Best Samoan Poems
We the People
Will disagree
On taxation and prosperity
On liberty and duty
We the People
Are every color of Christianity
Every Jewish prayer, every song of Islam
The puritans, the atheists and the Amish
Are neighbors here
We the People
Are Jamaican and Japanese
Swedish and Samoan
Cuban and Cherokee
Moroccan and Mexican
The Irish and the Inuit
And all shades of Africa
We are country hills and cityscapes
Suburban parks and downtown fire escapes
We are singers and stutterers
Daredevils and diplomats
Renegades and redeemers
The leaders and the lone wolves
The suits and the sarongs
We are the gun owners for gun control
The justice for unjust loopholes
We are the hands that struck the iron
And the backs that laid the tracks
Of trails of rails connecting
Sea to shining Sea
We are protesters and poets
The soldiers without peace
The nurses without sleep
We are the straight arrows and the skeptics
The gay and the god-fearing
We are Black Lives Matter
And we are the badges in blue
We the People
Are complicit and complicated
No freedom gave
To chains of slaves
We have conquered and colonized
Sacrificed and stolen
Pillaged and planted
To naturalize a nation
We are teachers of tenacity
Prophicies of pioneers
And the children of second chances
We the People
Speak for our land’s legacy
In every tongue, from every rung
On each stumbled stair, each crumbled chair
We demand democracy.
8/21/20
Poem of the Day
August 23, 2020
I was working in the Capitol late one night
When my eyes beheld an eerie sight
Nancy Pelosi began to rise
And suddenly to my surprise
She did the bash
She did the Samoan bash
She did the bash
It was a liberal smash
She did the Bash
It gave me a rash
She did the bash
She did the Samoan Bash
She denied American Samoa minimum wage
Somebody left her out of her cage
She could care less, no conscience found
So Star Kist stock didn’t go down
She did the bash
She did the Samoan Bash
She did the Bash
It was a liberal smash
She did the bash
It was her husband’s flash
She did the bash
She did the Samoan bash.
Now all is peaceful in socialist land
As we watch our retirement sink in the sand
You have to give the devil her due
When she’s done shafting them
She’ll shaft me and you too.
She did the bash
She did the Samoan bash
She did the bash
Now they have no cash
She did the bash
She believes we’re all trash
She did the bash
She did the Samoan bash.
This verse was inspired by "The Monster Mash" which wasn't near as scary as
Congress and the former Speaker of the House
The green-blue marks of the tufuga's* tools run down his thighs
Patterns in shades of deep-ocean-dark and unsealed-road-like lines
Back to his ancestors and forward to his descendants
He is young and good in a way that makes it impossible to imagine he might ever become old
angry...
drunk.
He speaks quietly like the 'shhhhhhh' sound his teachers made when he laughed too loudly as a child
His skin is brown like the soil used to be
and soft,
like it still is,
underneath the white man's concrete.
*Samoan tattooist
To the memory of my brother
Sometimes,
I sit all alone
And think of you.
I close my eyes-
Close them tightly
And remember sitting beside you on those wooden buses that only Apia still has
I see you lying on the old bedframe without a mattress
And taste the fizzy-sweet Coca-Cola you’d buy for me
I hear your laughter as I smile
At the memories of running after you with a broom
And all your long prayers at lotu* time
Prayers.
When I think of prayers I think of you even more.
I wonder
I really wonder
If I said enough of them for you while they still counted.
Brother,
Did you know I prayed?
Prayed every day and every night
for you?
I wonder, did you feel my prayers?
Even on that last night in your cold motel room
Dripping with despair
Did you know I was praying?
Did you wonder, even?
I wonder, more than anything
If
As you took your life
You considered not doing it
Maybe…just for me?
Just to keep the promise you made that I’d never be alone
Or did you just go...?
Without even wondering
If I was wondering
Where you were?
Sometimes,
I sit all alone
And think of you.
*Samoan word meaning 'evening worship'
Quietly filling
deep cups of the red blossoms.
The morning sunrise.
The rock bowl is full.
Filled by the rain for the birds
and for my quiet mind.
Dried stalks of rhubarb
turn brittle in the summer.
Born again next year.
The sparrows come back
to say thank you for their home
I lovingly made.
My red dogs eyes gleam.
Before eating, her eyes ask
is it OK Dad?
HAIKU; MEMORIES AND OBSERVATIONS and EXERCISES
Archery
The strong bowstring sings.
My arrow will find its home
I turn to sip tea.
First Love
How reluctantly
the shy, young man moves forward
toward the full, red lips.
First
In the maiden’s bed
He found his heaven and hell.
Such was his first love.
Alone
Small favor to ask.
Please spread my ashes on the sea.
No wife, no roommate.
Who is Buddah
She poured my green tea
Until the cup ran over.
Now, I know Buddah.
Memory
Cousin Roni was loud.
Married a Samoan man.
They both ate roast pig.
Memory
My old friend, Bucky.
Carried a gun in his boot.
Afraid of himself.
Old Friend
Alvin slapped his first wife
and then he married a man.
I don’t know him now.
Exercise I
Diagonally
he crosses the wide, busy street,
to catch up with love.
Exercise II
Vociferously,
she announces her mistrust.
Not Republican.
Exercise III
She knew the problem.
Incompatibility.
He had to learn it.
All his writing was
autobiographical.
He was egocentric.
SEASONS
The autumn raging
I am blinded by red leaves.
Too many to count.
Surf crashes fiercely.
Shadows lessen, skies turn gray.
Winter storm moves near us.
This Spring, my house burned.
I now have a better view
of the blue mountains.
Fresh ink on blue lines
the words come like hungry bees
to form my Haiku.
Synch
Summer. I feel strong.
Equal to birds in the tree,
and pebbles near feet.
They may be Young but they see all
I was always told that I was to young to understand
what was going on in my family & my life
But I wasn't.
I was told to be a Sunday School teacher for high school teens
I was scared and I was afraid not to tell them about god
but scared and afraid of what to teach them
because I know in my heart that I'm a sinful person
I'm not perfect and no one is but I was surprised at the outcome of this class
I prayed to the heavenly father to help me, guide me.
I believe he did because at that moment question came to my mind
if I was a student how would I want to learn about god?
and I love to write so I got each student their personal notebook
I told them to write what ever comes to mind and if they want me to read it I will collected the books every first Sunday of the month.
I was surprised at how many notebooks I had to take home I read each and every notebook and cried. Because this teens have been through a lot and are still holding it all in.
all my problems seem to be less of a problem after the third and the fourth notebook. I have to admit I miss them all so dearly.
Growing up in a Samoan family became my burden, traditions that should help us grow was holding them back from fully blooming.
some Samoan family would never realize the heavy burden they have given their children to carry, while some Samoan family have looked outside the box and have given their children room to grow. Yet my students became my teachers, My sisters, My daughters. Each Sunday had them one by one teaching and read scripters from the bible discussing how it relates to us now.
they see a lot and they remember everything
yet they are told that they are to young to understand
I believe they grew up too fast they became adults.
while they are moving forward
the adults are still the adults
maybe we are to young to understand
but can they be to old to know to much yet they just don't care
I could never fully understand
God your will shall be done
Spiders – Arachnids
From the tiny pinhead Samoan Moss spider
To the huge Tarantula with legs spreading wider
Exists a diverse and interesting creature
With many a color and many a feature
Comparing ounce by ounce with steel
A spider’s silk is much stronger and real
Made up of proteins, natures building blocks
That can absorb even the most violent shocks
Honey Bees – Apoidea
These amazing insects with incredible ability
From honey production to their communal civility
As the dance and waggle to show direction
Towards nectar and pollen for their collection
Using the sun as a reference for flight
Seeing with their eyes the ultraviolet light
Carrying their loads on electrostatic legs
Back to the hive for their larvae and eggs
Leaf Cutting Ants – Apoidea
These small busy insects with dynamic strength
That can carry a leaf five times its length
Way underground, into chambered nest
With vigor and vitality and so much zest
To lay down these leaves to feed its batch
Of harvest fungus in their garden patch
They can carry a load thirty times their weight
And build a mound that is mighty and great
Butterflies – Lepidoptera
These angelic creatures with iridescent wings
Of overlapping scales in patterns and rings
From egg to caterpillar its, first life stages
And then to chrysalis where it rests and ages
To emerge one day so transformed
So utterly beautiful, so perfectly formed
To flutter by in colorful flight
And onto a flower, there alight
Form:
Proud to be Samoan
Living the Fa'a Samoa
The unique culture
The unique culture
Expressed in dance and music
Siva and fa'ataupati
Siva and fa'ataupati
Graceful and energetic
Telling ancient stories
Telling ancient stories
With art, craft and tattoos
Symbols of identity
Symbols of identity
Rooted in family and faith
Proud to be Samoan
Was Samoa better off without
The missionaries coming to save us
Oh enslave us to leave our roots
To submit to their god
Because we were savages
That ate humans
But didn't Europeans eat humans too
Yet we have mixed their infected bloodline with our customs and
Still call it Fa'a Samoa
Or the Samoan Way
I didn't know that Samoans came from the Caucus Mountains or the caves
But when we ask questions
We are told to shut up
Left confused
Telling us we are fiapoko
Or smart alecks thinking we know it all
Yet they wonder why people have left the church
Because they no longer follow the source
But their own self interests
Like draining the energy and pockets of the congregation
But when we question it they say
We are looking at it through our own eyes
Not through the Holy Spirit
I believe in God but not of the oppressor
Looking to seek the truth
The truth of what God wanted from us
Not of religion and titles
But how my ancestors lived
The true Fa'a Samoa
The Samoan Way without the clorox
Purified brown soulful essence
Were we better off
Better off
Not having those invaders and impostors on our island
Damn
In the heart of the Pacific, where waves cradle secrets,
**Tatau** emerges—a sacred script etched upon skin,
A symphony of charcoal rivers, whispered stories,
**Samoan souls bloom**.
**Pe'a**, the male canvas, bears courage's weight,
Thighs adorned with ancestral tales—
A map of strength, resilience, and honor.
Charcoal ink flows, tracing lineage,
Each stroke a testament to warriors past,
Their spirits dancing in the breeze.
And there, beneath the tropical sun,
**Malu** unfolds—a sacred shield for women,
Knees to thighs, sheltering grace.
In its intricate patterns, life's storms find refuge,
As if the very fabric of the universe weaves protection.
**Ready for life's tempests**, they stand,
Rooted in tradition, adorned with purpose.
**Ink and pain**, woven into existence,
Elders nod approval, their eyes reflecting wisdom.
The sting of the needle, a rite of passage,
A metamorphosis from youth to maturity.
These inked skins tell tales of resilience,
Of navigating tides and finding constellations,
Of embracing both shadow and light.
And when the village gathers, women dance—
Their legs adorned, a living canvas,
Patterns intertwining like laughter and song.
**Beauty etched in skin**, a celebration of identity,
A dance of belonging, of shared memories,
Of ancestors whispering through the ink.
**Ancient art**, spanning three millennia,
**Marked bodies**, honor's canvas,
Culture's heartbeat inked into existence.
In the land of waves, where coconut palms sway,
Tatau and Malu intertwine,
Their stories etched upon the flesh,
A living testament to resilience and pride.
So let the trade winds carry these words:
**Samoan tattoos**, more than mere ink,
They are the heartbeat of a people,
A legacy woven into the very fabric of time.
Most of us should know that the fourth Thursday,
is called a Thanksgiving Day celebration.
The first Tuesday after the first Monday,
we elect the leaders of our nation.
Maybe you even know the first Sunday,
is when Daylight Savings comes to an end.
But did you know on November the first,
National Pomegranate Month begins.
Also, Native Heritage and Military Family Month,
Epilepsy, Alzheimer’s, and COPD awareness.
How about NAN-O-WRI-MO or Pancreatic Cancer too,
we’ll throw in No Shave November just for fairness.
The first Wednesday is Eating Healthy Day,
the first Thursday is Man Makes Dinner.
The first Friday is Samoan Arbor Day,
and of course, Black Friday is always a winner.
Who can forget World Vegan Day,
or Coronation Day of the fifth Druk in Bhutan.
It’s Liberty Day in the Virgin Islands,
Self-Defense Forces Commemoration in Japan.
It is Veterans Day on the eleventh,
Pneumonia Day on the twelve.
Parfait day on the twenty-fifth,
if you don’t care about your health.
I could just go on and on listing them,
but just between me and you.
We’d still be here reading next November,
and we probably still would not be through.