We** never could think of a good name for our project. We used “Lit circle” often but always unhappily. It sounded so clinical! “Literature circle” was worse. And “after-school creative writing program,” though true, was just about the epitome of generic.
The difficulties and victories of description drew these five writers together as they tackled topics as divergent as cheese fondue from manapua. Descriptive writing is difficult, as we all learned after the fifth (!!) revision. But they all rose to the challenge, painstakingly pulling detail after detail into existence. The pieces you are about to read reflect two months of hour-a-week meetings in Mrs. Yango-Au’s room – reading, talking, and hesitantly trying to re-make life into writing.
The first poem, “JUST JUMP” by Kawehi Sablan, comes to life through his character’s voice. It is a fitting way to begin this collection of young voices, the courage required to “step off the rock” also representing the courage necessary to put words on a blank page. In the next poem, “The Manapua Van ,” Michael Santos vividly recreates the 5:30 “onolicious” excitement of the manapua van experience…with a twist! Next, Carly Wilson pays tribute to the after-surfing ritual she shares with her father in “Surfing my way to Rainbows," her crafted description evoking the feeling of walking into a crisp photograph. “Cheese Fondue” by Angelena Stokes turns an innocuous dinner into an epic disaster (and opens with a disgustingly wonderful first line!). Luke Wadahara plays with shape and definition in his trilogy "Green," "Sand," and "Green is..." Finally, Moana Lemn closes our project by defying the assumption that “writing is just something you do for school.” We sense that there is something much more personal at stake in her commemorative poem “Only if dreams came true.”
Ka Lamakua is proud to present their pieces and so proud of each of them, for daring to create.
JUST JUMP by Kawehi Sablan
JUST JUMP
by Kawehi Sablan
This weekend, my friend them took me to this ice pond, it was my first time there.
Right when we got there, they dared me to jump from the highest rock.
Being the stubborn, hardheaded, kolohe boy that I am, I acted hard.
From where I was standing, it didn’t look too high, but when I got up there I was
SHITTIN BRICKS!
I was looking down there and my friends kept teasing me telling me to hurry
up and jump. I kept asking them where to jump and how deep it was, they kept
saying "no worry you not goin hit bottom."
I had the worst butterflies in my life, probably just as bad as when it was
up to me to make the winning touchdown for the state championship in Pop Warner.
My two minutes up there felt like days.
Finally I just closed my eyes and stepped off the rock.
manapua van... by Michael Santos
manapua van...
by Michael Santos
Sitting and waiting on my black top car oil covered driveway holding
my 2 dollahz and 75 cents, just enough to buy 2 strawberry fruit by
the foots and 1 box of grape nerds mmmmmmm mmmmmm so ono!
jus waiting till I hear that familiar tune that comes around 5:30ish
and what followed that tune was that old, rusted, white manapua van.
Which had a side glass window that showed all kinds of candies, bubble
yum, bubblicious, tootsie pops, reeses pieces, name any candy you could
find it in that glass window...remembering those onolicious times I
ate candy from the manapua van last time.....I suddenly hear and see
half naked barefeet little children about yea high, screaming stop!
now that the manapua van stopped you can see those half naked barefeet
children about yea high trade their money for a pack of little pixie
sticks, those different flavored powder sugar sticks that always got
all over your shirt and changed your tongue into funny colors.
after serving those half naked little children the manapua van plays
his music and starts coming toward me...waving my hands in the air
signaling to stop, then I take couple seconds to see if there’s any new
candies to eat, getting a little impatient that bald asian manapua man
asks "are you weady to ooda?" in that chinese accent of his.
I ask him for the 2 fruit by the foots and grape nerds that I’ve been
waiting for all this time...I reach into my pocket and find out its
ripped inside with a hole and my money is gone!....the manapua man
asks me, "is dis a joke?!" and drives away leaving me
candyless =(
Surfing my way to Rainbows by Carly Wilson
Surfing my way to Rainbows
by Carly Wilson
After strapping up our 7.5foot boards on top of our old ’97 Nissan gray van
I hop inside the car and roll down my window.
My dad starts our beat old engine and drives away.
The easy wind is grazing my freshly tanned face.
Leaving Bowls,
My stomach growls, we’ve been surfing for hours.
Food deprived and all.
It was like the kind of hunger and relief where you know you are on you way to delicious food, your mouth is dry and tingles just a little bit.
I knew it was coming,
The question I always expected after days like these.
“Rainbows?” announced my dad who smiled and glanced at me.
He knew he couldn’t go wrong by taking us there,
He knew we desperately wanted one of their infamous strawberry ice cream slushees,
He just knew it.
I nodded like I always did and gave that slightly excited smile to him.
The term ‘rainbows’ invades my ears:
In the heart of the tourist town which is terribly crowded like the ‘Big Apple’,
Sits a tiny but well-known drive inn almost like L&L.
It’s our tradition in a way,
We go surf then we come rainbow drive inn.
Get da local surfers, tourist, and even the filthy, annoying pigeons that keep cooing for food.
Those tricky birds, they make us feed them thinking they’ll go away, but then they only end up coming back.
I don’t blame those mixed colored pigeons.
I think of the cement round tables with the slight graffiti markings on them that usually state ‘I love you’ or has some random initials.
Dakine tables that are always occupied by the surfers with nice brown hair that’s flippy and flowy and with a mocha tan that overlaps their muscular body,
And by those Japanese tourists,
The ones with crooked teeth and those bright colorful slippers,
But it’s ok for them,
No one is there to tease them,
They are all too hungry for that.
“Eh how was da surf out dea? Was good o’ wat?”
“May I take your order?”
Chit chat surrounds that place,
Where people like to go to eat and talk story after a long day at the beach.
The sounds like cash registers banging open and shut and swishes of bags,
Those noises never get to me though.
The thought of deciding what to get at rainbows is almost impossible because I never can, but today my washed out brain becomes one with my mouth and they decide for me.
“What you want to eat?” my dad asks me,
Teri beef or loco moco,
Cheeseburgers, barbeque chicken, chili fries,
The menu, a diet plan gone bad, has choke food choices on there,
How could anyone just choose one?
It never mattered to me tough because all is good over there.
“I want teri beef with a strawberry slush, please.”
Cheese Fondue by Angelena Stokes-Wilkersham
Cheese Fondue
by Angelena Stokes-Wilkersham
The smell of burnt cheese and sour fish creeps up my nose
as I descend the stairs to the dining room
Dinner is ready…
At the table
a pot of bubbling yellow muck sits before me
I lower my cabob in to the muck
And yellow slup drips off my food
as I lift it to my mouth
I scrunch my eyes and open my mouth
preparing myself…..
A warm rich salty taste fills my mouth
thick, raw, and toxic
suffocating me..
I stuff hot potatoes, broccoli, cauliflower
anything in sight
trying to mask the taste
burning my mouth
But it is too late
I need air
Must swallow..
I swallow
And a forced clump drags down my throat
It’s over
Green/Sand by Luke Wadahara
Green/Sand
by Luke Wadahara
The smell of burnt cheese and sour fish creeps up my nose
as I descend the stairs to the dining room
Dinner is ready…
At the table
a pot of bubbling yellow muck sits before me
I lower my cabob in to the muck
And yellow slup drips off my food
as I lift it to my mouth
I scrunch my eyes and open my mouth
preparing myself…..
A warm rich salty taste fills my mouth
thick, raw, and toxic
suffocating me..
I stuff hot potatoes, broccoli, cauliflower
anything in sight
trying to mask the taste
burning my mouth
But it is too late
I need air
Must swallow..
I swallow
And a forced clump drags down my throat
It’s over
Only if dreams came true by Moana Lemn
Only if dreams came true
by Moana Lemn
I wake up, lying on the hard apartment floor, from the loud rumbling sound of the rubbish truck. I go outside to watch the rubbish truck from four stories above the somewhat full parking lot just as the sun is rising and the large lush green mountains begin to unravel. I stand on the tiny red plastic chair and stack of pillows just so I can see over the railing. I tippy-toe to kiss your soft aged cheek and hug you with your big arms wrapping my entire body up like a soft teddy bear. Bshsh! The rubbish truck drives off and all we can hear are the fans moving back and forth and the morning news on T.V. I look back into the tiny but very suitable apartment and realize the fans aren’t moving and the T.V. is off. I look back to the parking lot and all of a sudden I feel the cold breeze caress my body and I can feel my feet planted into the ground standing on the hard cement floor of the hallway. Then, I look at the empty parking lot and see the trash cans full of a rainbow of stink garbage. I turned around again looking for my teddy bear but I can’t find it. Then I come to my senses and realize ten years have passed since I had to tippy-toe on the tiny red plastic chair to look over the railing. I never thought time could fly by so fast and take my warm, comforting teddy bear away from me. My only wish is to have a chance to have to stand on that tiny red plastic chair and stack of pillows and tippy-toe just to kiss your soft aged cheek once more. Only if dreams came true.
From left to write: Moana Lemn, Aiko Yamashiro, Lehua Ledbetter, Angelena Stokes-Wikersham, Kawehi Sablan, Michael Santos, Carly Wilson. (Missing!: Luke Wadahara)
**"We" being Aiko and Lehua, two UH undergrads responsible for dreaming up and organizing this project. And interested in instigating literature. Everywhere. Contact
kalamakua.org+literature@gmail.com for more information.
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