Hawaii Day Two (Part 1)

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The Royal Kona bar, hard by the sea,
This early morning shelters only me,
Tables deserted round its flagstone curve,
No waiters hovering to greet and serve;
Good private time to write, before the day
With all its marching news gets in the way.
Our hotel's built atop a thrust of rock
That roars and shudders to the endless shock
Of great Pacific swells crashing to shore.
The bar is built right at the drama's door,
Where adamant ledge defends with mountain force
Against the sea's insinsuating course:
Foaming explosions burst and seethe and surge,
Shatter in lambent teal, retreat, then urge
Themselves upon themselves another time,
Deep detonations in eternal rhyme,
And stronger blows now fountain a sunlit spray,
Brief rainbows arc, the rock swallowed away,
Only to surface, streaming from its pools,
Shrugging the cream and liquid turquoise jewels
And breasting its blackened vigor to the sun,
Unchanged and ready for another one.
Why can't I look away? Why is this all
I came to see, and whither comes the call?

The white van waited with its open doors:
We'd signed for one of these prepackaged tours,
"Waterfall Journeys," C Big Island Inc. --
I felt the Muse's freedom spirit sink.
Excursion tours, my Poet? Are you sure?
What's next? Vacation chosen by brochure?
And yet -- this Big Isle is SO big, so new,
A wandering ride to give an overview,
To take us further-fielding than we would,
Unveil us more Hawaii -- it felt good.
Now, a surprise as we approached the bus:
The "tour group" meeting here -- was only us!
A private escort; Joe would be our guide,
The "bus" his little Kia. Snug inside,
We climbed the mountain. Kona fell away,
And we began a strange, successful day.

Joe was a wiry guy, tee-shirt and jeans,
Tattoos and slicked-back hair, master of scenes,
Regaling us with facts for every sight
Or memories of his every teenage fight,
Or histories of the islands, odd but true,
And how he saw it from his point of view,
Or tales of his extended family,
Their various businesses and progeny;
We learned the breeds of guava, types of trees,
Names of his kids, when's safe to swallow seeds,
A friendly spiel, truly encyclopedic,
That left us in the back seat slightly seasick.
More power, Joe! The Muse, she likes your style,
Approves your every profitable mile;
You showed us two Hawaiis through the day;
We wouldn't have it any other way.

We drove the Saddle Road to Hilo side
Oe'r mountain landscapes withered, brown and dried,
A high volcanic desert, harsh to Man --
They train the troops here for Afghanistan --
Weird cinder cones like great red pimples rose
Across the blasted gorse and lava flows;
The shield of Mauna Kea, wide and dun,
Held dead and distant highlands to the sun;
Then down the other side through growing green,
A belt of witchy trees and ferns between,
And into viny jungle -- flowers, fruit --
And stopped to view a hidden lava chute.
The shadow of a fallen skylight gave
A steep descent into the sunken cave,
Tinkling with trickled water, hung with ropes
Of tree roots, also on the walls in frozen gropes;
The tube extended from the fall of light
Deep into darkness and on out of sight
Down forms of weird extended lava stone,
Melted like chocolate fudge or knobbed like bone,
Crumbled like cake or shelved like river sand --
I wandered in as far as I could stand,
Till, looking back, the opening glowed green,
A far-off spotlight of a foliate scene.




To "Waterfalls!" our tour then took its way,
And five of them filled up the later day.
Of waterfalls, well, each one has its name,
But in the essence, all display the same:
A river into sudden gulfs of space,
A silken ribbon on the rocky face,
Packets of water like white falcons diving,
Brutal thunder of their mass arriving
Into a greenblack devastated pool
Whose sunilt silver rings ever unspool
Across the water to the grassy mere
To draw the helpless staring tourists here.
Furious motion ever holding still --
What is it in this scene that holds the will?
But what is motion? What is solid earth?
Follow some water from its upper birth,
Down past the rock to pool, do it again,
A third, a fourth time, lift your head, and then
Reel drunken as the rocks will melt and dance,
Bend upward flows of trees; within this trance
All comes unanchored, universes wheel,
Impermanence is borne on you as real:
Our lives are water: here the river drops,
Sparkles a bit in air, and then it stops.



--Matt