Profile cover photo
Profile photo
Netta Kanoho
Minding Meaning and Mana
Minding Meaning and Mana



Surrender, they say,
Is the key to survival.

Life is not a war.
It is not this one thing or that.
Life is only choices,
And no matter how others
Jostle to make room
For their own dreams,
Their getting theirs
Does not mean
You must give up yours.

And surrender is the first step to
Making more room.
All dreams and schemes
Can co-exist if the
Space is big enough.
Mind can contain mountains.
Heart can embrace the world.
Spirit can encompass it all.
These things are insubstantial
And they are most elastic.

It's you who sets the limits.
Get over it.

© 2018, Netta Kanoho


Another meeting:
Another clash of worlds,
Another round of bumping heads,
Another standstill as
Our hearts go wandering off
In opposite directions.
And even though
I think I know you
And you think you know me,
We are looking at each other
Across vast gaps and spaces
That do not even touch.

To you, what I say
Is meaningless philosophy
And here I am, feeling
Like my heart's blood
Is leaking out, red and warm.
To me, what you say is
All pettiness and fears
And there you are, with
Your heart pounding hard from
All that effort of
Working to keep it all together.

What to say?
What does it matter?
We are both right
But neither one is all right.

And that's the thing, isn't it?
No minds meeting here:
Only guts,
Only heads,
Only hearts,
Inarticulate longings twine
Around clashing vision-dreams.

Another impasse.
No bridges here, my sistah!

© 2018, Netta Kanoho

[It seem to me that whenever I get heavily involved in groups that are usually composed of mostly dreamers, there is always one whose visions clash mightily with my own. Often this one is a person I truly respect and admire.]


The wise guys
They all say
Life's a dream,
No more than
A glimmering gleam.

In an instant
It can vanish
Like some phantom
Shadow flickering past
Your eyes' corners.

This one dies,
That one leaves,
The other one
Loses his way.
The plot thickens.

This game lost,
That one shattered,
The other one
Scattered like chaff.
Where's the wheat?

This treasure snatched,
That one ruined,
The other one
Null and void.
It's all gone.

A lifetime built
Around small truths
Melts away in
The acid of
More empty space.

And your heart
Again breaks open,
One more time,
The pieces piercing
Through the veils.

And you sit
And pick up
All the pieces
As you wonder
About the sequel.

©2017, Netta Kanoho


I am needing to get back
To the flow of words again.
I am deaf to what is
Happening in my heart.

It isn't that I need fame
Or all that glory game,
It's just that I am wanting
To see some place to start.

It seems to me I've lost
The bready taste of life
And bitter, sweet, and sour
No longer play their part.

It seems to me I cannot smell
The roses or the raspberries;
Instead I get distracted by
The sight of some new wart.

I am not sure what makes me
Reach out to hug the words.
I am thinking there is more to life
Than sleep and eat and fart….

© Netta Kanoho, 2018


There are as many whys
As there are stars in the skies.
It isn't worth the work
Asking why that one's a jerk.

The best you can do
Is take a look at you:
How you move and how you prance
That makes it all some goofy dance.
The seasons turn and turn.
You'd think that you would learn.

It's not your god above
Who grows you into love.
Your job on earth's to see
The best that it could be
And your god depends on you
To make that best come true.

© 2018, Netta Kanoho


I've heard these promises before, you know.
Oh, yeah…for real…that's right.

Any day now,
Some day soon,
The sun's gonna shine, shine, shine.

And I have waited for that dawning,
Waited for that glow that grows,

I'll get right on it.
Yes, I'm gonna do it.
It's a-comin', yes it is.

But all my waiting with bated breath
Just got me blue in the face,
Anticipation turning to despair.

Gonna happen,
Yes, indeedy,
Soon now; really, really soon.

Braddah-man, lady-sistah,
Your mouth moving but not your hands.
Your feet not walking, you only got plans.

No can, li' dis!
The cold wind's blowing up past my ass,
And I already know the end of this story.

© 2017, Netta Kanoho


Long the road
Winding before me,
The way behind is lost in time.
I thought this road had signposts.
I thought they'd lead me fair.
But, no….

The wise ones
They taught me how to move
And they told me where to go.
I thought I would be farther.
I thought it would go faster,
But, no….

Here I am,
Still bumbling along.
(It never ends, it seems.)
I thought I would be smarter,
I thought I would get wiser,
But, no….

Where am I?
I keep wondering
When do I get to touch the sky?
I thought I would be brighter,
I thought that I would shine,
But, no….

I keep on
Walking my fool's walk, yearning,
Staring up at the sky.
I thought I would get better,
I thought I would get deeper,
But, no….

I started this
As me, and look: after all of that,
I am just only me….

© Netta Kanoho, 2018


A terza rima is a three-line rhyme scheme: aba/bcb/cdc/….and so on. It was first used by the Italian poet Dante Alighieri.

Everything is up in the air
And the dance stutters to a halt.
Here's me as wallflower, a sigh in a chair.

I'm rarin' to swirl and vault…
But, aw, nothing's righteous in 'tween-time.
Look back, and you're a pillar of salt.

Ahead, only detours and slime…
Yuck! The flow's gone all aglay.
No running, no rhythm, no rhyme.

There's gotta be a better way
Than sitting here all in a grump.
Isn't there some other way to play?

Some way to get over this hump?
Or better still…
Let me outa this dump!

© Netta Kanoho, 2018


I suppose one thing there is
That can be said about me:
I show up.
It isn't much, that.
Not earth-shaking.
I raise no mountains.

It's not like I'm riding
On the waves at Jaws,
Throwing myself down
The face of some
Massive wall of water,
The epitome of cool.

I show up.
What needs to be done
Gets done because of that.
The gears get oiled,
The wheels keep turning,
And nothing comes screeching
To a grinding halt.

I show up.

© Netta Kanoho, 2018

Post has attachment
COMPOSITION: The elegance of the lines in this piece was the result of working with the linear qualities of the dried banana bark.

[Art by fiber sculptor Mat Westcott, dried banana bark.]
Add a comment...
Wait while more posts are being loaded