Showing posts with label #Hawaii. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #Hawaii. Show all posts

Thursday, April 2, 2020

What About Hugs?


What About Hugs?

I used to love hugs.

It was how I said hello and goodbye
in Hawaii. 
It was an island greeting, a mark of our civilization.

Your quick embrace 
soothed me.
Healed my isolation. 
Set me free
to just be me.  

But, now, a wave from across the room will have to suffice.
So, please keep your distance. Don't think twice
Wear a mask
Don't exhale 
cough or sneeze.
You may infect me. In fact, your hug 
could kill, exponentially.

Please walk away
leave me with a smile
a sweet memory
of that once chaste embrace.

Let us chase
the virus away
that nervous taste
must be erased.

Hard to believe
We were once so pure.

But we'll need to endure
amend the rules
set new trends
to keep our friends
old and new.

Because, a hug, 
once so curative now exposes us, my dear. 
And your touch and your breath
will rip us apart.

We have to reinvent our old greetings
keep ourselves alive to survive another day.
Cast off the old unhealthy ways, 
Just imagine, in the future
what our descendants will say 
Hugs, what's that?




Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Hawaiian Time

Click on the link below to see a Preview of my new book, Hawaiian Time.
Please take a  moment to rate my preview and Thank-you!!! ~ Cornelia DeDona


                                            https://www.createspace.com/Preview/1190531

            To purchase your copy:

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Hawaiian Time







climbs the Stairway to Heaven
taking in the view
finding plenty time fo breathe, cuz!
...

Hawaiian time
leaves Honolulu
on a late plane
to New York
it will arrive bumbai.
...

New York time
is waiting
on Hawaiian time
and promises
to chill
in due time.

New York time
thinks Hawaiian time
has two speeds
slow and stop.

New York time takes
a long minute
to change its
mind about
Hawaiian time
but Hawaiian time
doesn’t care
it expects New York time
will catch up bumbai.

Bumbai: otherwise; or else; later; later on


Saturday, October 24, 2015

The Unwanted

and destitute
crouch in a huddle
gasping at the dreaded discard aisle
as we sort through
the endless stacks of
brown, yellowed
and dusty volumes.

Some hide
dead cockroaches
insect poop.

Written on their title pages
are inscriptions to family, friends and fans.

A few hide old photos.

Delightful old bookmarks
are relegated to a particular box
later transformed into artfully decorated cards.

Now and then
we discover
a single bill
forgotten
between sticky pages.

We hunt to find a first edition
Hawaiiana
or any needy rare books.

We wipe away the grime
mend the tears
unfold corners
as I try to digest a mountain of data
intoolittletime.

The orphans
are then carefully priced
counted and packed into labeled boxes
their character
further noted
by the application of various colored masking tape.
Later carted away
by the truckload
to sit inside a warehouse
where they will wait
to be rediscovered
at the annual book sale.
The lucky outcasts
polished and poised
ready to converse
with us
again.


**Original version of my poem, printed as "Book Makeovers" Honolulu Star-Bulletin July 2, 2008.








Thursday, October 22, 2015

Becoming Me


I am the half full cup
dark chocolate freak
sometimes friend to a bathroom scale.

I learn
that my obscurity is a good thing
that as I trip and fall
no one will see or care.

I am a notion,
a shadow,
a spot on the frame,

moving past old belief,
sometimes haunted,
driven,

alone.

I learn
that my existence is more
than filling your square pegs
coloring inside your lines
I am seeing
that you will never understand or care.

I deserve to move beyond the mess
I have become.

I have decided to heal myself,
love myself,
protect me at all times.
My eyes are wide open
my ears can hear
the snide careless whispers,
your thoughts when no one is near

I feel your doubt
it is the shroud of past judgments
wrong attitude.
I can taste your fear.
it is an acid that burns inside me
mutilating my mind.
secret places.

I existed before for your praise
as a child of a lesser god
but I am not less.
I am a miracle.
I am more than your dogma.
You do not define me.
I am free to speak
and I don’t have to make up lies
or explain me
because I am a strong woman
and I can do better.
I will not settle for your whims
your trickery
your reckless ways.


I will walk away whole
I will leave this place better
I will win
because I am not a quitter
because I know I can learn
that I will survive
I will thrive
because I deserve
to dream
laugh
love.

I deserve my birthright
to become who I am meant to be
I will be me.





















Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Ko'olau Tears

Volcanic cliffs emerge from the mist
exposing
lush slopes
a sow with her squeakers
nursing
under a thick emerald canopy.

Tropical tears

pelt the 'aina
saturating
vine-laden limbs
spilling into streams of sticky sap
fields of yellow fruit.

Breathing new life into
the wrinkled pores
of the ancient banyan
as the Kolea wade through muddy puddles.

The goddess invoking the mana cleansing remains
cutting offensive passages,
conjuring a rainbow.

I am home.

...


"In Polynesian culture, mana is a spiritual quality considered to have supernatural origin—a sacred impersonal force existing in the universe. Therefore, to have mana is to have influence and authority, and efficacy—the power to perform in a given situation."

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Spirit Mana



I hear them whisper
in the gentle trade winds
in the grunt of the wild
boar, the high-pitched mating call of the coqui.


I see them
in the blood moon
the double rainbow
in the mist against the folding
emerald cliffs of the Ko'olau.

I taste them
in the freshly caught pan fried mahi-mahi
a tropical papaya
tangy mango.

I smell them in
the white gardenia
the orange blossoms
the plumeria I place behind my ear.

I feel them buzzing
my ankles
scurrying sideways in the white sand
between the sharp coral
in the gentle rain.

They watch as I wait for you to return safely.

They watch the dogs chase
after wild chickens
the koi feed on fat
mosquitos.
The bullfrogs sing.

They watch
They accept.
They smile.

They are here with me
the ‘Aumakua, guardian ancestors

rooted in the past, the first of their generations.



Saturday, August 1, 2015

Intimate Moments



I feel your saliva dripping onto my big toe
as you lean up against me and belch.
I rub your neck,
massage behind your ears
staring at the Ko'olau Mountains
breathing in the pink Plumeria blossoms
as we both listen to the caw, caw, caw,
of Petey the Peacock
perched on the neighbor's roof.

Thursdays
are special in our datebook.

Me
climbing ladders,
shaving coconut palms with my chainsaw
trimming the Be-Still bushes,
training them into a hedge.

You
inspecting the heap
smelling the fallen coconuts
and then chasing the cooing doves
feasting on your forgotten dinner.


Me
stuffing green bins with yard waste.

You
ears back
standing on the wall behind the fence
as the giant yellow truck
swallows their contents and burps,
farting around the bend.


We fit
you and me.

You
sniffing and alert.

Me 
smearing citronella leaves
on my arms, your butt, and our legs
shielding us from the mosquitos at dusk,
while relaxing at the fire pit,
listening to KCCN Hawaiian 105.9.
Both of us,
still frisky
unleashed
in paradise.





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