Threshold of Hawaii

When the white deadwoods of Hawaii are lying on the shores, dead and the tides, waves and currents of Pacifica propel oceans swells ahead. . .

Remember then, Americans, Hawaiians. . . Mauna Loa, Mauna Kea. . . peaks with slopes of fire, spewn to raise up island slopes. As new lands will form with eruptions, volcanoes of Hawaii will spread this island upward and downward. . .

with volcanoes evermore. . . inspiring, without measure, the wondrous web of Paradise, distantly seen.

Walk hand in hand, and together we’ll stand . . . on these Islands with our dreams. As I was walking on a beach of Hawaii, my poetic muse struck. Sudden inspiration fell into the poetic framework of a recitation heard long ago. . . while listening to the Moody Blues, specifically the voice of Mike Pinder as he recited Graeme Edge’s “The Dream”, which presented the poetic architecture for my poem about Hawaii. King of Soul