A Friday Night Poem
I lived in Hawaii for three years. My family was sent there by the US Navy. Dad worked on the CINCPACFLT Admiral’s staff.
I was in the 6th through the 8th grades and only wore shoes for church at Makalapa, and when we went out to dinner. I went camping in the Koʻolau Range once a month, and spent a lot of time on the beaches, and snorkeling in Hanauma Bay. A little brown boy that loved being a part-time Kamaʻāina.
I was remembering so many wonderful times there, and I wrote a poem today, a Friday Night Poem, that I want to share with you.
A Friday Night Poem.
Verse 1
Sun wake slow on a Samoan tin-roof day,
McGrew Point breeze helping the palm trees sway,
Turn on J. Akuhead Pupule--da' bro’ is da’ best,
as I am trying to wake from my island nest.
The trail’s been rough and da' nights been long,
but sorrow don’t always get the final Kamaka song.
I reef my sails when cancer waves pound,
joy still glows—when I remember Old Koloa Town.
Verse 2
So I step outside with my stinging feet,
shakin’ off a little sand and midnight moonlight sleep,
I hear KGMB radio play,
something sweet for our souls today.
The mainland keeps spinning with its headlines,
its crooked deals and its warning signs,
but Island mornings still paint the windows gold,
while my humble heart for another rebel day is bold.
Chorus
Bob's not my uncle but I did hear him say,
“Don't worry, be happy,” and that’s how we pray.
So I carry that line when the skies go gray,
like a jar of fireflies you keep for a day.
Not every burden will float like foam,
not every lost beach boy comes back home,
but if I can smile while Big Iz sings,
I can still find grace in the little things.
Verse 3
The keiki run where the hibiscus grow,
my barefoot wisdom comes when my trade winds blow,
and the old men smile on the La Nigh out back,
they knows what the broken-hearted lack:
Not riches, no, and not escape,
but a slower breath and a stronger shape.
For me it's a tune to hold when the day gets hot,
My cancer lyrics remind me what I almost forgot.
Bridge
“I put the lime in the coconut” like Harry said,
shaken not stirred—James Bond (unsaid).
Clip-clop rhythm of the rain and the Cane Toads,
echoing joy along the rusty red dirt roads.
Hear the Trade Winds whoosh at the noonday sun,
wild and warm and built to run,
Island music starts with daily rain,
turning three years of memory into refrain.
Chorus
And every beat says life goes on,
even after the dark, there’s another dawn.
So let my memories carry the load,
let offbeat humor light up my Haole road.
Let the slack guitar drift in the breeze,
let the kamaʻāina chorus harmonize with ease.
I’m not saying my hurt just fades away,
I’m saying love songs still asks us to stay.
Verse 4
To stir the poi pot, to share the Portuguese Sweet Bread,
to lift our eyes up to Madame Pele instead.
I was brown and barefoot during my three year stay,
and that’s why island music in dis’ heart always plays.
Because my lungs, though scarred and sore,
so far have survived the squamous roar.
Even with no breaks my soul soars strong,
Turning my chemo aches into song.
Outro
So if you feel weary, come sit awhile,
I’ll trade you your dreary for a poem and a smile.
And when our summer sunset cools the land,
and evening lays its softer hand,
we’ll hum one truth till the stars appear:
joy is resistance, my friend, right now, right here.
Not someday far away, not when all is right,
but now, in the middle of this fight.
You can't wait until everything is good someday.
Find and eliminate your every delay.
So sway with the breeze, let your spirit play—
And nay, don’t worry about me once Again Dear Friends...
Life is short I have heard--The End.