Stories Of The ‘Aina And The Kai

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ALL ISLAND STORIES ARE WELCOME!

Break out the pen, laptop, paints and cameras, etc. 

and send us your best inspiration!

We’re looking for great writing, art and photography. Anything to do with the ‘Aina and Ocean experience. Hawaiian Culture, Sustainable Agriculture, Organic Farming, Alternative Energy, Hawaiian Spirituality, Outrigger Canoeing, Surfing, Kayaking, Canoeing, Fishing, or just talking story, etc., etc., etc.

 The premier issue of our printed version of MauiSalt is scheduled for May 2017.

 Please direct emails to mauisaltandsage@gmail.com

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A Scribe’s War

screen-shot-2017-02-21-at-11-42-42-amA Scribe’s War

by Philip Scott Wikel

 

handwritten manuscripts

wartorn pages

thoughts scratched down

added to the ages?

 

blood-bathed and heartfelt

recorded with wired veins

swords and guns and knives

moan of trials and pain

 

trenches dug

hopes of gaining

inches of ground

at least sustaining

 

wartorn manuscripts

handwritten pages

land mines laid

in literary cages

 

machine gun fire and mustard gas

truces never made

all is quiet on the western front

some dues can never be paid

Mauna Loa

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Mauna Loa

by Philip Scott Wikel

 

viscous

smoldering

oozing through vents to depths

no diver dares

 

molten

glowing

heat so hot that touching

no midas tries

 

soldering

joined together by melting

stitching patches of

cooled and cracked

 

an island chain forming

rock and iron

and the greenest of life

worn smooth by water and time

 

viscous

air thick with love

and bound by aloha

Some Aloha: Between Sets

screen-shot-2017-02-08-at-4-59-41-pmbetween sets

by philip scott wikel

There was a long lull in the, until now, consistent sets of waves. After scanning the horizon again, I noticed Brent paddling up around me.

“What is it with people and rumors and tearing each other part,” I asked Brent.

“We’re surfing man, lighten up.”

“There’s nothing coming in right now.”

Brent sat up on his board and looked at the horizon.

“You ever hear that quote by Eleanor Roosevelt?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It goes something like… high-minded people like to talk about music and beauty, poetry and art, surfing… some people talk, and mostly complain about their work and stuff… and low-minded people have nothing to talk about other than other people, and usually not in a good way. They’re generally jealous types, vindictive, they’re sure they’re in the right because they’re the majority.”

“That’s gnarly.”

“Yeah it is, now just let it go and get some waves, there’s something big coming in on the outside.”

Fade: A Surfing Poem

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Dewey Weber, 1964

Fade by Philip Scott Wikel

A Surfing Poem

 

knowing the wave

so well as

to turn left

and fade

on a right breaking face

 

knowing

 

drop knee turn

in the trough

and pulling the rail high

and toward trim,

a clean line

and a rocket sleigh ride through the section

 

knowing

 

the elasticity of a rubber band and

the distance it can stretch

before it breaks

 

knowing

 

the elasticity of life

and pushing

‘til you know

enough

and when

to pull the rail toward perfect trim

Coming Home To Maui

screen-shot-2017-01-30-at-12-59-00-pmComing Home to Maui

Talking Story with Philip Scott Wikel

“On a white sandy beach in Hawaii”

– Braddah IZ

We’re coming home to Maui; I you, he, she, they and us.

Most importantly the Born and Raised are coming home to a new vision of Maui. A new vision much like the one held by the Kanaka Maoli ancestors; an independent Maui only interdependent with the greater Hawai’i Nei.

This would be a new/old Maui that grows, hunts, fishes and herds and ultimately feeds its own; a sustainable Maui. This Maui won’t need barges from the US, diesel fuel for electricity or a cultural identity defined by a foreign culture.

These people have reawakened (or perhaps have just been silenced) to following Ua Mau Ke Ea O Ka ‘Aina I Ka Pono. Remember: The missionaries once outlawed the hula surfing and the Hawaiian language. Successive generations of foreigners have sought to outlaw being Hawaiian at all. They also bought up land faster than the Kanakas could say “this isn’t right.”

The Kanaka Maoli and the Born and Raised are not an exclusive group. They seek to be inclusive. All who love Maui and the “Aina, those who wish to steward and nurture her, heal her and bring her home as we all learn to share her.

Many are returning to Maui from far away. One time tourists who had a love at first sight, travelers of the world who found “none bettah,” water folks, fisherman, farmers, and so on. Those who still believe it is their kuleana to contribute to Maui’s well-being in a myriad of ways: Spreading Aloha, nurturing the soil, cleaning up the ocean, cultivating community and envisioning Maui as a beautiful microcosm and model of sustainability for the world.

Within these folks are those who’ve chosen to turn their backs on the US and the nine to five grind; the feeling that their lives had become “just doing time.” They spend their days on the beaches keeping them clean while scratching out a subsistence living. These are happy people free of social and societal limitations and restrictions. They’re quick to throw a shaka, share a meal, talk story or offer kind words that deepen the meaning of Aloha with every word and actions.

Kanakas, tourists, travelers, shore casters and farmers. The tourists who get it, travelers who’ve felt no choice but to come back to Maui No Ka Oi, shore casters who’ve fed us for millenia; whose meditative and essential work inspires a closeness to the ocean and reminds us to relax, take the time to do it right, and smile knowing your home is one of the very best. Farmers new and old will now work toward healing Maui of the cancer of sugar cane, replant with things we need, and take the long view toward the Seventh Generation.

All and all this can be seen as a divine collaboration, the composition of a new symphony, a song that will be easily sung without effort as we tread lightly into the future.

A Hui Ho!

At Play on the Reef

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At Play On The Reef
by Philip Scott Wikel (Waikoloa)

 

A south swell strums softly
across the reef
it’s summer in winter
if only in brief

the coral is tickled
and surfing kids rise
anticipating the rush and
the thrill of a ride

They stand on the tide
the white curling mist
with whistling spindrift
a swirl and a hiss

They giggle and wriggle
and manage the glide
become one with the ocean
and feed their insides

For a child it’s pure
no hinderance of vision
they feel everything at once
and know only their mission

to ride salty waves
to smile and cheer
today is the best day
“the swell is here”

www.mauisaltandsage.com

Puka Hunting

Puka Hunting

by Philip Scott August

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We comb the beach for pukas

we are fishers of shells bound

by love’s umbilical

as we sift, scratch, and dig for treasure

I go to one end

and she the other

meeting in the middle

we find ourselves children again

and blend as friends and lovers

we make a competition of it

and I declare the lead

yet very quickly the duel is lost

to awe, and the exaltation of discovery

she, me, we, sand, sun and surf

the light of the eternal tryst

a fusion in time unbridled