Tony The Spelunker

 

I had done an excellent job

of prepping.  The camera was on standby,

the compressor

humming, the propofol was dripping.

 

I counted backwards from 100

And soon I slipped into my alter ego

Gina, the caver.

Sixty-one, athletic,

well-proportioned, and mostly tan.

 

Gina followed the prompt set by the anesthesiologist, whose name she still can’t remember.

He said,” Dream about Tony the Spelunker.”

Tony was forty-five, had a six-pack, and loved shiny dark passageways.

 

Gina relaxed, and soon Tony appeared 

She showed Tony her headlamp

Tony was sporting his new dive watch 

with fully charged gas tritium tubes. 

 

Tony and Gina 

went spelunking through a remote section of the tunnel,

where several sulfurous geysers 

had freshly erupted, 

in search of polyps

and other strange outgrowths.

Tony was amazed at the colors of the stalagmites and stalactites inside the wet cave.  He used his watch to make his way through the tiny pathway and searched for the perfect place to unpack and share his potato skins. Tony and Gina laughed and talked, and soon it was time for Gina to wake up. 

 

She was still smiling when the Doctor asked if she was okay to stand up. She nodded, waved, and blew a kiss at Tony before she left. His watch blinked once in response. They had promised to meet again in about ten years. 

 

 

©Cornelia DeDona 4/2/26

 

 

 To The Psychologist Who Pins Tails 

on Unsuspecting Patients While 

Blindfolded

 

 

I muse on the rush 

of hope, pain, and possibility. And to sum it up in five words seems

mind-numbingly sparse. But that is the nature of this task.

So, I slide my perspective carefully up for your review.

 

Brain imaging can save lives. Seeing matters.

Brains can heal.

 

Call me divergent. I like to use tools.

I am a Libra. I like balance in my brain. 

 

 Besides, a mere phrase would not suffice or

elicit the right melody. Hallmark cards evoked strong memories. 

Before, my hopes were dashed by skilled care. And replaced by an eternal 

doubt that lay at length on your soft couch. 

 

Still, here we are. Digging up the past, specifically

a deer frozen in the headlights, while the future stays dark. 

Blindfolded and grasping for answers, we pin the tail and call it healing.  

 

Let’s face it. 

It will take years to lift the weight that binds him. 

And I am tasked with five measly adjectives to capture his wit. 

Even as our world frays—from farce to poisoned water. 

 

No Kings

  

No Kings

To bow before

The roar is compelling

The horns, the traffic, the people 

Chanting.

 

Peaceful

Composed Protest

Against unchecked power

Resistance becomes nationwide

Duty. 

 

Oppose

The regime

The planned takeover

Loss of freedoms and injustice

Symbol.

To W.S.Merwin

 Let us run naked in the tall grass

Let us frolic as children

our nimble limbs dancing

atop young dandelion heads

diffusing the air with wild calm.

 

Let us exhale red-lipped verse

as if the blackness of the universe

were but a comma in our sentence.

Let us sing in the meadow like the plovers, 

home at last.  Let us warm ourselves

in the commitment of the Sun.

share our wonder 

with the monarch, 

our two backs lying flat 

chewing on metaphors

as the cool green grass pokes our necks 

and persistent flies tickle our form.

Let us muse over the matchlessness,

Of this finite exotic jungle.  And let us plant a tree,

Not just any tree, but an endangered Palm.

One lonely orphan left in the wild

Needing a home, a small piece of 

the earth to hold fast to. 

 Focusing on 2020

 

 

This retired senior captured a sunrise today

in natural light with a full-frame camera.

She is an iPhone witness to birds spreading their gorgeous broad wings, a rainbow in a fountain, and can attest to having spotted the Easter bunny.

 

She is among the multitudes

transmitting their art from remote locations across the vast wireless divide and

wondering which photographic filter to apply in a world frantically adapting to change.  Observing through a long lens

 

her fellow humans scouring novel viruses from cracked fingers

Flushing the disease   down the muddied drain

of remembrance.

In a daze of black and white.

In search of the new normal

avoiding contact, maintaining a six-foot distance, then touching gloveless 

the same credit scanner, dollar bills, soda can.

 

As the idiots spit into the lettuce, cough at clerks,

Their vacant stares mock the establishment.

 

The rest of us are

scratching itchy eyes, ears, and noses

 

reckoning our mutual frailties.

A merciful how and when, if now, 

will the end come?

 

Innisfree Gardens

I will arise and go now,

and go to Innisfree.

W.B. Yeats, “The Isle of Innisfree” (1888)

 

 

Innisfree Gardens

 

August’s golden dawn 

whispers

Innisfree, park you pay.

 

Cup Garden

fills tranquil

to brim.

 

Sunshine and shadow 

point fingers

woodsy sculpture.

 

Komodo dragon

stretches

seating for one.

 

Fountains shower

mist

poet smiles.

 

Contemplate genius

living art 

by design.

 

Meditate on

mastery

of rock, water

wood, sky

 

Alice

drinks spiked tea

with Mad Hatter.

 

  

 New World Order

 

 

Should that annoying Lone Star tick have a large following:

 

Administer Muse CPR. 

 

Make a List

Lower Your Expectations

 
Event Schedule Highlights

 

1. Insult all ticks near and far.  

2. Dig out the disgusting Dictator head

3. Hold a rally in the Deliverance woods

4. Invite All Your Friends and Some Enemies

5. Have a Tick Eating Contest 

6. Force the defiant to watch as you ingest their loved ones 

7. Build walls

8. Shout and March as IT controls and limits basic tick rights

7. Celebration Party for The New Politically Correct- (Lots of Balloons, Fireworks, Dancing, Rioting, Wars, Fires, Ruin, Mass Graves)

 

8.- 10.  Make History (All good, all fair.)