Tuesday, September 24, 2013

A Meddler’s Fate

They placed them there

in two pretty boxes

high on a shelf

one for him

and one for her

their bones still warm

they set them there.


And when the mood arose


they took them down

and MADE them

to clown around

reminding them again

of their place

on the ground.


Once fearful

they slapped down some coin

and purchased two locks and two tiny keys

and drilled two patterns with such great  care

pronounced once more to the poor trapped pair

that they wouldn’t grow much

way up there

Or get too wild

with so little air

permanently sealed

in their chronic despair.


Then continued to feed them

little white lies

an earful each day

lest they surmise

that the dark chocolate trifle

rich with their scorn

had been their folly

kept them forlorn

and so they mocked them

year after year

convinced and comfortably

locked, in their fear.


AND when the season came…as they do

they did not see it…

 blinded by the light

of their precious trapped two

who wisely knew

the infamous route

having plotted and planned

and grown their way out

one of them skinny

the other one, stout.


Two boxes remain

hallowed and high

on a dusty shelf

touching the sky

with two small

locks and two small keys

tarnished and swinging,

from one of their trees.

© 9-24-13

Cornelia DeDona

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Requiem for a Star

Yesterday we remembered and honored Dad.

Requiem for a Star

He died, just short of his 80th Birthday

survived by Mom, their three daughters, three son-in-laws, four grandchildren and one great grandson

so we stand here today in his garden

to pay our last respects

and to remember

the funny,

I’ll finish it tomorrow

lovable despot, that we called Dad.


He used to tell me

“Don’t touch me, I’m a star”

and I believed him.

I aimed high

and I followed my star to Hawaii

where I raised a family and flourished.

He expected great things

from his offspring

and we produced, as good offspring do.

And I oft times wondered if it was enough

I think it was, because Mom tells me so!


So we gather to remember the good

to heal, to reconcile the past.

We gather to laugh, shake our heads

to raise our glasses

and toast

the loose boards

hanging wires

half driven nails

and let us not forget

the bamboo, the sumac, and the poison ivy

because in spite of it all

he stayed long enough to

know, love and praise his four precious grandchildren

Jason, Kenny, Taylor and Lauren and great grandson, Chad

indeed, he loved us all.


Dear old Dad

a happy-go-lucky sort

rich in aspiration

and poor everyplace else.

A tyrant

with a dream of restoring a drafty old summer house

without running water

nestled on a hill between a rock pile

and a wild jungle of vines and sticker bushes

a house that sucked up money

like a good HEPA vacuum, leaving us just enough to get by


He had envisioned a sparkling jewel

and she stands to this day

an earthy un-pinned floozy.

a small poorly lit home

where he and Mom raised

their three sparkling fashionistas

each one of us

a strong-minded finisher


Dad’s shining example.


Mom, Angie and Chrissy

brilliant, polished and uncut

and me

chasing stars

cherishing faint memories

of an iron-willed father

too hot for mere mortals

flawed but sweet

a man

whose light still shines in the garage

because like its creator

there is no off-switch

a man

resolute and irreverent

who never kowtowed to the crowd of popular opinion

an imperfect German perfectionist born in the free city of Danzig

a master electrician, a craftsman, and a ham-radio man

who shocked us with his frayed wires, his genius

hot-wiring his way into our hearts and minds

an enthusiastic family man with hopes and dreams

who touched us with his light

and left much too soon.

A man whose legacy includes

a bushel of antenna wire

three Bic lighters

and a nude statue of EVE

causing me to

rise each day before the dawn

gaze up at the sky

and to wonder

which star

might be his.

Featured Post

The Dark Path Brightens

It occurs to me That I require an ideal To summit these peaks. Something more than a patch. My tenacity shouts above my perception Shooting ...