word he took out two potted plants, put them in a plastic bag and said, “Walk with me and show me what other plants you want.”  I told him those two pots were enough. “These are heavy. Let me carry these to your car.” I told him I could handle them, he refused the cash I offered him for his lunch and I  took them to my car and returned to finish my walk. I saw him today and he said, “ Do you want more plants?” “I’m good, “ I said and thanked him. He saved me from prison, that kind gardener.

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Raised by Wolves with Apologies to Wolves

Are we letting wolves raise our children?

I walk inside the mall before the shops open and exchange “Good Morning” with a few regular walkers.Twice last week, when I said “Good Morning” to two young adults, they looked stunned and said, “Oh, okay.” They reminded me of a young man who sat next to me on a flight to Hawai’i.

Raised by Wolves

A young man buckles himself next to me,

Connected to wires and earbuds.

He grunts to my Hello without meeting my eyes.

Soon we are flying over the Pacific

Nary a word between our proximity.

An hour into flight, breakfast trays appear.

He leans over his mushroom cheese crepes,

Stabs his fork into one, lifts the crepe to his mouth,

Takes a bite and drops the rest of the crepe to his plate.

 He was raised by wolves, this much I know.

He picks up a piece of cantaloupe with his fingers

Takes a bite, moves his face over his tray and drops

The size too large for a bite back to his plate.

His utensils, ignored like the napkin on his tray.

My teacher mode kicks in.

Learn by observing, child raised by wolves.

Learn by observing.

Miss Manners and Emily Post at his service

I use each silverware and my napkin, too.

Attempt again for conversation over breakfast.

“Let me guess,” I begin.

No, No, I didn’t ask,” Were you raised by wolves?”

Miss Manners was still around.

“You’re a college student returning home for summer break.”

He flashes his first smile. He finished his junior year in college,

Flying home with hopes of finding a summer job.

I drink my cup of decaf coffee, wish him well.

I was wrong, not raised by wolves, perhaps

By Fast Foods finger foods and his SmartPhone.

    ©Frances H Kakugawa

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Dem not weeds, dem is flowers

To make a prairie/

It takes a clover and a bee/

A clover and a bee/

And reverie/

The reverie alone will do/

If bees are few.

            Emily Dickinson

A Matter of Perception

The weeds have been crying for a weeder for weeks.

Still frozen in my winter lazy bones, I thought surely I can find a way to get out of this…a little boy came to mind.

When I was a student in College of Educ, the professor demonstrated “how to read a story to 4 year olds.” Before she could begin, a little boy asked, “Teacher, why is your hair all white?”

Before she could respond, another boy turned toward the little boy and said, “Her hair not grey, her hair silver.”

So I took off my garden gloves and walked away, “Dem weeds not weeds, dem weeds flowers.”

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2023

May the year of the Rabbit

Bring Joy, Gratitude, Peace –

And continue our paying Human Kindness forward

In the Spirit of Aloha.

Thank you, my Blog friends.

frances

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Wayne Harada on Wordsworth Musical

WORDSWORTH: FROM POEMS TO PLAY

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Wordsworth the Musical

This scene is created for one of the poems called Hawaiian Rainbow.

Come support the University of Hawaii Performing Arts Center, Hilo.

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