Lunar Launch Party

 

 I used to have parties

Back in Hawaii

They were hurricane parties

Bottoms up parties

To alleviate the worry parties

Stock up, slow down, and gratitude parties

 

A few-- bring everything inside parties

Sedate the Great Danes for New Year’s parties

Church fellowship parties

Aerobic Ministry parties

A memorable 40^th Birthday party.

No time for the blues parties

 

Sail Away parties

Marathon running parties

Launching Book parties

Making my first Art sale parties.

Pen Women parties

Hiking milestone parties.

 

Dinners

Luncheons

Even breakfast parties.

Sons, stepsons, and stepdaughters’ yearly Birthday parties

I used to have parties

Now, I go to parties.

The point is to celebrate every minute of every day 

because life is a gift when you’re rich with friends and family.  

Cos, Can, Can

And No Can, No Can

Besides, time is fleeting, smarty. 

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.)

Tick Types in Office(s)

 Tick Types in Office(s)

 

 

One may misinterpret this lone star tick

for another

do not be hasty. 

If it continues to rule

that will be your last self-governing choice.

 

Make no mistake

this tick is tricky and nasty

it can and will make you sick. 

Not to be mistaken for the deer tick or the brown dog tick

which are something else entirely.

 

This spangled lone star tick

has a white dot under that coif

and very large incisors which it sharpens

on a wit tick a new tick on the block, 

not funny at all.

 

It has an even smaller stick, 

if you get my drift

which I sense is why 

this Lone Star

lacks any standards at all.

 

Don’t let it kiss your babies.

 

In my unbiased opinion

this tick

will only trick the nitwits

infecting us all with 

nervous party politics.

 

Golfers Senryu

 Golfers Senryu

 

Chipping-in from rough

white ball disappears at once

swallowed by the hole.

 

You’ve got a birdie

usually is good, unless

it tweets back at you.

 

A greenie in golf

means that your aim is steady

and your ball behaved.

 

Having a low score

is highly desired but

tough to accomplish.

 

Bionic golfers 

one putting keeps the pain low

control beats power.

 

Focus, concentrate

soon you will beat us

winners grin in place.

Lives Lost in the Fire: A Reckoning-(The Katya Chronicles)

 Lives Lost in The Fire: A Reckoning

(An excerpt from- The Katya Chronicles)

 

Katya was clearly in danger. The prince was deranged. It was time to travel again, time to face her fears. Where is Tiki? 

 

Clean the black mirror, the Prince commanded, the private room is no longer secure.

I need to see past my reign.

 

I'll fill you in later, Katya replied, not anything we need to discuss at length.

 

 

I am a lonely hero, crooned the Prince, reclining on the bed pillow behind her, arching his back, ready to pounce on a moment’s notice.

 

" Get up, my brother, she meowed get down with this badass kitty and talk dirty to me.

 

I don't speak your language, he sighed,

got lipstick stains on my passport, and no exit visa.

What is this chemistry you speak of? 

 

She leaned in 

put her face inside her reflection, it swirled as Katya M. Cartouche, April's Fool

danced alone in the moonlight to Alicia Keyes, “On Again,” and looked back at the comfort one last time.

The mirror smoldered as Katya turned and fell through the looking glass, tumbling down into the fiery maze.

" Help, I don't understand,” she cried

Katya, the gypsy, thought, lately, I've been losing sleep, but I'm happy

counting stars in this faraway country, where there is evidence of past lives.

 

Let go, Katya, the mirror challenged

Here I will stay until you find your way back. Let the storm rage on

take that money, watch it burn, everything that kills you makes you feel alive

and besides, the heat never bothered you anyway.

 

So here comes goodbye, she cried, her meow echoing down the proverbial rabbit hole,

The gravel road beckons.  Don't let the door hit you…

…

I am Katya, the many-faced feline

I seek the way.

I bow before no kings or fanatics

My modes of transportation are alien 

to those who cannot see

cannot bend time

cannot reckon that every little thing must be considered 

in its proper sequence.

 

Katya confronted the fruminous Bandersnatch

It was a liar,

had to be shrewdly dealt with.

These nonsensical creatures clearly had a problem forgetting her.

 One of the pitfalls of time travel.

 

Another Day On The Roof

 Another Day on the Roof

 

The cock crows

as the blinking moon slips into a dark corner.

She crawls out of bed and pulls on her faded jeans 

long stiff from the stench 

that no machine can wash away. 

 

Soon her well-worn shovel will crack the old tar and gravel, splitting it into thousands of shiny black chunks, the black dust settling everywhere. 

Fragments become tons and are hurled into a lumbering truck caked with dirt.

The roof is swept and swept again, exposing an acre of plywood and a growing mountain of debris; as the boom box drones in cadence, to

 

Shovel, hurl, sweep

Shovel, hurl, sweep

Shovel, hurl, sweep

 

The body learning what the day requires. 

By eleven a.m., the roof is sporting a black tar paper suit studded with silver nail buttons

to be finished by day's end, when it will be complete in modified bitumen torched down to create a seal.  A silver reflective coating is later rolled over it, as the sun continues its onslaught, frying her soot-soaked skin.

 

She works until sundown, and they drive to dump the debris. Then, to Safeway to buy dinner, looking like a trio of grimy vagabonds, hungry and bone-tired. Drawing curious stares as she brusquely fingers moist cash and blows black snot into wads of brown paper napkins.

 

Hours later

sinking into the couch

her feet are propped up on top of the coffee table

ten painted toes pointing and flexing

inhaling Rocky Road ice cream.

Exhaling slowly as exhaustion sets in

as she steels herself to begin again tomorrow

for another day in paradise

another day on the roof.

 

 

Send THEM To War

 Send THEM to War

Send the gangsters, 

the murderers, rapists 
the terrorists, the child molesters 
the ones with more than their fair share of piss and vinegar. 
Send the bad attitudes and the free-loaders. 

Send the ones that want to die with their boots on. 

Send the experienced ones 

A few good men
the Dirty Harry’s the Brave Heart’s 
the Rambo’s and 
the Rock’s, the ones 
with the snot-free noses. 

The ones that know-how 
and won’t think twice 
to fuck you up. 

Send the salty, the psycho 
and the drug lords, permanently stoned
on their last leg. 

Send the ones who want 
to leave this earth making 
a statement, leaving their mark 
their sweat 
their blood. 

Send Them! 

Let’s leave our youth alone 
and their wives and children 
with their minds and their bodies intact. 

Leave them to care for this country 
to bring us back to sanity 
to give us hope 
to revive our economy 
to renew our faith in humanity. 

Let’s harness those hormones to rebuild our bridges and dams 
to patrol our borders, and to forge new alliances 
without any preconceived ideas of what they can and cannot do. 

Let’s sit down and think about how we treat each other 
Reassess wants and needs 
How we teach our children 

Let’s take a lesson from history
and send the Neanderthal to fight the age-old feuds 

leave our kids to save the planet 
and send the apes-- the missing links. 

Send Them! 

 

Happy St. Patrick's Day

 

 

There was a young girl from County Cork

was rumored  six times with Sean O’Rourke

She was a strong Philly,

seduced his poor Willy

then delivered twin pickles, the stork.

…

 

You’ve shot a respectable Birdie

Applauded the sweet crone, Miss Purdy

Your score is quite good, 

But you’ve misunderstood

Save it, tweets now loud, proud, and flirty.

..

 

 

In Galway city at Kelly Greens

 

Lives a bonnie lass we’ve named Paulene

 

She has a soft shoulder

It couldn’t be colder

 

Lads, steer clear of her critical stream.

... 

 

The Earth Without Art is "EH"

 

My class, I’m told, weighs heavily on their plate; they must scale back.

The spoken word must wait.

Things may change sometime down the pike.

We could relearn history or later take a hike.

A world without poems is going to leave a hole.

Admit it, can you face the world without a soul?

So, listen, mister, please, have a little heart

And contemplate my gist; let’s save some time for art.

Because if you take the art out of the E-A-R-T-H,

all that’s left are two letters; all that’s left… is “EH”.

They want to get back to basics,

cos vinyl fencing rules, and plumbing brings home the pay.

But humans don’t thrive on work alone.

Change is a process…in this drug-free zone.

They say that art is an act

for people on the fringe,

poets, painters, performers waiting to unhinge.

But we are not all nihilists on the periphery.

We are not immaterial

or The Walking Dead in misery.

Expressing yourself clearly, as you know, is an art.

Our Slam Poets learn to frame an argument

increase their gray matter

by reimagining their unique purposes in life

thereby translating the sea of information in which their minds swim.

Poetry teaches them to reflect on their choices,

raises their consciousness

enables them to define their place in nature

not apart from it.

Self- Expression must continue to be a part of the healing in force,

because their perspectives without writing or lucid discourse… is “EH”.

 

Midnight Sun

 

I stared 

at the silent phone

listened for a footstep

beyond the doorknob

that did not move.

Outside, the sun was still up.

I waited and paced,

wearing a track in the hotel carpet. 

The luminous clock face on the nightstand flashed 4 a.m.

You left us there, without so much as a see you later.

To wait and wonder

Forsaking us to the dread that overwhelms me now.

The pimply platoon that reappears to march up and down my arms

soldiers marooned with no place to go and nothing but time and fear to kill.

I share this sad night with our twelve-year-old son, an innocent casualty of your private scheme.

Then open and close the shade in the hotel room again.

Noting that it is finally getting dark. It is July

here in Fairbanks, where nothing is fair, 

the days are endless, and we wait sleepless 

for you to return from your private 

birthday celebration. 

Deadly Sins

Place blame on the fool, 

for the cost of fuel, 

for global warmth, zealous haze,

the access gap and angst-filled days,

housing costs, tainted meat

the average household debt; good grief.

Microplastic seepage and fish mercury seasoned

Dictators murdered, and rainforest depletion. 

Melting glaciers, shifting tides, and temps. 

endangered species,  common-sense exempt.

To save and recycle waste, we attempt ethanol in corporate haste,  in the final hours, doesn’t it sting

 to develop E10 and E15 with carbon footprints for the hardworking lean.

When our grandchildren ask about what we did, will we look them in the eye 

Dare we show them how far we slid?

Pareidolia

 

It would seem

I have a severe case

Looking at my new hip X-ray

The other day

I saw a face.

 

The nurse stated

It was my colon

I was extolling

To which I replied

Well, at least I’m not backed up.

She conceded this was true.

 

Then I showed her the itchy rash on my back

You’re allergic to something

What do you think it is?

It might be the laundry detergent. I had used a Tide Pod in the wash recently. 

No, she replied, that’s a medicine rash.

You may be allergic to the antibiotic. I’ll add it to your chart.

Great, I thought. I took that for seven days. But at least it was a different antibiotic. Not one I previously took. 

 

The surgeon was backed up with another patient, so I opted to leave and see him next time.

I had such a good report that I wanted to make the staff laugh.

I promised next time to ride a skateboard down the hall,

But she was unshakeable and serious as a judge

And replied, “Don’t do that.”

I left, smirking, imagining what the heart doctors 

would say.

I think my Orthopedic surgeon would’ve smiled.

(More later)…

 

 

 

 

A Fresh impression

 

She'd said she would shoot herself in the face

except for the dog

that lost weight that winter

because he loved to dance in the snow,

the white powder glistening 

on his wet nose, Shepherd’s tail, dull fur.

 

I tried to imagine the depth.

 

Although I couldn't relate

not like that, but

I sensed that it was time

to let go, to

stop feeling like the world sat on my chest

like it was all on me

so, I thanked her but took another path.

 

I’d start fresh 

lay back 

outstretched 

into the blank page

sweep my arms and legs

out and back,

to my fragile wings

declare my somber joy.  

 

It was a new beginning.

The salt and the ice pick would come later. 

 

After Electricity

 

It is dawn,

the lights have just gone out,

the cause yet unknown.

The roosters’ crow at distant stars,

their raucous contest continuing

as the sun begins its ascent into

a cloudless blue, tinted with pink and orange. 

The palms stand stiffly at attention. 

The Ko’olau peaks loom like ancient warriors, 

awaiting the first battle cry. But the Kahuna have long gone.

 

 

After electricity, 

we will run out of supplies.

We will need to hunt for sustenance, 

our way of life will fall prey to illness, and the elements. 

 

Eventually

You will kill all of them.

All the people who have done you wrong.

Real and imagined debts burned on your personal pyre.

The evidence of their so-called crimes is long forgotten.

Existing in an altered state of your drug-addled mind.

The ancients are

Holding open the door to your doom 

Taunting you into their final dimension.

 

You were one

I try to imagine how many more are out there.

Wandering adrift, free to plunder

And we are left here in the dark.