met you 

in Barbados



on the beach,

I observed








Our eyes 



in more 

than a casual way

We ended up talking —








I won’t even front,

even if 



















It was 









It was 





my soul


With your



the facts



understood them



that I should rise up to confront 



that things would turn out better 

if I did.

From then to now










a bond


holding us


as friends…

Now married to you….

thirty two years later, 

we walk together


Having met you 







For Lisa

If this doesn’t apply to you don’t trip but if it does, then this is my little jingle for you. 😎

Rippin [the disclaimer]

This piece will not be begged, borrowed or shanghied son no not beat up sifted whipped nor spun it is my intellectual property and my physical property too so it shant be quoted sampled or quipped or otherwise f***ed with. 

Enjoy the day. 

Sincerely, Kawika.

Picture @Pinterest 



All rights reserved.


May 6th, 2017

When I Think of You

It was in the spring of 1983 when the two of us went our own way. 

It’s been a few years now

so I decided to write my say;

about a woman 

a person

a friend.

About someone I can never forget.  

Anchored by memories 


deep within my chest,

thoughts of her

her smile, 


first day 

that we met.

It was the summer of 1982. 

She was twenty one, I was twenty two.

That face 

that spirit

that body 

that shine,

conversations shared 





These are only some of the memories that I keep;

When I think

of you.  





She was 


one person




She was the one that….

(yeah that one.)

A love that never mends,

a loss, 

a debt.

A check that was written 

but never cashed,

A flower that bloomed but didn’t last.

These are some of the things I think about… 

When I think of you….


For Jackie


Copyright March 25, 2017

All Rights Reserved 

Empty Rooms

Yeah I guess it’s over 

I know it to be true,

hard to pull the trigger


me and you.

Thirty one years 

has come and gone 

it took us some time 

to write this song, 

fading is my heart away. 

This feeling of dread 

encircles my soul, 

my heart beats silent, 



Empty rooms, 

our hair turned grey. 

Where do all the memories go – to fade? 

Yes time 

like fire 








For Lisa



Copyright 2017

All Rights Reserved

Black Eagle Dream




Chapter One 

Act II

In 1943,
Cyrus Keali’iwahamana found himself walking across the great desert.
Cyrus had traveled several days through the elongated heat.
Like a woman betrayed the relentless heat was followed by the biting cold winds of crystal clear nights, which tested Cyrus to his absolute limits.
His mind had suspended all thought of things present, and resilent.
He had followed the four men to the point of death. Their trail had lead him here to this ancient well.


As Cyrus crawled upon hands and knees toward the aged well there was the one notion that he might actually have the chance to live, to recover his friend and get back home safe. His eyes tiredly darted back and forth.
Cyrus saw the tracks of both man and beast, but this overwhelming desire to drink caused him to depart from all cautionary instincts and training, for at this moment he was like a man filled with the insanity of jealousy and would not be denied the essence of life, this water. He began to grunt as he reached the well at last. “Come on, come on,” he chanted with each rotation of the pulley and rope that brought cold refreshing water to his lips. “Ahhh,” Cyrus grunted after swallowing handfuls of water. He washed his face and neck.

Cyrus now lay on his back staring up into the vastness of the quiet empty.
The stars began to gradually appear as the sun continued its journey to the other side of the earth.

This lone palm stood like a lighthouse in a sea of contradiction.


It proved to be in part, the preservation of the large native hawaiian. He lay in the shadows near the lone palm.
The black eagle sat perched above, staring down attentively at its newest charge. After drawing more water from the well, he attempted to drink slowly. His dry and cracked hands shook as he cupped the cool water. He lay down to rest for a bit.
Later, Cyrus slowly scraped out a small fire pit. He then gathered dried palm fronds, and dry twigs, from the fallen date clusters.
The black eagle had dropped a good sized lizard earlier. Cyrus, successfully built an organic fire, and roasted the lizard. Ten minutes later Cyrus crunchily devoured the four legged sand dweller. Cyrus began to doze off, exhausted and still very much dehydrated. He had gone two full days without water.
He stood, slightly swaying as a cool early evening breeze began to blow from the south. That could be good. As the darkness of night began to surround him, he located a small writing pad in his rucksack. Cyrus tore out several pages of things he had written since arriving in North Africa.
He stoked the fire before the temperature dropped. Cyrus placed twigs on the fire and lay back on his pallet. During the time since his chance meeting with Altair Ali in the jungle, Cyrus felt compelled to write about Altair; as well as his highly irregular introduction to this regal creature, this statuesque black eagle.

Cyrus recalled the night he lay in the tiger trap with the dying Altair. The black eagle had locked eyes with him.

It was an intense pairing.

His large brown hands now cupped the wood match.
His hands again trembled.
It ignited his inborn sense of survival as the fire began to greedily consume his hand written dreams. Cyrus kneeled near the fire, warming his soul.
As the sound of a coconut falling from a tree, something had fallen with a soft thud in the shadows just to the right of his fire.
Cyrus searched the dark.
He could hear the faint
breathing of something.
Cyrus stood slowly as he reached for a dried palm frond.
After placing it over the fire
he raised it shoulder high, and walked cautiously toward the sound. As he drew near, the glow of two fearful eyes stared back at him from the backdrop of unlimited blackness.
It was a rabbit.
It could move its feet, but the body could not follow.
Evidently the black eagle had severed it’s spine with it’s piercing talons.
As Cyrus reached for his knife he looked up into evening sky.
Cyrus then looked down at the rabbit and whispered,
“Mahalo nui loa, little one,” his voice quiet, soothing the frightened and dying creature. He knelt slowly next to the small rabbit.
He could hear the faint sounds of giant wings moving the air, as the black eagle disappeared into the early twilight of evening. The wind continued to caress the night, moving the landscape effortlessly; like ripples of waves upon this expanse of sand. Cyrus was not quite sure if the last several days could be coherently recalled in any sequential order. After swiftly dispatching the rabbit, he skinned and removed the entrails. He then rinsed it with the fresh water.
Cyrus had managed to keep a minute amount of hawaiian salt in a beaded leather medicine bag.
Notah had made it, and gave it
to him as a gift before the two men had shipped out from Schofield Barracks on the island of O’ahu. This was to be Notah’s first deployment. For Cyrus this was his third, and hopefully his last. The two friends had only been in country for a short time before seeing combat. It was a surprise counter attack by a small group of rag tagged, unshaven, german renegades who had vowed not to be taken alive. Cyrus had the opportunity to assist many of those german soldiers to fulfill their ill advised vow. During the chaos of the attack however, the two men had become separated.
It was as if Notah simply vanished.

Cyrus realized that if Notah had been captured, it was more than likely he was to be tortured and killed, because he was a Navajo Code Talker, so whoever had taken him, knew his value.
Cyrus had received an unexpected late night visit from Badr,
his Moroccan counterpart in Rabat, with regards the whereabouts of his friend.
There were three german soldiers, one officer, and two enlisted men.
The officer, Colonel Gunther Arnhold had spoken indiscreetly in the Moroccan market. They made a showy display of purchasing items, even hiring skilled men to guide them through this unfamiliar land. The boastful officer had said that the Americans wouldn’t lose any sleep over one dead Navajo. He had absolute confidence that they could travel unabated. The german officer understood well how Americans felt about the first peoples of the America’s. Gunther was an officinado of all things American.
It was no surprise to the him that Hitler had modeled his death camps after the American model of the reservation system. Hitler loved the history of America, it mirrored his own genocidal obsession.

Cyrus had been able to find a starting point, thanks to the information he had received from Badr and several Moroccan shop keepers.
Cyrus picked up their trail in the jungle.
After only a few hours of tracking he came under the umbrella of a bombing mission.
He was certain that it was friendly fire, but at this juncture it mattered little. He found cover and rode out the storm.
Cyrus had lost the trail of his friend and the three german soldiers.

He continued to search for the four men tracking slowly into the night, when he came across a mortally wounded Altair Ali, and
his intriguing companion.

Cyrus’ thoughts slowly drifted back to the present.

The black eagle had delivered the rabbit to him alive.
Perhaps his walk about in
the desert would end, and lead to his friend Notah.
After thanking the rabbit for giving it’s life,
Cyrus opened his palms in gratitude. After Cyrus spread the coals of the fire, he rubbed the rabbit with a small amount of salt, and placed the rabbit across the glowing bed of coals and embers. Cyrus lay again on his back searching the stars as the sounds of the rabbit cooking over the fire danced noisily in his ears. He would eat, and sleep in small windows of time.
Cyrus knew Notah wouldn’t survive if he didn’t locate him in the next few days.

1944 was fast approaching as
this theater of war was drawing ever closer to it’s
bloody conclusion.
Cyrus and Notah had been deployed to North Africa to reestablish communications in the region.
Cyrus had been officially drafted as a communications specialist, but in reality was recruited for his renowned prowess in warfare.
Cyrus was a practitioner in the ancient hawaiian martial art of Lua.

World War II was finally seeing it’s end game; as the german forces began to taste one bitter defeat
after another.
But at the moment Cyrus was only interested in three german soldiers, men who had taken, tortured, and or killed his friend.
War or no war he wanted proof of life, and if that wasn’t avaliable,
well then
have to do.
One thing was certain,
Cyrus wasn’t going anywhere
until he located his friend Notah.

Black Eagle Dream



Chapter Two

The indomitable hawaiian had rode the waves of the dark sea of death.

He had seen it. He had caused it.

Cyrus could smell death.

He dropped to one knee
listening intently
for life.
The odoriferous stench of rotting flesh wafed over the dunes that Cyrus had remained hidden behind. He had readily picked up their trail one day ago, spotting refuse they had carelessly discarded in the great desert. Cyrus guessed it to be the germans.
“Arrogant fools,” Cyrus said tiredly.
The black eagle had kept him adequately supplied with a larder of various creatures. For this was a landscape expressed
as living art, a living breathing virtuality.
His water bag was dangerously low, but he remained lucid.
Cyrus began to climb a large sand pyramid.


He drew his Army issued
.45 caliber pistol.
Cyrus wrapped his face in an olive drab sling, but to no avail.
As he topped the dune, the prevailing winds of death nearly caused him to gag. Cyrus looked down into the clearing. It was quiet.

Death had painted a masterpiece.

Cyrus began his descent into hell.
He trained his weapon on everything, anything that might pose a threat.
A large raven called out to it’s companions who were at present gorging themselves on the
eyes of the fallen camels.
The ravens observed the black eagle flying high above, and immediately sensed an immeasurable flow of energy.
The esteemed trio of earthly messengers departed without their usual boisterous fanfare.
The black eagle dream surveyed the carnage from above.
Cyrus moved quietly from one body to the next. The three men hired in Rabat to guide the germans through the desert lay face down, all shot in the back. By the way their bodies lay it appeared they were running toward their camels.
The two small Fennec fox took their leave as well, carrying away flesh momentos as they ran,
their tails tilted in a terrified low.
The duo of large eared fox looked to the sky, running for all they were worth, fear streaking across their dark eyes. Cyrus approached a forth man who lay propped up against a palm tree.
Cyrus observed blood stains and bullet holes on the lower portion of the grey wool uniform of the lone german infantryman. His head hung forward, unmoving. His dark metal helmet lay near. Cyrus approached the man quietly pointing his pistol center mass at the fallen soldier. After several moments he holstered his weapon. Cyrus stood solemnly in front of the dead soldier.
The dead man’s head shot up abruptly as he attempted to strike Cyrus in the groin.
Cyrus reacted instinctively,
leaping back and then launching himself forward; delivering a devastating knee to the forehead of the veteran german soldier.
It was such a precise collision that his skull was fractured twice, as the back of his head had slammed violently against the immovable palm tree.
The dying soldier let out a dull bleat of unintelligible sound, his brain unable to process the level of damage that had been inflicted upon it. This transference of raw energy signaled the conclusion of this encounter.
The soldier babbled for several moments, first in german and then in english. The mortally concussed man looked up slowly at Cyrus through bleary eyes. “Brown man do you, do you speak english?”
The heavily accented man asked in a whisper. Cyrus nodded in the affirmative. “Do you seek someone?” asked the dying man.
The face of Cyrus suddenly grew taut. “Where is he?”
The dying german smiled weakly
as he pointed toward the chest of the massive hawaiian.
Cyrus looked down.
His medicine bag had come out from under his fatigue shirt.
The dying man now pointed with his eyes at another tree near to him.
Cyrus slowly looked away,
ever cautious.
The german soldier began to laugh,
a low mocking laugh. Cyrus turned slowly to where the man had pointed. Someone had impaled a knife into the tree. Notah’s medicine bag hung from the knife. The dying man continued to laugh weakly, gurgling now.
Cyrus approached the palm tree.
As he got closer he saw the finger. Cyrus took the medicine bag from off the knife handle. A bloody finger jutted out the small opening of the small leather bag. Cyrus slowly pulled the brown finger out. It was the left pinky finger of his friend. Cyrus could feel the burn growing inside his chest. The dying man continued to laugh his death song. Cyrus dropped the medicine bag and Notah’s finger turning abruptly toward the scornful laughter; reaching for his knife in one fluid movement.
Cyrus forcefully thrust the long knife through the man’s right eye. He did so with such force it caused the bayonet to pierce the back of the soldiers skull, lodging itself into the large date palm with a sickening thunk sound. “Ahhhhhhh.”
The large german let out his final breath. Cyrus placed his right hand on the man’s forehead as he wrenched the knife free from the tree with his left. Cyrus scraped the man’s eye off his bayonet. After retrieving the medicine bag and his friends appendage, Cyrus walked a short distance and sat atop a small outcropping of boulders and rock. The sun had set upon this ancient place. Cyrus sat drinking water, contemplating his next move.
After losing a portion of his map in a previous sand storm he was not sure what to do or what direction even to go. He was hungry,
he was thirsty, and he was exhausted.

If Notah was still alive…..
Cyrus had to think.
Whatever happened here demonstrated a major break down in communication.
Cyrus would search the bodies
for clues in the morning.
Tonight he would sleep among
the dead.
The black eagle continued to circle above Cyrus, as the stars shone brilliantly over this vast and wondrous land.
He built a fire and settled in for the night.
In the morning he would go.

Black Eagle Dream




Chapter Three

Having spent the last six months on the island of O’ahu, Notah had become accustomed to smelling the salt from the sea in the air.
Although he was in the Sahara desert at the moment,
Notah knew what he was smelling.
His left hand was currently pulsating like a second heart in his body. Notah looked down at his hand. Where his pinky used to be was now a bloody stump.
The large german had battered him for several hours. They surprised him though by tending to his hand shortly after his finger had been savagely cut off. His best guess was that they needed him alive a little bit longer. Notah had picked up on the friction between the Germans and the Moroccans. About the third day out, the agreement had soured.
There was some sort of dispute or discrepancy with regards where the three moroccans would take himself and the small group of german zealots. It had all boiled over a day ago. The morrocans decided to take their leave but
the germans weren’t having it.
The fatal mistake of the moroccans was underestimating the deceitfulness of these pale skinned men in their charcoal grey wool uniforms.
The german officer shook hands with each man giving them their agreed upon gold in three separate leather pouches. The colonel had personally counted the coins for each leather pouch, in an attempt to show that the conclusion of their business arrangement was amicable.
The morrocans took their gold and headed down the dunes to retrieve their camels, and return home to their families. In the brief moment before the germans opened up on the three men, Notah made a decision.
After being thrown down on the ground to be used as a human sandbag, the stout soldier began to shoot at the three morrocan men as they drew close to their camels.
The hot brass casings had landed intermittently on the back of his neck. “Ahhhh,” Notah cried out with each shell that had found its mark.
“Shut your filthy mouth little man,”
the soldier barked as he shot the last moroccan in the back.
The soldier suddenly stood upright leaving Notah on the ground as he charged down the sand dune toward the three fallen men.
The mountainous soldier did not realize that his .45 Colt pistol had become dislodged from his holster. Notah grabbed it quickly off the warm sand, sticking it in his waistband.
The battle weary infantryman had taken the pistol off a dead
US Army paratrooper
from the 82nd Airborne.
He had shot the greenhorn Lieutenant a couple of weeks back.
Notah watched as the giant german confirmed all the moroccans were in fact deceased. They were low on ammunition so he quickly cut their throats. Colonel Arnhold and his attaché, stood at the top of the dune. Notah slowly sat up and looked down on upon the carnage.

“Excellent work Sargeant. Be sure to get our gold. Join us for coffee when you have completed your task,” Colonel Arnhold said beaming.


“Jawohl Colonel,” the grim faced Sergeant replied. Apparently the one secret airfield Colonel Arnhold had hoped to rendezvous at had been bombed by the allied forces.
If Colonel Arnhold was to deliver their prized Navajo Code Talker back to Germany he knew he had no other alternative, but to alter his course and go by sea.
It was their hope to break the Navajo soldier on the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean en route to Germany. It was imperative to convince him to betray the US intelligence community, and it’s allies by translating for the Third Reich.
It was Hitler’s last ditch effort to turn the tide of the war. With a little hail Mary full of grace thrown in for good measure, Adolf began to feel hopeful. Being a devout Catholic, Hitler felt it had the blessing of God, and he would ultimately succeed.
Notah watched as the large german climbed up toward him. The bitter lipped german had a propensity for violence. He had punched and kicked Notah on several different occasions since being kidnapped. The germans had now demonstrated a willingness to increase the level of torture in order to coerce the young man from Rough Rock, Arizona into submission. Notah glanced over at the german officer. He seemed to be whispering in the other man’s ear. He also had a handful of the smaller mans buttocks. Notah heard the smallish man stifle his laughter just as he reached for the pistol under his shirt. Although Notah didn’t particularly care if these foreigners were two-spirit or not, he intended to kill all three nonetheless, starting with the big brute. He raised his arm up and pointed it at his tormentor.
The soldier had stopped midpoint of his return climb of the dune, winded and thirsty. Notah waited for him to raise his canteen upward in order to expose more of his torso. As he raised his canteen to his lips Notah shot the man in his lower left rib cage, barely missing his heart, then in his stomach, and then finally Notah shot him right below his belly button.
The soldier looked upward, confused. He fell to his knees dropping his rifle in the sand.
Notah stood up to kill the two other men, when he was clubbed in the back of his head, and fell forward, unconscious.

A few moments later,
the slight built attaché akwardly poured water on Notah’s face.
Notah opened his eyes and immediately began a gasping reflex. Colonel Arnhold peered at Notah who had yet to get his senses back in working order.
“Code talker….. Code talker…..
wake up code talker,”
Colonel Arnhold spoke in a playful but menacing tone. The words continued to echo in Notah’s ears as he slipped back into the darkness of his unconscious mind.
A large shadow cast itself over this treacherous skirmish in the desert.
The silent black eagle circled four times in perfect rotation, looking from on high upon the pitiful men of mankind.

Black Eagle Dream 



Chapter Four 

Cyrus sat staring into the quiet fire. The flames flickered, as the sun began to gradually ascend over the horizon of the vast Sahara desert. He had made an uneasy decision to bury the three Moroccans late last night. Cyrus had located the identification papers and personal effects of each man, and so he decided to wrap their personal belongings in scarves that he found in the packs of their dead camels. He would leave it at this place, hoping someone would come in search of their loved ones. He offered up prayers in their behalf, and for his enemies as well. Cyrus currently enjoyed the luxury of a large cup of coffee. He had located additional food stuffs, water, and a large knife. He made the decision to forego much else as he would have to travel light and push hard to intercept the three men he presently pursued. The last thing he wanted was to bury his friend in this arid and seamless land. Conversely, Germany in the nineteen forties certainly was no place for a Code Talker from the Navajo Nation to be. Cyrus stood solemnly atop the dune, gazing out into the quiet empty once again. Cyrus knew he had but one last opportunity to retrieve his friend Notah. He deducted that the two germans were going to attempt to rendezvous on the west coast of North Africa. Cyrus adjusted the straps of his rucksack as he glanced over at the dead and decomposing body of the large german soldier. Cyrus would not bury him. He couldn’t afford to expend any more energy than he already had, that and Cyrus knew the massive german soldier had in all likelihood, beaten and tortured his friend. Nonetheless he gathered his personal effects and hung them on the same knife that had been used to seperate his friend from his finger. Cyrus had found a large indigo robe among the belongings of the muscular german soldier. Cyrus had seen the brillant blue robe in Morocco. He and Badr had been in the market place sharing a cup of tea when a fierce looking man in a blue robe had passed by. Badr related to him that the colorful blue robe was often wore by the Tuareg people. 

Cyrus was weary of war. It was his kuleana, his responsibility to kill whoever needed killing, but in his heart he longed for his home shore break in Waipi’o Valley, in the valley of kings. Ravens began to call in the distance. Cyrus sat down next to the fire. He reached into the top pocket of his desert fatigues. Cyrus slowly opened the bloody cloth. He viewed the beaded and blood stained medicine bag, and his friends darkened and lifeless appendage. Cyrus held the string of the medicine bag on the first joint of his index finger. He slowly let it slide off his finger and into the fire.  

“This Is the only part of you that will remain here my friend.”

Cyrus wrapped the blackened finger in the crimson cloth and placed it unceremoniously into the fire. The time of feeling desperate had passed. Cyrus looked to the west as he began looking for anything that resembled a path to follow. He found nothing. A large shadow cast itself upon the sand directly in front of Cyrus. The black eagle hovered effortlessly above him, causing Cyrus involuntarily to arch his neck up into the sky. The large, dark, keeper of dreams met the eyes of the powerful hawaiian. A pathway between the two began to emerge. Cyrus checked his weapons and adjusted his gear one last time as he prepared to hunt the men that had taken his friend. He slipped the brillant blue robe on over his gear, and after a few minor adjustments he began to strike out into the vastness. The black eagle continued to hover as Cyrus made his way over the dunes. After Cyrus had walked nearly a thousand meters, the black eagle, who presently was observing men from a great distance, dipped its wings and began to follow Cyrus. After a short span of time the black eagle casually overtook the man. As Cyrus continued over the dunes the shadow of the black eagle had become a beacon of sorts. Cyrus made a decision to follow the leading of this mysterious black eagle. As the formidable native hawaiian and the black eagle began to fade into the distance of this killing ground, three large and seemingly ominous ravens landed where Cyrus had sat. The largest of the three ravens began to cautiously walk down the short space leading to the fire that Cyrus had made earlier. The two other ravens soon followed. The ravens walked noiselessly, yet spaced themselves perfectly in distance, one from the other. They began to circle the fire clockwise. The ravens walked in a casual but calculated gait. The three ravens would occasionally give attention to the sizzling sounds heard emanating from the dying coals of the fire, clucking their approval as they walked in quiet contemplation of things yet to be. In the distance, Cyrus could see what appeared to be a sand storm in the making. He was not overly concerned as he had encountered several of these storms since his first tour of North Africa in 1941. Unbeknownst to him however, this was no ordinary sand storm. This was a storm of ecclesiastical proportions, a storm of life and of death. A storm of today, and tomorrow. The ravens continued to circle the dying fire. 

Like the black eagle, the raven lives in two worlds, and as such has witnessed many things through the passage of time. The ravens continued to circle the fire. One thing was certain, in the desert nothing goes to waste; for even messengers must eat.

Copyright June 8, 2016

All Rights reserved.

#blackeagledream #fantasy  #brand 



Black Eagle Dream 



Chapter Five

The tempestuous wind demonstrated its assigned place within the realm of mankind; swirling as an everlasting symbol of eternity upon the earth. Weary eyes began to wonder if the end of life as he knew it had arrived. His countenance had fallen considerably in the last few hours. Cyrus had cautiously pursued the three men through the raging sirocco. At one point Cyrus was within 200 yards of making contact with the three men, when without warning a small herd of wild eyed camels breached the top of the ridge at the time he had prepared to descend it, stampeding upon him in an absolute flight of panic. Cyrus reacted without thinking and threw himself to his right, rolling down headlong into the swirling and blinding sand. The look of fear had gripped the animals as they appeared just as surprised to see a man standing alone. The train of camels cut to their right at the last moment, partially trampling his rucksack. Cyrus looked to the sky above the storm. The black eagle appeared as a nubian dot in his eyes, as it continued to circle counter clockwise above the thunderous winds. As he edged closer to these surreal and deafening walls of sound and sand; he realized the germans had decided to play a high stakes game of poker. 

The darkened winds obscured his vision in this choking combination of heavy dust and swirling sand. Cyrus had seen various pairings of bird fox and lizard traveling as one group. Cyrus even spotted several snakes making haste together out of the impact zone. From the vantage point of the black eagle the storm echoed and shook as it rose up hundreds of feet in the sky. Cyrus knew he was in for the challenge of his life. He stumbled forth staying low as he continued searching for his friend in this unsustainable environment. It began to dawn on Cyrus that even he himself returning home alive – was now most certainly in question. Nonetheless, Cyrus believed it to be his kuleana, his present responsibility to overtake and kill his enemies. This would conclude his contractual obligations with the U.S. Army. After that he planned to return to Waipi’o Valley and leave the killing behind. Cyrus came upon a formation of goethite rock at the bottom of the ridge. He recalled his friend Badr in Morroco had once advised him if he ever was in need of an emergency shelter he was to search for an opening at the base of any rock formation that he might happen upon. These goethite rock formations had often been used as a cave like shelter by travelers caught in an unexpected sandstorm. As he crawled he barely was able to see more than a foot or two in front of him. Cyrus kept his left hand on the rocks as he circled slowly counterclockwise. The wind was life changing fierce, threatening to transform him into a human kite if he attempted to stand in any form or fashion. The sudden discovery of a three foot space between rocks at the base of the goethite formation  stopped him in his kneeled tracks. While he was hopeful he also knew the small opening was not nearly wide enough for his large frame to fit through. He remained kneeling as he unloaded his rucksack from his weary shoulders. He began to use his large powerful hands to dig the sand away from this small port of entry. Cyrus cautiously sniffed the air at the entrance of the opening. Smelling neither man nor beast he slowly stuck his hand in the darkness of the entryway. After widening the diameter of the opening, he cautiously entered into the pitch black of the uncertain. He briefly went down as he entered the makeshift opening, but quickly ascended upward crawling on his belly into a small but surprisingly comfortable space for the large hawaiian. Fresh air began to mix with the stale as other familiar smells began to awaken. Cyrus placed his rucksack in front of him. He believed he had enough materials to sustain a fire for maybe two hours. He would build his small fire and eat the remaining portion of the snake that he had killed earlier in the day. He was low on water, and figured Notah and the two german soldiers were close to exhausting their water as well. Cyrus would rest for the night and resume his search for his friend Notah at a very early hour. He had only to kill these remaining two german soldiers. Once that was accomplished they would have to find their way off the dark continent and hitch a ride across the water. The black eagle dream continued to caress the soul of Cyrus as he slept near to the fire. Flames danced off the curvature of the dark and rugged goethite ceiling. Cyrus would hunker down for a few hours and rest up a bit. He was happy to be away from the biting winds of sand and dust. After cleaning up the best he could unrolled a small piece of linen cloth and laid it on the dirt floor. He proceeded to disassemble the dead paratroopers pistol. In the morning he would attempt to eliminate his final target, one Colonel Gunther Arnhold. His thoughts shifted to his young friend Notah. “Hang on my friend, I’m coming and they are gonna have to pay.”


Black Eagle Dream  



Chapter Six

Notah woke to the faint and whirling sounds of a hushed wind. He slowly lifted his head from his sand pillow. He rolled slowly to his right side, glancing over at the slumbering officer across the fire. The Colonel continued to sleep soundly. Notah slowly turned his attention to the attaché. Florian sat quietly staring at Notah over the top of the flames. His piercing blue eyes examined Notah with curious fear, causing the hair on the back of Notah’s neck to stand up. A silent but icy awkwardness ensued between the two men. The native soldier slowly glanced down at his hand. The stump where his pinky finger once was, had begun to slowly heal. His head was pounding, his stomach empty. “Can you drink?” The last time  Notah had heard this man’s voice was two days ago. He had only spoken in german up to this point so naturally the Navajo code talker was surprised when he spoke to him in his second language. This man with the light blue eyes had held a pistol to his temple while his hulking and sadistic coworker lopped off his finger. Notah was satisfied with having killed the man who had beaten and tortured him. Notah hoped he would have an opportunity to kill this blue eyed man before him, before he himself died. Notah would give it a go if the opportunity presented itself. 

“Yes I can drink,” Notah responded his voice dry, hoarse. Florian slowly stood, canteen in hand. He kept his head down in the small rock enclosure as he came around the fire where Notah lay. He kneeled next to Notah slowly tilting the canteen as he continued to stare fiercely at the bound soldier. He lowered the canteen closer to the prone soldiers face. The german soldier tilted the canteen up in a cruel and deliberate manner, allowing only a few drops to touch Notah’s parched and broken lips. Sneering with unfeeling eyes, he returned to his place at the fire. Notah licked his lips with his dry tongue as he stared back at his tormentor defiantly, finally allowing his head to fall back in silent despair.  “Gunther aufwachen,” Florian whispered as he placed his hand gently on the Colonel’s dirt laden uniform jacket.

Gunther opened an eye glancing over at his attaché. “We need water, and food …” Florian’s voice began to trail off. ” Okay you go, i will watch the prisoner. ” Florian had begun to notice over the last two days that the resolve of Gunther seemed to be waning, not so urgent now. He knew hunger and thirst had played it’s part in eroding the shores of his determination. “Wach bleiben Sir,” Florian urged as he crawled on hands and knees toward the entrance of their rock crag. Florian slipped into the shadows of the entryway and disappeared outside into the quiet and still morning of the great desert, Sahara.

Cyrus had awoke well before dawn. He had just completed a small reconnaissance of the immediate area. He stood on a dune looking down at the valley of goethite rocks. He had not located the trio of men as of yet but he knew they were close. An earlier wafing of their fire amongst this maze of varying and dizzying heights of ancient rock formations had been detected, but Cyrus hoped with a little patience and persistence he would recover Notah, and together they would get off the continent of Africa, and return to their homes in Arizona and Hawai’i. They would all need water soon. Without warning a large shadow cast itself directly over Cyrus. The black eagle hovered above, creating an umbrella like division of the sun and his face. The black eagle let out a clear greeting chirping out small sounds of its own language. Cyrus managed a gritty smile as he arched his neck skyward, observing the black eagle gazing down upon him with fierce eyes of bronzed fire. For this was no ordinary black eagle, no this was a winged creature from a higher order of intelligence above mankind. This was the black eagle dream.

A shadow suddenly appeared to be closing on the face of Cyrus. He instinctively leaned back and raised his arms to protect his face as the freshly killed rabbit struck him in the upper chest area. He lay on his side, mildly stunned by the rabbit that fell from the sky. It was a large rabbit which surprised Cyrus for some reason. Cyrus smiled. He now knew what was for breakfast. He also realized he had just received the perfect trap for desperate men. 

Florian softly kicked sand over the small pile of excrement. He fastened his belt and began to look about. It had occurred to him that he should mark the spot in the event that he could not procure any meaningful sustenance. 

He immediately dismissed those thoughts and began to walk up the rocky hill.

Cyrus hoped to make contact with the trio today. Cyrus knew that sooner or later they would have to reveal their position. When they did, the large native hawaiian would be there to intercept them, and end their journey here in this ancient place of stone and sand. 

For now though he would build a fire, eat, and rest a little. He sensed that his friend Notah was still alive. Either way however, the german Colonel was the last target on the list. There were many variables that would have to play out before he could even consider the long trek home.

True Peace Will Come


four winds 









does not 

want to 


caught up 


the illusion 


he himself 




the nations 



to wonder

in angst 


in fear.

The earthquakes 

the floods



the question is ever clear…. 

‘Could this be the end of all things 
knocking firmly 

at mankind’s 













it will not 

delay the day of all days…

The great day of Jehovah is near.


all accounts 

are to be 



True Peace Will Be Here.


August 28, 2016

All rights reserved.

Written by: Kawika A. Stafford