It’s Mother’s Day in America

Weep not for the mothers laying dead in bombed out villages

or their sisters and brothers shot in the back

as they waved their flags of black, red, green & white

weep instead for the children they leave behind,

far out of the world’s sight

as we pay no mind to the plight

of the broken and battered

their whole world shattered

can you find it in your heart to shed even one tear for them

this Mothers Day?


Is your fear so great that you remain paralyzed

with subconscious hate

and apathetically nod, ‘but it’s their fate’

as you eat Medjool dates

grown in places erased from the map

to further slap those orphans upside the head,

it’s Mother’s Day in America, but theirs are dead


and we stay well fed on dates and aging lies

but when did stolen land become a prize for genocide?

And when did love for one equate hate for another?


Brother, don’t shed tears for me

please weep for our mother.


Why did auntie’s independence

become mamma’s catastrophe

as the clock strikes seventy years

the caged dove still longs to breathe free

while it’s choking on the smoke

from burning fields of ancient olive trees

and through the smoke we can’t see

that we hold the keys


we drive the Caterpillar bulldozers destroying what’s left of homes

we hold the gasoline and matches burning down those ancient olive groves

we fly the jets dropping death from above


but we hold the keys to unlock the cage and release the dove

and we don’t need a sage to advise us about right and wrong

and we don’t need to wait on a page-turning book or a catchy song


There’s no mourning in America this Mother’s Day

there’s no money in the truth my friend, and skies are grey

don’t just bow your head and pray

and wait for things to change

as you pay to turn the world into a target range

and say you think it strange how things are as they are

as you search for lucky coins and look for shooting stars

you curse the President as you fuel Air Force One

and watch him Bob Ross mushroom clouds out of a price-tag gun


you think Uncle Sam’s come undone

but he’s long been this way…


I hope you find a tear to cry on Mother’s Day





Posted in america, american dream, Bethlehem, collateral damage, death, doves, farming, Gaza, human rights, humanity, Israel, Jericho, Jerusalem, Jesus, life, love, Mother's Day, Nakba, Olive trees, palestine, Palestinians, peace, poem, Poetry, poetry for peace, propaganda, refugees, Syria, taxes, Trump, Uncategorized, war, war tax resistance, West Bank, Yemen | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Just Say No (To building another jail)

In the year 2001, Portugal decriminalized all drugs, from marijuana to heroin. Since then, drug use has dropped in all age groups, and both drug-related crime and deaths are down. So is the prison population. This is great news for everyone except private prison corporations and companies selling their products to jails and prisons. In America, there are over 2 million people behind bars, and close to 5 million on probation or parole. With only 5 percent of the worlds population, America has over 25 percent of the worlds prisoners. If we become more like the Portuguese, those numbers would plummet.

Portugal took all of the tax dollars it was spending locking human beings away from society and redirected it to help them heal from whatever trauma and whatever pain had led them to want to numb themselves in the first place, and to assist with their recovery. Businesses were rewarded for hiring former drug users, not prohibited or discouraged from doing so. In Portugal, these people were treated, first and foremost, as the human beings that they are, not dehumanized and branded as criminals. Instead of using taxes to lock people struggling with addiction away in expensive cages, money was spent on treatment, and on creating opportunities, meaningful jobs, and purpose. For less than the cost of locking someone away, either locally or in a private prison in Arizona, we can show them aloha and treat them the way we would want to be treated.

Decriminalizing all drugs, or even making them legal, will not lead to masses of new drug users. It would make drug use safer for those currently using, and make recovery a far likelier possibility. With the stigma gone, we can view addiction the way we view diabetes or cancer. Our loved ones would have the space to address the root causes of their addiction, the space to heal, and community support to help in the process.

What happened in Portugal wasn’t a miracle. It can just as easily happen here on Molokai, as well as state-wide. Instead of building a new jail on Oahu, we should demand the state put our money to better use by creating programs to help current and former drug users. Our taxes should be spent empowering our brothers and sisters and allowing them the opportunity to heal and become active, valued members of the community, instead of locking them up and inflicting more trauma.



Posted in Uncategorized

Barbara Bush

“Why should we hear about body bags and deaths,

and how many,

what day it’s gonna happen,

and how many this or that

or what do you suppose?

Or, I mean, it’s not relevant.

So, why should I waste my beautiful mind

on something like that?”


Said former first lady Barbara Bush

two days before her son George

oversaw the 2003 invasion of Iraq.


She was the wife of a war criminal

and she was the mother of a war criminal.

She came from a lot of money

and she died with more.


After Hurricane Katrina,

she visited some of the refugees

who came to Houston from New Orleans

and observed:

Everybody is so overwhelmed by the hospitality,

and so many of the people in the arenas here,

you know,

were underprivileged anyway,

so this (as she chuckles slightly)

is working very well for them”


Everyone dies.

Waste not your tears

mourning such a woman as this.

Everyone dies,

even the rich.


In the words of Barbara Bush

Why should we hear

about body bags

and deaths…

I mean, it’s not relevant.

So, why should I waste my beautiful mind

on something like that?”




Posted in america, george bush, greed, history, humanity, ignorance, poem, Poetry, racism, Uncategorized, war, war tax resistance | Tagged , , , , , ,

Israelis Kill Unarmed Protesters, Barely Notice

Write down: I, Uri Avnery, soldier number 44410 of the Israel army, hereby dissociate myself from the army sharpshooters who murder unarmed demonstrators along the Gaza Strip, and from their commanders, who give them the orders, up to the commander in chief. We don’t belong to the same army, or to the same state. We – Uri Avnery for Original

Source: Israelis Kill Unarmed Protesters, Barely Notice

Posted in Uncategorized

East v. West

keep heading east

and you’ll find your way


then keep heading west

and you’ll find your way


and east becomes west

and the test is to see

that home is wherever

you’re happy

and free

and the Silk Road we ride

will lead us to believe

that no army can stop

what we’re bound to achieve

and we’ll grieve

all our losses

but we’ll never stop

we’ll forever be near

just a jump,


and hop

and up,


and away

some may say

don’t head south

but they’re stuck

like peanut butter sticks

to the roof

of their mouth

so, just keep heading south

and you’ll get to the north

after east,




you might wind up

in forth

but the medals are stolen



and gold

you don’t need buried treasure

for fortunes untold

not foretold

show and tell

angel fell from on high

this path is a circle

so look to the sky

read the stars

and you’ll find

your way

out of this mess

there’s no need for diamonds

no queen to impress

dress right,


about face

the sun rises and sets

theres no pie

in the sky

it’s as good

as it gets


our debts

keep us shackled

to streets

paved with gold

but two feet

in the grave

before we ever

grow old

we’re ice cold

to our neighbors

forget about looking east

we pay for the burden

keep feeding the beast

pumping gas in the fire

as we’re fanning the flames

forever, we’re losing

no matter the games

we keep paying

and playing

and eating this bread

from this tightrope we walk on

we can’t see the dead

the west

looks the best

from where we’re at up here

but even if

we look down

we can’t see

through the fear

the lions are hungry

the tigers are wild

but let them go feast

on some other man’s child

war bothers me not

I turn two

blind eyes

and I don’t even blink

when a two year old


and his family

and friends

and whole villages


from this tightrope

I walk on

I can’t see the world


wearing blinders

my eyes

only see

my own pain

live in fear

of my neighbors

like a painter

fears rain

though he lives

in the desert

not a cloud

in the sky

every moment

he worries

that he won’t

stay dry


the flys I the ointment

the eggs in the pan

the cats in the cradle

of uncivilized man

tit for tat

this and that

choose to sit out

the game

don’t even remember

when all this fear came

year in

and year out

scream and shout

from soapboxes

keep teaching the chickens

to out smart the foxes

burn these boxes of briefs

oh, the Chiefs won the game

and the Redskins are angry

the Cowboys

the same

slings and arrows

and sparrows

will sing from the wire

we’ll bring you more gold

until we retire

and our dreams

they all fade

into ashes and dust

and we cry

as all of our possessions rust

and in God we trusted

through thick

and through thin

as the preacher,


and businessman

board private jets

with devilish grins

and fly into the sunset

while we’re still looking east

unhappy in famine

unhappy in feast

unhappy in life

always worried of death

this fear we are hooked on

is worse than heroin

and meth

the only real enemy

is inside our mind

but we keep looking east

so we’ll never find

that the answer is written

inside of us all

let Caesar

keep stacking cards

and surely they’ll fall

like Rome fell

kiss and tell

wishing well

drink it up

then reach down again

once more

fill up your cup


too abrupt

gone corrupt

walk in circles all day

there’s blood in the water

dead fish in the bay

some may say

but don’t listen

because none of its real

don’t take roads less traveled

and before the queen


seal the deal

feel your way

through the forest

at night

oh, there’s nothing to fear

when you turn out

the light

out of sight

out of mind

in a bind

cut and run

whenever you’re lost

simply follow

the sun

you’ll go east

you’ll go west

you’ll be tested

and tried

and the truth is

the only

thing that can’t hide


rising tide

old tie dye

worn out


and torn

indie flicks

hippie chicks

bags of subsidized corn

keep us fed

on this path

that we blaze

in the sand

here and there


lets dig in

take a stand

leave the flock

save a rock

skipping stones

through the sky

babble on

millions gone

do we care

when they die?

taxes paid

wreaths are laid

an old gravedigger cries

burried youth

burried truth

since day one

you have lied

trinity test

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

bombs away

hope and pray

we believe

that we’re free

north and south

hand to mouth

we keep feeding

the flame

don’t you dare

say you care

we all share

in the blame

times are tough

drafts are rough

beer is flowing

like wine

edit still

drink your fill

patriotic moonshine

wagons east

slay the beast

that we’ve raised

all these years

sun has set

I regret

living shrouded

in fear

east and west

north and south

it’s all one

and the same

weapons raised

I’m not phased

this is all

just a game

bury me

out at sea

wash away all the pain

here and there

city square

and the beast

is now slain.

Posted in Uncategorized

How Do You Remain

how do you remain silent

in a world filled with such violence?

how do you look the other way

and pretend everything’s okay?

how do you continue to pay for war

that you sheepishly ignore?

how do you sleep at night

as millions fight the oppression you condone?

when you realize it’s unjust, stand up

you are not alone!


We are many, the rulers few

there is nothing we cannot do

so raise your fist, pour out your glass

unplug your TV, get off your ass

join the masses far and near

resist the war, have no fear

tell the taxman ‘not today’

to kill civilians, you will not pay!

You’ll pay for health care,

you’ll pay for schools

but not for wars started by fools.



Posted in poem, Poetry, taxes, Uncategorized, war, war tax resistance | Tagged , , , ,

There Are No Innocent People

“There are no innocent people in the Gaza Strip”

Said Israeli Defence Minister Avigdor Liberman.

So the 30 unarmed Palestinians,

including a journalist killed by a sniper

while clearly wearing a PRESS vest,

those 30 unarmed Palestinians

were not innocent.

That were guilty of something

they were guilty of existing

they were guilty of non-violently resisting

they were guilty of not keeping their fucking mouths shut

they were guilty of…of

they were guilty of being Palestinian

they were guilty of being cast as the villain

Israel’s army said it “does not intentionally target journalists”

but at least six journalists were hit by Israeli gunfire on Friday

in addition to the one killed by a sniper.

Those journalists were not innocent

they were guilty of

bearing witness

to man’s inhumanity to man

bearing witness

to ethnic cleansing

bearing witness to

absolute insanity

bearing witness to

crimes against humanity

bearing witness to

history’s rhymes.

“There are no innocent people in the Gaza Strip”

Said Israeli Defence Minister Avigdor Liberman

because, if you say there are no innocent people

you can slaughter them like lambs

and cast yourself as the good shepherd

merely tending his own flock

and from fear, they follow you

not realizing their fleece is the same

as those you slaughter,

that their blood is the same

as those you slaughter

that they are the same

as those you slaughter

that Ishmael and Isaac were brothers

and a few crazed descendants

cannot prune their cousins

from the family tree

cannot rewrite history.

Palestine was not a land without a people

for a people without a land,

Palestine had and has people

they are called Palestinians

and they are guilty only of existing

guilty only of refusing to be pruned

from their family tree

guilty only of refusing to let go of the key

to the homes

their grandparents

and great-grandparents were forced to flee from

seven decades ago

they are guilty only of resisting oppression

and refusing to let go of their roots

and as an old farmer harvests olives

from a two-thousand year old tree

and a young soldier shoots and kills him

he is but a limb, pruned

but the tree grows on

as his grandchildren pick up the key

and harvest olives

and cry for their grandfather

and cry for their sisters and brothers in Gaza

and cry for their cousins in the IDF,

they forgive them

for they know not what they do…

for, if only they knew

they would join their cousins in the harvest

and stop cutting down two-thousand year old olive trees,

for, if only they knew

they would divest

from everything that leads to more death

they would affirm life

and they would ignore the masters of war

turning them into monsters

turning them into something

that would make their own grandparents cry.


Posted in Gaza, palestine, poem, Poetry, pumpkin festival, Uncategorized