Mahalo for all students who contributed a creative piece to Na Leo Literary Review. This was a challenging and heartfelt time for many on Maui and for our students from Lahaina. Resilience was a theme we had chosen for this semesters themed works. Even still, all works received were filled with color!

Noah Bailey (Kamahele): THE OCTOPUS

Deep beneath the waves,

Quite far from the shore,

Lay a bulky rock covered in coral and seaweed,

Where there was a little home.

The home of the octopus wasn’t a spectacle,

Just a small crack in the bigger rock,

Decorated with small pebbles of reds, pinks, and greens,

Which the octopus shared with his stoic roommate, the sea cucumber.

Alas, this was all the shy octopus needed.

Safe from the perils of the outside blue,

Where he could dream of dreams an octopus would have,

And sleep peacefully under the crashing waves.

So it would have been, until I came along,

With my sharp three prong,

Barrating the octopus out of his hole,

Disturbing what little peace it had, eager to bring it to the surface.

When I brought the octopus to the shore,

Of course the tourists swarmed,

Curiosity brimming,

For the eight armed creature from beneath the waves.

The once solitary octopus,

Being harassed by the masses,

Probably wondering where it all went wrong,

Sporadically flashing from brown to white.

Seeing this,

I couldn’t cease the rust from spreading on me,

And thus whisked the octopus away from prying eyes,

Cradling it gently, close to my slow beating heart.

I gave it a gentle kiss between its eyes,

Before I quickly sank my teeth in and made the octopus dream forever.

Thus, the beautiful cycle had been perpetuated,

Oh, But such beauty never stopped the tears from flowing.

Napua lani Bicol: Secret Love

I could never understand what she sees
in him.
Medusa like curls falling down his chiseled jaw, waiting to strike.
She basks in the bed
next to him,
as if two
boats afloat. Drifting to the far off land of homosexuality.
His Banyan tree branch arms surround her delicate figure. Bigger than
life, but gentle like a breeze flowing through the leaves.
Does he love her like
I do?
An absent parent whose realized
their mistake, regretfully watching
as you start
a life that doesn’t include them in it.

She’ll never know
how she captivates me. Stealing the air from
my lungs
as if I’m being vacuumed into the eye of the storm.
I Am Not Yours, You Are Not Mines By Napua Iolana Bicoy
You are the cat
scratching at the foot of a door.
I am a door,
silently tolerating the scratches at my feet.
You are the sun
dutifully shining.
I am a discarded chocolate
on the side walk,
melting steadily from the heat.
You are the dirt road, diverting to drive on.
I am a reckless driver, devastated by your potholes.
Yet, I am not a reckless driver and you are not a dirt road.
I am not the discarded chocolate and you are not the sun.
I am not a door,
you are not a cat.
I am not yours, and you are not mines.
I am not the wind in your sails.
You are not the ocean that surrounds me. We are not the fishes in the sea,
or the birds in the sky.
You are just a insignificant pebble alone on the beach as the
waves crash upon you.
But I am glistening star,
twinkling effortlessly in the sky

Jansen Valite- She IS

You are the muse and her song,
The dance steps and the rhythm.
You are the bird that chirps at day
And the wolf that howls throughout the night. You are the beams of a building,
The glass-made textile mural.
I am the clay
And you are the sculpture.
I am the baby bird
And you, the allofeeder.
I am an open sail,
But you are the gust of that breeze.
However, you are not the Book of Rites, The megaphone speaker in a crowd, Or a candle that needs to be lit.
You are not the coffee in the morning Or the bird that gets the worm.
We are the unfinished puzzle,
The construction that blocks the road. We are the tea in the kettle,
The enclosed flower petals.
We are the gears of a clock,
The sun and it’s heat.

Christine Kelso: ‘IWA

As you go about your day The ‘Iwa’s silent flight Hums the
Background music
Of your life.
Silent and effortless They soar in the skies Their Kupuna flew.
Always at the
Edge of your sight
A mirage of guidance Leading the way home.
Remember they whisper, Remember who you are, Remember what we are, Remember your Kuleana.
As you swim over the reef, The coral is bleaching,
The fish
Aren’t as plentiful
As last year. Remember they sigh.
You work Lo’i in Keanae, Crowded with shiny Tourist gawking. Remember the Iwa soars.
They give you strength. Connect you to your Aina. They are the Piko Connecting you to Amakua.
Their silent flight leads The way to
Your destiny.

Liam Grinnell: ODE TO TIME

Time, immaterial

Slips through our fingers,

Offering no purchase

Only its passing. 

It is well spent,

It is wasted. 

Inescapable it weathers all.

Endless in nature,

Or maybe repeating. 

Known to all,

Known by none.

The final master of all man.

An endless march 

Forward, 

Always forward,

Toward new horizons

And unforeseen oblivions.

Don’t fight against its flow,

Its passage is the only corridor through.

Leading us on a journey 

With a destination assured

What is a lifetime,

Well spent or wasted,

In the context of time eternal? 

Kaitlin Loughran: ODE TO TIME

Back, I say, 

foul and heartless as you are.

When I ask for you, 

you are nowhere to be found, 

but when I beg you to go, 

you stay. 

Do not count or dare light a candle. 

Do not fill the air with the stench 

of the unwashed skeletons 

hanging from your neck.

Unfortunate, that you 

have no place to stay, 

but you taught me 

to keep a distance from the last time

I let you in.

You left my walls grimy and discolored, 

my shelves dusty and barren, 

and made holes for the 

termites and rats to get in from. 

You can not come back. 

Light your way with the 

remaining puck of your candle. 

They always burn faster 

when you are around. 

Take it and leave 

with your overgrown mop of hair

 that tangles along the overgrown weeds

 that follow you in the cracks of the walkway. 

Leave and never return.

You have taken more 

than you could ever give.

Leilani Portillo: The Kings of Kings 

Roaring thunder shakes the earth’s ground.

The king has woken his kingdom. 

Whelming crying whines of agony bleed through its eardrum,

Sounds of pleasure for the kings of kings.

Its claws grip, rip and slash through the carcass of a gazelle.

The gazelle lies in a pool lifeless.

Its eyes are rolled to the back of its head possessed-like. 

Blood-drenching paws and foaming crimson mouths munch through its corpse. 

Whispering whiskers bounce, 

Swish swash they lash, 

As the king violently shakes.

Its veins run through like cables wrapped around its body.

Flared manes shake like peacock feathers, 

Sundown blaring golden eyes glare boldly.

At its mercy we stand, 

its crown held high with pride.

Lions are the month of August.

They are wisdom

And power.

They nurture and sacrifice for what is called life.

There is no obstacle in their plan of victory.

Glory to the man whom they obey. 

Spring Chimes

By: Leilani Portillo

Wind chimes twirl around with sounds of symphony. 

The playful morning chirps of the i’iwi bird clitter and collide with the wind’s breeze against the rough curtains. 

Shifting sheets scrape one another.

The purring hums of a cat vibrate through each thread. 

The sun’s rays gradient to a lime green. 

Mahogany trees sit along a pebbled dirt path. 

Dark chocolate-brown bark rustles against the wind. 

Each branch is bumpy and rough, like chicken skin.

Specks of azure blue sky peek out from the murky clouds.

A gentle breeze caresses my dry-pale face;

It flows along my musty scalp and leaves me with tingles. 

White-painted boards of decaying wood below my tender feet,

Splinters nudge the sides of my skin. 

My seat is hard and uncomfortable,

The air is dense; my hands are cold and rough. 

The taste of coins lingers at the tip of my parched tongue,

My lips are cracked in deep lines but soothed by the dewy air.

The odor from my mouth thickens.

The scents of pastures and livestock putter around,

My nose hairs tickle as the scents grow stronger, 

 A sneeze of relief comes forth,

And I’m left in utter silence. 

Peaceful. 

Carson Hays: Ode To Wealth

In the story of life

The word “wealth”

we pursue.

A compelling journey,

It is more than riches and gold

In giving and receiving.

It is the richness of love,

The bonds we weave,

The warmth of a smile,

In the hard work.

With continuance and vision,

It is the knowledge we gather,

Wisdom we gain,

The strength we achieve.

In learning and growing,

In the stories, we tell

The knowledge we spread,

In the love,

In the Compassion,

Wealth can be many things.

Yet wealth has a shadow,

The danger of greed,

Where many fail,

They hoard with no purpose

True wealth is never bought

It is found

In a person you love

In someone that is always there for you