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?

Monday, March 30, 2020

Pandemic Golf

Pandemic Golf

Does not touch flagstick.
Does foursome elbow bump.
Brings their own water.
Doesn't rake bunkers
Doesn't play in leagues
Elevates the hole.
Rides golfcart alone
Stays a safe distance
Washes hands post-game.

So, I started playing golf in March
After a four-year hiatus
After breaking my wrist
Which is better in the warmer climate
And no, it did not improve my game.

I moved in December from the sometimes-frigid Mid-Hudson Valley
90 miles north of NYC, the coronavirus epicenter,
South to sunny Florida
Where the grass is sticky
In the rough
And the greenskeeper is
One of Satan's disciples.
You know what I mean
He purposely fucks
With the cup angles
And there is no way
A human can prevail.

And you need thick skin
like 2 ml. Thick.
It can be devastating without Angel juice.
Angel aka Birdie juice can be had
But requires driving the green and sinking the ball in one putt or less on a par three.

Then along comes a pandemic
And I am seriously wondering
If someone opened the doors
To Hell or you know    Purgatory
where the demons and the angels get together
for Jokes (about humans that are not Michelle Wie or Tiger Woods who choose to play golf) and Spiked Juice.
Talk about rolling thunder
This is where the wings come off
Badass Angels and Demons compete
And no one plays with a punk-ass colored ball.

The winner gets to play 18 holes with a few humans.

It is a random draw, a spin on the roulette table. And only the spirits can win.
Which is why it is so exasperating to humans.  You never know who will show up.  Or inside whom.

The game changes from day-to-day
Week to week
The challenge is real
The stakes are high

And there is no end to the mind games.
 *Free verse poetry is here defined as a poem with no set meter or verse that mimics natural speech patterns. Free verse poems can be short or long, contain sporadic rhymes or none at all, and be conveyed in spoken or written mediums. Because a free verse poem isn't tied to any specific form, poets generally have more room to experiment with structure than they would with other styles.

Tuesday, March 24, 2020



The photo depicts 
The past
A time when words flowed
Like a river into endless
Across great chasms

Ever forward
Relentlessly pushing boundaries
Breaking norms
Exploding into infinity.

Kind of like ejaculation.

Only the waterfall
Ran dry for a time
And the people had to
Find another source
Were forced to improvise
What had already been provided
By our Maker.

And where is that Maker now?

Is he a devil hidden in detail?
Or a stern parent insisting we toe the line
Perhaps the Maker resides in each of us
Within our unique purpose
Maybe, we are the world.

But the world is dying.
Discernment helps
Listening too
In the Noir days, we had filters.

Remember filters?  
And one critical lesson at a time.

Cornelia DeDona 3-24-2020

Thursday, June 13, 2019

Remembering Pauline

How do you say goodbye
recall the fragile faith 

in the eyes of a starfish
before tossed ashore by the careless surf?

Or crack the elegiac code without her light

       She, the zealous muse that lifted you past the stars.

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

ridge & TOWER at Roost Art Gallery in New Paltz

Come see my photos this month at Roost Gallery in New Paltz to benefit The New Paltz Amphitheater and NPASA- New Paltz Art in the Schools Association. Sunrise on the Ridge is published in the 2020 Kingston Calendar, copies are available at The Art Society Of Kingston.

Friday, September 28, 2018

My photo, Autumn Cliffs, taken on a recent hike is in the 

                      2019 Mohonk Preserve Calendar.

Featured Post

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...