Showing posts with label #Cornelia DeDona. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #Cornelia DeDona. Show all posts

Friday, June 5, 2026

Beautiful Blessings

 

Between the worry and the care,
beautiful blessings gather—
a multitude of angels,
hovering, watching, signaling,
whispering through the quiet.

They are my own personal army,
and for their presence
I am deeply thankful.

The world feels frightening now.
There is so much unrest,
so much darkness moving among us.
I worry for the children—
the innocent, the untried—
and wonder where they will find shelter
when we are gone,
when the shadows seek to settle forever.

Yet still they stand guard,
holding back the curtain of doom,
keeping watch at the edge of night,
where tears appear in the ether
and shadows search for passage.

The portals of time are closing,
sealing away old horrors,
the echoes of war,
the storms of hatred,
the tempests that trouble the earth.

Dear Lord,

Grant us one more night,
one more day to mend what is broken,
to straighten what has gone crooked,
to hold fast to the truth,
and welcome goodness through the door.

For the day is long,
our hearts grow weary,
and we need rest.

Amen.

Thursday, June 4, 2026

Betrayal

 Betrayal

Betrayal by a mate is wound enough,

but betrayal by elected leaders is another wound entirely.

We place in their hands the keys to atomic annihilation,

and still they turn against us.

Once trust is broken, the ground falls out.

Let them trumpet, bellow, and groan—

there is nowhere left for them to hide.

Silence does not mend it.

The realization strikes the survival instinct like a warning light in a long, dark tunnel.

It asks for adjustment, for healing, for rebirth into a new world.

The question is simple: can you?

Can we grow stronger, restore self-care, set firm boundaries, and learn to trust again?

 

Yes—

but healing keeps its own time.

Wednesday, June 3, 2026

The Long Way Home

 The Long Way Home

Gina ran away one fall
On nothing but a dare,
The promised warmth of southern skies
Was waiting somewhere there.

They said that summer lingered on
Where ocean breezes roamed,
While winter gathered in the north
Around the streets of home.

"Bring swimsuits," somebody laughed,
"Bring sandals for the shore."
But Gina owned no clothes like that
A city girl to the core.

She was New York through and through,
Just sixteen, wild and bright,
And when she crossed a crowded room
She seemed to gather light.

Four girls cut class and hit the road
Instead of school that day,
Chasing freedom down the coast
And throwing rules away.

They thumbed their rides through Newark first,
Then farther south they went,
Living on the kindness found
Wherever fate had sent.

Gina prayed that Lucy would
Be home when trouble came,
For someone had to know the truth

Behind each borrowed name.

The stories spun to hide their tracks,
The lies they thought would last,
Could never stay ahead for long—
The truth rode hard and fast.

And where was Katya on that road?
Perhaps she wandered still,
Not running from the dark so much
As learning how to will

Her way through it.

Three days passed.
Baltimore at last.
A holding room.
A waiting gloom.

Detention walls and anxious hours,

Four runaways shut in,
Till someone called and someone came
To gather them again.

Lucy did what Lucy could,
Steady, wise, and kind.
She gave the look grown women give
When worry fills the mind.

And had it ended otherwise,
Had fate not stepped in then,
Gina never would have met
The man she'd meet again.

But that comes later.

Back then they rode
Like concert kids at play,
Certain they could leave the world
And simply drift away.

As though four girls could disappear
For just a weekend's roam,
Then call for help when funds ran low
And find an easy home.

As though a parent, scout leader,
Or some patient soul could come,
To claim them from the road they chose
And drive them northward home.

Back through miles of autumn rain,
Past every mile they'd flown,

To face the thing all runaways
Must someday learn and own:

No matter how far south you go,
No matter where you roam,
The longest road a runaway walks
It's the long way home.

Tuesday, June 2, 2026

A Kindness from a Stranger

 A Kindness from a Stranger

 

You never really know who will show up in an ordinary moment and keep your day from going completely off the rails.

It may be the customer at Aldi’s who frees a shopping cart from its quarter-based prison,

the driver at an intersection who waves you through as they have briefly been appointed traffic angel,

or the stranger at the beach who saves your umbrella from becoming the fastest thing on the shoreline.

Most of the time, you do not even know their names.

They are like tiny guest stars in the sitcom of your life, appearing just long enough to save the scene and then disappearing before the credits.

Without them, the world would feel a little harsher and far less merciful.

I felt that kindness myself the other day at the end of a hike, when a faint headache started tapping at my temples like a landlord asking where the rent was. A man I had just met offered me an unopened bottle of water from his pack, and in that moment, he seemed less like a fellow hiker and more like a desert mirage with good planning skills. I have not hiked like that in two years, but you can be sure I will carry extra water next time, because apparently, I enjoy learning important lessons the hard way.

Another time, I was carrying my beach umbrella over one shoulder and my bag on the other, feeling strong and wonderfully free of pain for the first time in years. Hip surgery was behind me, and all I had to do was walk in a straight line like an adult, which, in hindsight, may have been asking a lot.

It would have been simple if I had remembered that my eyes and my feet are supposed to be on the same team. Instead, I turned to look behind me and went down so fast it felt as if the earth had been waiting all morning for its chance. One moment I was upright and victorious; the next I was introducing myself to the pavement. Thankfully, instinct arrived before panic, and I managed to protect my new hip, which at that point felt like the most expensive member of the family.

I scraped my elbow and twisted my foot, but escaped with no serious injury, which felt like a very generous final score. The strangers near the outdoor shower kept moving. Still, my sister and brother-in-law, coming up behind me, lifted me and took the weight I had been carrying, proving that family will absolutely help you, especially when you have already provided the day’s entertainment.

Family, after all, can be its own kind of rescue, steady as a railing and only slightly more likely to laugh once they know you are fine.

Wednesday, May 27, 2026

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

 The Light at the End of the Tunnel

 

Can you see the light?

I think I can.

After four months of inactivity

I am slowly coming back to myself.

Surgery was a cakewalk

Yes, I was asleep for the duration.

But real healing takes time.

My body must accept the new ball and joint,

reattach and mean it

because I plan to put it to the test.

My surgeon, Dr. Stone,

yes, that’s his real name,

said stay upright, not really, but you get the gist.

Stay upright, my dear, and all is well, plus you won’t have to keep that appointment we set for next January.

Stay upright like a tin soldier and soldier on like the Mailman who delivers the mail in all kinds of weather, or the thief who steals from you and then goes on TV to brag about it.

Stay upright, and you never have to see me again.

Now I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking it too

How long will it be before she falls?

Well, don’t take that bet yet

because I already did

back in Florida at my favorite beach

and I’m FINE.

I know how to fall, and it was brilliant

Sorry, you missed it

Well, it’s over now, and I survived.

Try to remember that and carry on.

No bets today or tomorrow.

Go back to fighting over politics and the price of oil.

I’ll be here minding the joint.

 

Tuesday, May 26, 2026

Dear Emmeline Pankhurst

 “We are here not because we are law-breakers; we are here in our efforts to become law-makers. I would rather be a rebel than a slave! “ Emmeline Pankhurst was a leading British suffragette who played a militant role in fighting to gain women the right to vote. 


Dear Emmeline, 

You dared to go against the establishment

and not in a trite way,

 but with a rebellious heart that came with discipline and extreme focus.

We salute you because it was unpopular and came at a high price. 

We salute you for dedicating your life to the cause.

We salute you for being unwavering and selfless.

We salute you for being willing to go to jail seven times.

We salute you for convincing Churchill to vote in favor of a women's suffrage bill in 1904. 

We salute you for the motto: ‘Deeds not words.’

Your influence and inspiration stretched across the Atlantic to America, and for that, we salute you. 

Signed,

A New Generation of Rebels



P.S. Red Lipstick Rules!



Sunday, May 24, 2026

Retaking A Cognitive Test

 Retaking A Cognitive Test

is not  typical

This test is not about IQ

It’s MoCA, baby. Google it. 

Bragging about it is dumb and concerning. 

Can you draw a clock?

Make the time at ten past eleven

Determine the correct sequence of five numbers and letters starting with A and 1.

Draw a cube  

It’s not about how artistic you are. 

Identify the camel, rhino, and lion

Name the three objects

Remember the words: face, velvet, church, red, and daisy? We will ask you again in five minutes

Count back from 100 in denominations of seven

Say 742 backwards

Can you repeat three sentences after me in varying lengths?

Do you know where you are:

what city, the date, the time, or are you mildly impaired? What was your score? Do you remember? 

 

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

Noir



Noir

The photo depicts 
The past
A time when words flowed
Like a river into endless
Streams
Across great chasms
Mind-bending
Alleys.

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
Re-engineer
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
Patience
Listening too
In the Noir days, we had filters.

Remember filters?  
And one critical lesson at a time.


Cornelia DeDona 3-24-2020


Wednesday, August 31, 2016

I am delighted to announce my multi-discipline award-winning memoir Hawaiian Time will be among the displayed books and art in 

The Vinnie Ream Exhibition at The Karpele's Manuscript Library Museum 

101 W 1st St. Jacksonville, FL, US.
 September 02, 2016 - October 30, 2016 

 Artist Reception September 9th 5-8 p.m.

The Karpeles Library is the world's largest private holding of important original manuscripts and documents and features exhibits from local artists and designers. The library was founded in 1983 by California real estate magnates David and Marsha Karpeles, with the goal of stimulating interest in learning, especially in children. All of the Karpeles Manuscript Library services are free. 

 For more info on Vinnie Ream and the National League of American Pen Women: http://www.nlapw.org/?s=Vinnie+Ream



Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Book Giveaway



 
 


    Goodreads Book Giveaway
 

   

        Hawaiian Time by Cornelia Dedona
   

   

     


          Hawaiian Time
     
     


          by Cornelia Dedona
     

     

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



    Enter Giveaway



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:

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Poem: Fine Wine


Published in the 12/2015 issue of Chronogram Arts. Culture. Spirit.

 

Fine Wine

Wine 

should be

savored like 

a grand epic 

filtered throughout with 

barely audible hints 

of blackberry and currant, 

joined among swirls of licorice.

A dressed-up ballroom duo, noshing

creamy avocado wedges a-

top crispy crackers heaped with slices of

sharp orange cheddar from Wisconsin.

Accompanied by a sweet, good

looking Filipino man 

that croons steamy songs

to  pale, earthy girls

beneath  moon’s blush 

nightly, on

a cruise

ship. 

 

A poem that starts with one syllable per line, increases to ten syllables, and then decreases back down to one is called a  Double Etheree (or sometimes a stacked or diamond Etheree). 

The Etheree form was created by Arkansas poet Taylor Armstrong in the late 1970s. 

Friday, November 6, 2015

"Seasons of the Mid-Hudson Valley"

Dancing Bears


"Seasons of the Mid-Hudson Valley"
An exhibit of photographs by 
Mohonk Preserve Volunteer Photographers

November 13, 2015, to Monday, January 4th, 2016

La Bella Pizza Bistro 
194 Main St, New Paltz, NY 12561

Opening Reception
 Sunday, November 15 from 5-7pm.



Friday, October 30, 2015

Grimm Expectations

I touched death's hand
and peeled back my crying skin
ready for death’s inspection
prepared to barter.

Take me instead.

I stroked death's supernatural chin
my screams
locked in the dead zone.

Death's white corpse
hovered before me
swilling foul fluids
noting my soft edges
hinting at frogs
and Biology.

I shrank
as death peeled back my lover
sliced by hot steel
selected without warning
on a haunted road
black as pitch
black as a bottomless pit
my love dead
by the splash.

I slept through my dark daze
a zombie
clasping
death's calling card
a calling card that read
Superboy is dead
long live Lex Luthor
Your life,
your journey begins here.
The card was signed
by a Mr. Grimm.






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.








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.



Featured Post

Time To Take Off The Blinders

Yesterday, I watched Substack news podcasts and learned why ignorance feels like bliss. I learned more about Trump and the corruption spilli...