Ulster County Photography Club Presents

Mohonk Preserve-A Love Song

Mohonk Preserve is my church,
a photographer's dream.

I return

to craft moments

capture memories

blaze trails

its pastoral beauty quiets my mind

lets my spirit soar

high above the sweaty rocks

glistening in the mid-day sun.

I return

to scramble

Giant’s Path

Rock Rift

Bonticue Crag.

I celebrate in the snakes

gliding through Duck Pond

while I sit and snack on wild blueberries.

I rejoice in Raptors posing on ledges

taking flight

watching us, watch them.

I witness the devotion

of my fellow hikers reflected in pools

beneath waterfalls

the cool mist as it soothes tired spirits

the wild beauty that surrounds us all.

I return to the land

to witness Spring’s

trillium erectum

wild ginger, bloodroot

all stalwart parishioners.

I return to the land

to cross Summer’s Rhododendron Bridge

disappear into a cloud of pink and white mountain laurel.

 I return to the land

to gaze at Autumn’s

red oak

mountain ash

sugar maple

leaves ablaze

red, orange and yellow,

to marvel at the revelation

without and within.

I return to the land

in Winter

to realize the glacial majesty

net the mirror images

and the light

always the light

in slow water and ice

in the footprints left behind

to find the divine in a frosty pine.

I return devout

week in and week out.

I return to plug in,

exult and give thanks.

I return.

I return.

I return.

©Cornelia DeDona 10-17-16

Great Horned Owl

Book Giveaway

 
 

    Goodreads Book Giveaway
 

   

       
   

   

     

          Hawaiian Time
     
     

          by Cornelia Dedona
     

     

         
            Giveaway ends June 21, 2016.
         
         
            See the giveaway details
            at Goodreads.
         
     
   
   

    Enter Giveaway

Hilda

was such a bloody bore

not cancerous

but a royal pain in the butt

I tried to quietly endure

Shush now Hilda.

The stress is almost over.

So dramatic

always gushing

apparently, she didn't have enough color in her diet

such a flood from one

so dehydrated.

In fact, Hilda refused to stop

her anal ways

felt attacked

when the doctor told her to cut back

on the ice-cream

cheese

groan, chocolate.

Poor damaged Hilda

so emphatic

cited the colonoscopy

as the final straw

causing her to spew

so profusely.

Doesn't she understand

that Doctor knows best

now he has to operate

to get her to stop

being so damned bloody.

I suppose the surgeon

and she will tie it together

finally,

giving her a chance

to sit pain-free

perhaps have Dr. Oz inspect her

bowel movements

enabling her to alter her condition

take new pride

in scribbling her S's.

Her flare-ups

soothed briefly

by the unflappable

Hazel, a witch,

who comes highly recommended.

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.

American Lady Butterfly on Coreopsis

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.

Three Monkeys

At a recent Word Cafe

pictures passed around the room are

designed to rouse our inner writer

briefly displaced

during the heady pursuit

of summer activities.

The picture I received

depicted three monkeys cutting hair.

I imagined myself in the barber’s chair

the lucky recipient of said haircut

and may I add fully conscious, trusting and completely insane.

Wary to See

Hear and

Speak No EVIL

about these darling monkeys, because I  like monkeys.

Also, being very superstitious

I have learned

from my past

not to let the unlicensed

whether human or monkey

anywhere near my delicate scalp.

Yeah, I let them cut my fucking hair.

However, suffering as I do from chronic stupidity

a condition passed down to me

from that anonymous side of the family

I tend to forget

life’s little lessons.

Consequently, my existence is a series of 50 first dates

and crooked bangs

each day beginning with

familiar strangers and events.

Each day rife with frustrations

such as

What was the Name of that Movie

that Author, and more to the point

Who the Fuck Am I

and Why Should You Care.

Ah, the writer’s life

hunting and pecking for the perfect juxtaposition

of meaning and metaphor.  In search of the highly distracted,

I want, I want, I want, audience,

the vulgar pay for a million hours of sweat, blood and bodily excrement.

I’m no movie star

nor am I a scientist

or even Georgio from Ancient Aliens

who sometimes looks, like a monkey

or an alien, with outrageous hair.

As Georgio says

it could be possible

that these monkeys

are the missing links

and really exceptional hairdressers.

I have to admit

it is plausible

but I am willing to risk being wrong.

After all

I have only one

token head of hair to give.

In the meantime 

I will try to maintain a positive outlook

so as to appear normal

to my loyal Friends and Facebook followers.

Since both of them

would be swayed

were it not for  my personal sacrifice,

the dedicated followers that they are,

they two might be tempted

to let monkeys cut their hair.