Accruing A's

Accruing A’s

Aseptic arm

articulates assertive

abeyance astride

assassin.

Abandoned arboretum abuts

arid archipelago

anticipating anticlimax.

Antique apothecary

appends appalling

Antler art.

Adios, Adieu, Arrivederce,

Auf Wiedersehn

Aloha!!

Paradise Found

I’m calling down my muse.

He’s calling up the ocean’s warrior fish.

The carp swim.

The tilapias continue to breed.

The golden koi fountain shoots water 24/7

calming the inner crimson and

the outside world dissolves

into pink, indigo

and jade.

The days roll by

flipping their tails at us

circling

jumping and splashing

in spring fed ponds

fertilizing

plum orchids

basting orange

bromeliads and

healthy green papaya

dripping

in the sun.

Gray Dawn

Gray dawn yanks down the covers

and proceeds to pour in light

 shifting the mask.

Emerald cliffs loom from the shadows

sharp points and dark outlines

line up and

demand recognition

as green splashes against gray

waving at an orange beauty

by the water’s edge

blushing content

finally

from the notice.

MOM--Six Word Memoirs

Calms outbursts tucks hanky in sleeve.

A safe port in fierce storm.

Irreplaceable treasure, guards key to contentment.

Uses Seeing Eye dog when necessary.

Pulls rabbits out of hats daily.

The best medicine, money can buy.

Unpaid cook, maid, and phone operator.

Domestic goddess trained on the job.

Gray hair, chipped nails, bright smile.

Sensitive tornado sweeps away unreasonable conflict.

MAY SLips in

May slips in unannounced




humming


bringing style and verve


as last month’s voice loiters


in a sad corridor


released from the cast.


A bouquet of white and purple lilac follows


freshly cut and arranged.


Their sweet scent lingers


long into the night


exciting


young noses


singing


a new song.

Mendacity

Mendacity

detects you from a corner

next to the potted Anthurium,

a poster child for normal behavior

in the ghetto.

It sneaks up and tries to get cozy

then proceeds to suffocate you with an invitation

to ponder

justifying past deeds,lining them up for the firing squad

aiming for the whites, in a sea of gray.

Drowning in delusion

it comes up for one last gulp

one last vain attempt,

to stay alive.

Lawns Horses and Pigs

We moved into our new, old house in 1985.

A new adventure, on
a dead end road in the country,
away from the noise and traffic,
a piece of the rock to call our own.
2.1 acres that we had to rope and tame
rough doesn’t even begin to explain it.
Imagine carving out a lawn with hand tools
and brute strength and doing it after work with lanterns into the night.
It took years to even think about having a lawn,
fifteen years to be exact, by then we had two houses
and a three car detached garage.
Add fruit trees, flowers and a pond not to mention a giant lawn.
Our ancestors would have been proud.

In the beginning we purchased a bull
and went to work.
During the day we had our business to attend to
Roofing and Vinyl siding, when it was slow we painted and did interior renovations, hell we did it all.
After work sometimes by flashlight
we would pull weeds, and hack away at California grass
about six feet high tough and tangled
choking upon itself in the humid tropical clime.

Bully the steer was our first new addition to the family, and then before I knew it we had Billy and Jennifer, two goats and then chickens and roosters, not just any chickens mind you, we had feather dusters. After that the ducks came along, six of them, and they would be joined by six geese, two horses Beauty and Hoku, which you couldn’t ride just one, both had to ridden or else, and I began to think the farm life was for me--except for one thing

I object to ducks swimming in my pool-- too much poop
and with the poop came the flies, so many flies
that I couldn’t enjoy laying out by the pool in the sun after work when I wasn’t doing anything--yeah right!

Oh and did I mention the pig--

did you know that horses and pigs don’t get along?

Excavating Bones

Inspired by Poem a Day--Academy of American Poets April 2010 and by Spencer Johnson's, "Who Moved My Cheese."

Excavating Bones

Skeleton in ice

gently thawed

and cradled;

hair
and bone

worn down to marrow.

Frigid strength

icy lover;

your contact sears

callous scrutiny.

I can hear your muffled scream

preserved

in time’s frosty cavern,

concealed in cheese

station C, and me

in E, advanced and alone.

Caterpillar Dreams

Caterpillar Dreams

Inch your way

on tiny feet

climb into the tree of dreams.

You are not yourself

the monarch lurks inside.

Spin

a strong silk pad.

Sleep,

you are not yourself

the monarch lurks inside.

Hunger for

red clover

goldenrod and

fluttering breezes

beneath the cool shade

of the

stately palm.

You are not yourself

the monarch lurks inside.

Awake

from nature’s baptism.

Shed your former skin.

Declare your magnificence.

Dance atop

yesterday’s fragile petals

soar into the callous wind.

Fly

dazzling insect.

Show off your large

tawny orange and black wings.

Rise

potent prince,

wander throughout the provinces.

You are magnificent.

You are Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 in G minor.

Fly brilliant monarch,

Fly!

Compost at Dawn

Up at Three—not a pretty sight!!


They say the older you get the less sleep you need.

I’m here to tell you that they are WRONG whoever THEY ARE.

It is a bald faced LIE.

Those THEY’s need a good bitch slapping

and I know just the person to do the job.

No thinking about it or talking it over--just a grim reaper.

That’s what you get when you mess

with a crazy person—two shots directly

into the brain—no questions

no dilly dallying

just cold hard steel

right between the eyes

and then I’ll go work in my garden,

start a compost pile.

Don’t you love fertilizer?

The flowers love it

I can hear them screaming now

pile it on—we’re starving here!!

And by the way--Have you ever heard of this other element—it’s called WATER!!!

We don’t have any feet or THUMBS,

so if you could just

pay us some attention

we will show you

something nice to look at

tomorrow morning,

when you are still awake

and NOT SLEEPING!!

Sneaking up on Roosters

They wander the windward campus

 clucking amongst themselves.

Searching for the most juicy bug, fighting

for crumbs tossed by meandering poets and writers,

breaking for lunch and a stroll.

Intellectual folk who thirst for

candid photos of roosters

and hens, stray cats, grasshoppers or

even dead centipedes, adjusting optical zooms

and praying for that perfect shot.

The shot that will

inspire; stop them dead in their tracks,

produce sighs and email home clearly, to Mom and Dad.

Contemplating the Wind

The wind rises at three a.m.

still drunk as it rushes about

looking for things to stir up.

It snakes the orange and pink bougainvilleas

as it reshuffles their geometry.

It blusters at the Manila palm

who bend and bow

as it howls at the front door

demanding to be let in.

It spews loose sediment

as it turns away

relentless and finally settles

on a blade of grass

and lifts it up

skipping it across the driveway.

A Call to Reason

The thing about reason is it
gets raped from behind;
leaves too many doors open
to getting your head chopped off.
As an infant, we start out with infinite trust
and if we are lucky we leave this world
relatively intact, abused but whole.

Time is the key.

Since the beginning man
has killed. It is instilled
into our hard drives. We learn how to protect ourselves
from an early age something that never loses its
significance lest we fall victim to indifference, obscurity
and terrorists plotting to infuse us with their religion.
We sit on a lower rung
on the ladder of evolution
pushing all the wrong buttons
pondering the ape/man ratio
erasing unpleasant history from memory
like a crack addict obsessed with getting his next high.
We live in a world where
stupidity reigns alongside legalization
brothers on the same see-saw.

Only until we are able to
subdue these primal urges
will we ever be able to move up
the ladder, whether it be here
or as a future virus on a brand new planet.

Time holds the key.

Life in a Glass Bottle

Circa: Earth Day 2010

Life in a glass bottle

longs for a calming breeze

butterflies and bees.

Hears the pop of

daylight, dawning

as it rises yawning.

Is pitched by cobalt seas

and daring fish that please

to give you the evil eye

and consequences ply

as they nudge you

and toss you in the bay.

But then let us say

that you are not tossed and

Abused by the cost

and still float aimlessly about

and get hooked by a snout

of a humpback whale and her calf

out for a laugh

swimming and diving at play

that manage to avoid the plastic nooses

and glass ball cabooses

aluminum cans, fish net and twine

dumped and left behind for

a poor fish to find

strangled alone on the reef

hooked like a thief in the night

By this human blight that litter and waste

proud and uptight, in childish haste

Now concerned about the earth

pondering its worth

on a planet

spewing rebirth.

A Mother’s Strength

A preview from my new book Letters To A Prisoner

Crawls on bloody knees to protect her young

would rather die than betray her child’s blind innocence

chokes on the creaking silence of an unanswered call

lies awake in empty rooms fighting back a flood of tears

summons courage from deserts of dry wells

shows up with a pail of forgiveness every morning

stares down dismay for years on end.

Her love is fierce.

Her love is granite.

She is god.

Shama Thrush

White-Rumped caller flaunts

black feathers, chestnut belly

trills rich shy solo.

GOLF, RAIN, OCEAN

New Poetry Syllabic Form: five lines 7, 4,6,4,3,

designed at Celebrate Reading at University of Hawaii --Manoa
with Brandy McDougall and Mahealani Perez-Wendt

Golf
Trying again to follow
a set of rules
designed by ancient trolls
intent on hard
ball tactics.

Rain
I can hear the pitter pat
of Pele’s tears
sliding down the valleys
in between the
Koolau.

Ocean
Waves crest and fall thrash shore, small
sandy grains dance
signing with native drums
in ancient tongue
to the gods.

Revisions Revisions Revisions

**Write about the loss of that child—three different versions.

He would spend hours playing with his Lego’s barking in his make believe world

All of his Tonka Trucks had dents because he would use them to dive bomb the

Lego land village pretending they were bombs dropped from an airplane, buzzing and careening; buildings continually blasted to smithereens that wrought destruction in his volatile game. Debris would collide with half drunken Pepsi cans their contents spilling into the faded lime green carpet leaving indelible traces. I can still hear the vroom vroom noises, voices he would’ve later mastered, his control limited to the special world he left behind the last vestiges outlined in the droopy eye of a stuffed green dog.


I noticed the droopy eyes of a lime green dog perched on his bed. It was a sad dog his stuffing peeking out of a torn seam. The room was now clean an uncommon state since this rambunctious child had infused that space. Every square inch resonated his being from the smashed Lego village to the dented yellow Tonka Dump Truck it oozed him even the curtains screamed his name.


The green dog had one eye that followed me inside to look one last time at his Lego’s and Tonka trucks which had been overcome by a 7yr. old. Never again would I hear the vroom vroom bang screech of metal and plastic colliding and exploding into the four corners narrowly missing the Pepsi can. No more crunch of Fritos beneath my feet. The silence followed me out the door and hung from the high beams flashing its baleful smile.

The Digger Files

(Write from the point of view of your character-see First Draft- Revision)


The Digger Files

MMM- I love Pepsi and Fritos
Now- where was I? Oh yeah
I need some new Lego people
a cop and a fireman to go wif
my new Fire Engine vroom, vroom
whirr squeal, bush—shifting gears, and here comes the siren
eeoh eeoh eeoh, eeoh eeoh eeoh, eeoh eeoh eeoh
 honk, honk honk-- beep the horn Mr. Fireman
beep the horn.

Now I’ll smash that Lego land town wif my
tuf Tonka Dump truck and then I’ll build it
all over again, only better.

Now I want you people to LISTEN TO ME
It’s time to get outta here. That’s an order people.
Katoosh—booom—smash
(Blue, white, red and green pieces fly in all directions
The green dog with one eye, now has one yellow
and one blue eye.)

Whew this is hard work
My mom needs to buy me some more
chips cos this is the last bag.

Ma-let’s go shopping okay?

First Draft- Revision

List five words--use some or all of them to describe a child and write a poem
Trucks, stuffed animals, bag of chips, can of pepsi, lego's

At seven he was a messy child
traces of sweat smeared with mud
bare foot and shirtless
even his hair stuck out at weird angles.
He directed each day like
a drill sergeant
barking at his Lego people
making deliveries with his tough
Tonka trucks mimicking the hum and the whir
and the vroom of life with childish enthusiasm.

We named him Digger, because he liked
to dig holes in the back yard, usually at odds
with our instructions, but we asked you to rake leaves.
Totally oblivious he would happily recite his accomplishments
at dinner, and note that he had done it all by himself.
Lips smacking
teeth crunching doggedly toting a can of Pepsi and snacking
on a bag of Frito’s corn chips, too busy
to sit still, his mind would race
contemplating his next project.
Proud and perturbed we would shake our heads
as the stuffed menagerie
on his bed complacently watched entertained.

I Want To Be A Poet

I want to be a poet because
I need to know
Who I Am,
HOW- --I am.
WHY I AM
like breathing or SEX.

Like Starbucks coffee
to choose from an endless list
of black and strong
with cream and
sugar.

I want to be a poet because
it doesn’t mean a thing
if you ain’t got that zing
to people in the bayou
with alligators for neighbors
and mosquitoes as big as flying
saucers that want to drink your blood
and leave welts the size of basketballs.

BIG—ORANGE—HARD-- BALLS

The BALLS that it takes
to stand up and SHOUT
about
SENIORITY and AUTHORITY
and about
the Assonance and Consequence of
our ACTIONS.

I want to be a poet
because of the reason and the rhyme
marking time
dripping off my tongue-- aged like fine wine.

Lyrical and magical—ALICE
chasing a rabbit into a hole
filled with soul, out of control
hanging on a cliff
with a NOTE
high on hope
instead of dope.

Set adrift
on a boogie ship
with a Fever
unrehearsed
and cursed ----to just be.

I want to be a poet
because of sibilant s’s
and because I want to weigh the wind
on an impossible scale
next to a fish tail that never pales
or smells stale---or fishy.

I want to be
shackled
to a form and not mourn.
To show the flaming red dawn
like a phoenix riSING from the ashes
to give birth to the
MUsic of my faith
over, and over again.

Forever drunk on strong words
ringing in my ears --high above the herd
until my last
MEASURED   DAY--- On Earth.

No S’ss Here

Prompt--Write a poem without any S'ss

Come child

do not dawdle

family fault line crack

produced a tidal wave of truth.

Revisiting Lex Luthor

The springs creak as I lower the stairs and climb up

into the attic, into my past.
I inspect the cobwebs frozen in time
marking a sticky corridor, lined with daddy long legs
scurrying to stay inside the shadows.
A shaft of light from a small window
pierces the gloom
exposing the intricate web.
Far away in the corner
packed on top of the
pink insulation, is a stack
of old cardboard boxes
carefully penned in black sharpie logic.
A remnant of youth balefully stares
like an abandoned child.
At first glance with no trace of recognition
but then comes with open arms
to grasp my shoulders and close me in.
I try to suppress a shudder
as I descend into the contents
revisiting a haunted domain.
A musty kiss
brushes and lingers on my cheek
raising hairs, as I open the flimsy cardboard
flip the contents and watch
as it slides out and lands into a heap between the beams.
Haunted flashbacks
of Clark Kent and Supergirl
mingle with betrayal of innocence
and blankly stare from glossy pages.
Dead super heroes
overcome by red kryptonite buried
along with their evil counterparts.
Self obsessed monsters
like Lex Luthor shape shift
and ROAR,
tricked into this Bizzarro world
and left behind
to brood over their misfortune
now reconciled with shrewd eyes.
Lex Luthor, still plotting Superman’s downfall
planning his destiny
as the ultimate ruler
of Planet Earth
and his escape from obscurity.

Fortuneteller

Glass shards gouge bloodless vein

tarot cards show disdain.

The writing prompt on another forum yesterday was to write an essence poem.
A short, structured form of two-lines, six syllables each with an end rhyme and internal rhyme.

Therapy

Come early for
your appointment.
Fill out this form in triplicate.
Use blue or black ink.
Don’t leave anything out.
Please write firmly and legibly.
Which do you prefer your proper name
or your nickname, she asks
as I approach her couch
and lie down.
My vision blurs and then adjusts.
A kerchief is wrapped around her head
it is worn; her dress is tattered but clean.
So tell me, why are you here?
An engraved request appears
like writing on a black eight ball.
I proceed to vomit last night’s dinner
onto the faded white shag next to a recent
stain. It ponds and congeals
into a purplish brown glob
and she addresses it rapt
poking and prodding into yesterday’s veal
and mashed potatoes.
Years spin past and unravel like dark blue thread
and a large deck is pulled out of a drawer
and dealt as
strange points of light appear on the horizon
like distant flickering
stars exposing black holes and
revealing
the mysteries of the universe.

When Beauty Fades

Beauty faces age

leaves old notions at time’s gate

opts wisdom instead.

Lethal Fungus-Tanka

Umbrella opens

providing tempting shelter.

Seductive white cap

emits toxic slumber, slams

naive visitor at dawn.

April Snag-limerick

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.

Windy Day

He who doesn't see

is as blind as pidgeon poop

behind frond's curtain.

Pineapple Express

Last year this time
nine members
of my family came to visit
from upstate New York.
They all stayed
at the Queen Kapiolani,
which is on the zoo side of Waikiki.
This included my parents, both of my sisters, one brother-in-law, his parents
and my niece 11 and nephew 13 that I hadn’t seen in
ten years.
They rented two cars
plus my Hyundai made a caravan.
My brilliant husband, volunteered to stay home and cook for the tribe.

Two unforgettable weeks of hurry up and wait, from hiking up Diamond Head to strolling Waimea Falls. Patiently looking for this one and that one in the forty ninth ABC store in the International Marketplace. My camera snapping hundreds of pictures, capturing precious moments.
One of the highlights was a kids fishing contest for golden tilapia on Easter in my small fishpond.

Still the days flew by, on the last day here I took them to Dole Plantation.
Having acquired some wisdom by this time, we decided to skip the Maze
instead we boarded the Pineapple Express
to ride the train and hear the history of the plantation.
Taking us back over one hundred years
to when the settlers traveled by wagon train
across the southern plains with the Navaho, Apache and the Hopi.
Everyone on the wagon train had their job, knew what was expected.
Most got along, because they had to, to survive.
When the leader said Wagons Ho--the smart ones all got
into their wagons and followed. When the Indians
attacked they circled, got out their guns and shot
anything that moved. There was a certain order to things.
Only this was 1900’s Hawaii, so it would’ve been the Chinese, Filipino, Portuguese,
Hawaiian, Japanese, Puerto Rican, Korean, Okinawan and let’s not
forget the haole (white man). And this was a pineapple plantation reminding me of the song
about owing your soul to the company store, another chapter of the story.

Yes we’ve come a long way since the 1900’s.
Today we tell each other our plans, agree
and then do something else entirely, makes you wonder
when we lost our ability to communicate, I mean how many families
do you know that resort to yodeling
next to the outdoor
kiosk at the local tourist attraction
torn between the handmade coconut purses and
the parking lot,
looking one more time
for your missing loved one.
Yodellleeeoh!!

Classy Lines

Antique Mercedes

decked out babe in polished chrome

infatuation.

Easter-acrostic

Eat a chocolate bunny and stuff yourself silly.
Ask your scale to lie for one more day.

Satisfy your longings, and then call your loved ones
Tear yourself away from outdated traditions, invent new ones.

Eat one hundred jellybeans and then eat three more.

Rejoice in sweet memory and resurrect your dead dreams.

Spring Fever

Peacocks race through field

practicing for Spring Fever

tall and small compete.

Mongeese watch from pond

take note of noisy neighbors

mad commentary.

Cardinals picnic

doves, myna’s and sharma’s feast

on Milton’s crackers.

Trees hum with bird song

fish flip for raucous new tune

syncopated beat.

Not Guilty#@$%

Two large crows CAW---CAW

in a cold dark brown koa cage
their shiny
black feathers flexed in anticipation.

The honorable raven presides speaking
in their native tongue. He is flanked
by two rooks, the first randomly calls
the lucky hens and roosters
their names plucked from a hexagonal cube, the other
leads us to the box where we are to be judged
as a good fit
or later dismissed.
I am the first,
my seat is pointed out,
my feathers only slightly ruffled
I try not to squawk or show any signs
of distress as my foot catches on the carpet
as I push through the swinging doors
proceeding carefully and cautiously
up into the box
an omen.

We are to judge the blond sheep
next to the plumper crow
he has been accused of
ferocious bleating, kicking and spitting,
however we are reminded that he is innocent
until proven guilty.
We are instructed by the raven
as to the laws of the wilderness
and will have to listen
to testimony from the witnesses
and watch for
certain markers of doubt as there
were no visible signs to be discerned
on the goat--she is called to the stand
and hunches like an old woman.
Her language is guarded, she preens for us
and disappears back from where she came.
The blond sheep is next- he bleats on about his
innocent baby, who was forced to witness
the alleged bleating and remarks of his tender love
citing just cause for any misconceived wrong doing.

We wonder why are we here- our taxpayer dollars
contributing to keep the wheels of justice grinding
are as blind as a thousand bats in a dark cave.
It takes ten minutes to decide the outcome
we are thanked and asked to come downstairs
where they will answer any questions we might have
we respectfully decline and leave
released back into the warmth far away
from that koa cage back into our busy lives.
Back into the fog from which we came.

And Justice for All

Justice is not blind.
It is late.

It needs to
individually approach the bench
in private
to address all
the significant reasons
why nine tenths
of the jury pool need to be
excused as well as observe the rights of
the conscientious
objectors in the gallery,
the people who do not agree with the laws or the process
as it is written, and interpreted.

It needs to swear an oath to educate
its citizens on how to spot a liar
probable cause, evidence
and beyond a reasonable doubt
Yes, justice needs to dot all of its i’s and cross its t’s and make copies.
It needs to make sure that you aren’t so smart
that you recognize the hypnotic effect of being confined
and cloistered and it needs to
validate your parking. Take role call.
Find and arrest those no shows and have extra forms
for those who left their summons at home. And it
needs to do all of that by four and if
it cannot, then you the jury,
will have to report tomorrow at eight thirty
fight rush hour traffic, park on the other side of town.
And run/walk your ass to the courthouse because OMG

You cannot be late.

Spring Break

Petey the peacock is
on Spring break.
Vacationing in the neighbors field
he’s forgotten what peacocks eat
because he’s now addicted to crackers.

You know the expensive kind from Costco
in the rectangular box that you take out for
company--not just any company but good
company-like the boss--the colleague from the
other firm that you want to impress--your
best friend--who remembers your birthday every year.

Yesterday he answered NOE-- NOE-- NOE--
and then, More-More-More
but
I don’t know who Noe is or where she is.
He usually comes and rings the dinner gong
around five with a loud NOE-NOE-NOE
Aieee--he sure is persistent--but I think
his clock is all hammer jang
because its five in the morning
So I’ve decided to place an ad in the Peacock
News for this Noe girl and all I can say is
she better bring some crackers!!

Witty Epitaph

Here rests poor Connie Loon

brain cells bloated corpuscles strewn

wandered the galaxy beyond the moon and

was worm digested on the planet Dune.

Stupid

You can’t fix it
believe it or even
set it free.

It hounds your every
waking moment and
then haunts your dreams.

It will follow you to
the Library
where it refuses
to open a book, citing
disinterest and boredom.

It can’t find a job
reach any goals
or even take care of itself
but has definite opinions
about your behaviour and
explicit demands
on your time and
it will eventually turn
on you
and then replace you
for no reason at all.

Evil

Evil
thrives 
in a cave
in Afghanistan.

It reaps famine from a
fertile poppy field
to children
that live in dark rat infested
tenements calloused and
manipulated by sparkles and beads,
where the truth
slices them and eats them for lunch.
And then leaves their bones for the
vultures
to pick clean.

Pacu-haiku

Pacu emerges
forages for papaya
pierces wet ceiling.

Raising Cane

Stern jungle natives

draw sharp image, deliver

vivid dialogue.

Photo Ops- Barku

(Barku--10 words in six lines--usually written on a bar napkin.)

Clear crisp
images
haunt
local hood
Bring newest
capture device.

“Zeus
Watch”
is up for
your vote
on Face
Book.

Photo contests
appeal
to all
owners
focus
as pet’s
pose.

Boogie Fever

Boogie Fever by Cornelia DeDona

Meadow Pause

Meadow Pause by by Cornelia DeDona

Certificate of Completion, cherita

It bears witness to attendance at a seminar in Reno in 2002.

Cornelia DeDona of the Koolau Hawaii Chapter completed
Primary Officer Training, signed by Mike Keefe, Director of H.O.G.

P.O.T.-- the last time someone gave me
credit for pot, I was fifteen
and now it is an accomplishment.

Pink Tongues

Pink tongues cruel gossip
swallows spoiled dreams, ideas watch
victim gag at curb.

Barku Campaign-Etheree

New
pithy
moving verse
reserve your space
talented poets
for Barku Fever reigns
on Planet Blueline this month.
Witness the brave innovative
observations, rants and muses from
this sharp worldwide writing community.

Etheree

The poetry form, Etheree, consists of 10 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 syllables. Etheree can
also be reversed and written 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Barku--
 10 words in six lines, usually written on a bar napkin.

Jail Time

The heavy iron door slid shut
made a loud clang, ringing in our ears
as their footfalls echoed
down the corridor
locking the four of us
safely away from the November, chill.
The interior gloom
enhanced only by them allowing us
to remain for the moment together.
Each girl watched the other for signs
of weakness. Would our resolve
hold up or drip like warm yellow Jell-O and discharge
into a sticky puddle on the cold, cement floor.
We had made up fake names and addresses.

For a brief moment, we actually thought
we would be rescued, the twins, Marty, her skinny
sister, Mary, Dawn, and I had run away
from nothingness into the adventure
of anywhere else.
Let’s go to Florida!
It had been a wild ride all right
meeting up with my Italian
friend in Passaic, her family
had a summer house across the street and
ending just outside of D.C. on a restricted
highway. Picked up for hitchhiking.

The fuzz gave us some new bracelets
to wear, took us to the county lock-up
on the way, chained together with a black
boy telling me “Don’t cry now
”it’ll be alright
in the morning” his smooth
southern drawl reminding us
that we had almost made it to freedom.
The police commanded us to heed their invitation
thaw out while they called
Marty’s brother in Florida
to come pick us up.
Only Marty’s bro
never showed
I guess he had
other plans.
Stirring my resolve into mush
So, I told them who I was, the others soon followed.
Dawn’s mother, our girl scout troop leader
showed up after we spent four days on the girls side
of the youth detention center.
It only took a week
before I hit the streets again.
This time I had a ride.

Pumping out a Poem

Shades of colored icing
carefully mixed and
inserted into a
flexible plastic bag.
Special couplers chosen and
brass tips attached.
Burped, angled and
gently pressed like clockwork
forming hundreds of
leaves, roses and basket weaves
swirled down and
hardening over time
into full fledged morsels of sweet verse
prized by perceptive eyes
devoured in rapid measure.

Hard Lessons

One day, carefree
testing boundaries
the next, mutilated
splattered on the side of the road.
Two friends killed instantly
Ziffel 18.
and Gary 19.

Out driving and partying
the four of them
in the back seat, Ed
escaped with a broken arm
and Woody
with hardly a scratch.

I was 15
it was May
still signing my own excuses
when I got the phone call.
They’re dead!
Hit Head On
their VW bug
squashed
by a drunken black caddy.

Time blurred
spiraled and
in due course
crystallized while
hitchhiking on the interstate
600 miles away from home.
It will be alright
in the morning
whispered
in my ear and
became my mantra
on the eve

of my detention.

Rendition-acrostic

Rough shocking film
Elaborating on the torture of immigrants
Names misspelled
Demand confessions from
Innocent engineers snatched off flights
Threatened-- forced to confess to heinous crimes they did not commit
Ignored as collateral damage--another
Offering heaped on the sacrificial altar
Negotiating an evil trend.

Maneuvering Steep Ledges

Shh!!
Yesterday’s verse
is fast asleep
tucked under the cover
of Vista’s keep.
Windows 7 could not comprehend
the niggling
night
of a poet on the mend.

Secrets pop out
demand details shared
scary snapshots
a youth caught scared.
Wading through
past lives
in galoshes stand
trudging through
the muck, of skeletons damned.

Murmuring
passages
sticky
snake
through rocky
corridors
demand
decisions make.

Shh!! Asleep
for the moment
in another lair
vexing this writer
as I judge the crosshairs.
Dare we enter
into this divisive pact
or let it die
in the past
with its victims intact?

Beating Heart

A constant
thump, thump-- thump, thump
known
to an anonymous composer.
the signature still visible
inside the dollhouse of dreams
just outside the babble
of the birth canal.

Pumping vibrant color
into a being
comprised mostly of water.
Ever faithful
vital force
broadcasting a blue spirit
through tiny narrow passageways.
Flooding a maze
of endless corridors.
Racing towards the outer limits
and returning back
to the source-- time after time.

Word Bag-Fun

Use these words to write a poem.
(Jammin’ salmon crisis early simple damaged fender accordion rose python grant clock crayon sunset rooster bell)


My damaged python Rose
endured some crushing blows.
This crisis could not predict
to time these reptiles slick
She wrapped her thick green form
around an acc-ord-ian
and that was when the clock
outside my Kitchen stopped.
Its simple arithmetic
for a python to constrict
when roosters ring the bell
for dinner time is hell
and sunsets early night
is crayoned cherry bright.
So grant this jammin rhyme
A reason to unwind
While I go mount this fender
back on the Ford tail ender.

Word Bag-Ku

(Jammin’ salmon crisis early simple damaged fender accordion rose python grant clock crayon sunset rooster bell)


Jammin’ Salmon splash
Swim into white water sweats
Pajama party.

Simple damaged fender
Suspended from garage beam
Obscure metal art.

Anaconda’s squeeze
accordion to flat tone
Python melody.

Salmon sunsets grin
As Burmese python swallows
Live alligator.

Daylight Savings Time
Local rooster validates
Mother Nature’s clock.


Thanks for the flowers-Alice, 'Ilima and Jenny!!!
Spider Mums unfold
Super white fingers poke space
Extend for poet.

Easy Come, Easy Go

I sometimes think there must
be a higher power or a
great spirit
watching over me,
just the fact
that I am still here
retired at 43 and doing
what I want living in paradise
is evidence enough.

After all, I could be a drug addict or an alcoholic
living under a bridge in New York off of Route 32
somewhere between Kingston
and New Paltz
freezing my ass off
looking through garbage cans at Mickey D's. for unfinished scraps
or begging for spare change
on the corner of Main and Broadway
outside the Trailways Bus Station just to buy a cup of Joe to keep my
fingers from turning blue turning the respectable

stomachs of the
good people who have to work and pay taxes
and who would gag from the sight and the stench
of the
likes of someone like me.

Instead I chose to have
a good life.
One that I earned
because nothing

came easy
or quick.
I had to move my own mountains.
Plow my own fields without any fancy tractors
or high tech equipment
that would have broken down
at inconvenient times and then had to fix myself, because no one else could.
Scrape and save
and then save some more.
Do without
so my child could have.

Easy come easy go
is an excuse I don’t use because none of it was easy.
Easy come, easy go is for snot nosed

spoiled brats with too much spare time and too much plastic.

Who don’t even know how to keep their nose clean

let alone have a clue about what hard or easy is

and that’s all
I've got to say
about that.

Memoir-- Ku

Memoir writer scans
back through an old volume as
history unfolds.

Memories expose
misspent youth searching for love
craving acceptance.

I find new meaning
looking back through life’s mirror
growing sharper scales.

I know who I am
other people don’t define
what my ideals are.

Cementing footprints
leaving my mark on the world
a poet lived here.

Shattered Dreams --ABCDarian

At eight, I knew everything.
Brazen and snot nosed, I came home that semester with C’s.
Carefully, I blocked out the pain of her con.
Daring my parents to reason what had happened to their bright child.
Evaluations were usually the first sign.
Fragments of memory would resurface
Giving birth to a full fledged rebel.
Hell bent on doing things my way, I had once sought refuge there.
I had been resourceful and hunted for ways to make extra cash.
Jean or Aunt Jean as she asked to be called was a neighbor.
Kind or so my parents thought, she paid me to dust her furniture.
Letting me earn extra money, slowly gaining my trust.
My new best friend gave me the combination to her shed, don’t tell, it’s our secret.
Now and then she would invite me to sleep over cementing our friendship.
Often naive to the rules of her sick game, I was a willing
Puppet performing in her show.
Quiet and trusting, I played by all her rules.
Right up to when she tricked me into telling her new best friend the secret combination.
Sly as an alley cat, she deceived both of us, the older girl still ignorant to her adult games.
Threatened and treated like dirt, she let me know she was done with me.
Unable to stop or predict the outcome, I ran home like a scared kitten.
Vile vampire seducing the blood out of my veins, wiping out whole blocks of time
Wasted--- on a wanton dyke, stolen moments exposing and fondling my childhood away.
X-rated nights, christened upon a lewd altar decorated with shame, repeatedly
Yielded at a vulnerable age that should have been better protected
Zeroing in on splintered glass, scored in sullied eyes.

The Tillson Gang

There was Harry, Woody, Ziffel, Rider,
my cousin Ralph, Gary, Pez,
Laura, Char, Arlene
Judy and Cindy, Big Ed’s sisters,
Duh-wane my boyfriend whose name was really
Wayne, a cute blonde guy I soon dropped and
Big Ed,
they were all part of the Tillson gang
a group of kids that I hung out with.


We would meet up on Gary's porch
next to the corner store
skip school together
sign each other’s excuses
have keg parties
check out the local cemetery and
usually end up at Rider’s house.

Rider’s Mom, a savvy nurse
would buy massive amounts of wonder bread
and humongous jars
of peanut butter and jelly for us kids.
Rider’s brother Kenny--not a member
was this gross dork
who got straight A’s and
wore thick glasses with tape on the nosepiece.
Just to torment us he would
pick the buggers out of his nose
big juicy green ones and
then stick them in his mouth

Eeeewwww! KENNNYYY ugh!

We would often go there for lunch
after smoking a doobie and then go
down into Riders basement and listen to
Led Zepplin, Jethro Tull, Uriah Heep and Black Sabbath.
Stoned on some primo Mexican
lulled by the heavy metal and the black lights
we would while away the hours and
then later grab a ride in Harry’s bug
back to Rosendale, sometimes
we'd try to fit everyone in squeezing
bodies into every square inch, the all time
record was fifteen.
The award
however
went to
Char who was so small
she could fit into the
compartment behind the back seat.

Occasionally the local fuzz would catch me

walking home after 7:00 p.m. and take me
to Kallops Corner and drop me off with a warning.
Far enough down the road that the old man
couldn’t see
far enough away-- from reality.

Just Dance, cherita

Use at least two of the following words to write a poem

Lazy, torpid, effort, fake, tsunami, forest, taro, shyly, lemon, sorry,
discipline, marmoset, fandango, slope, grape

It took disciplined effort

to teach the fandango

aware of his torpid demeanor

Trapped in a cage

dodging tiny mounds of

fake grape marmoset droppings.

Lazy-cinquain

Lazy

monkey crossing

try washing your hair and

combing out that marmoset tail

you clown.

Diamond Head Trail-Cinquain

Proceed

into tunnel

Don’t forget your flashlights

grasp right side railing gradual

incline.

I Have Enough

Five
should be
six, seven
eight, nine, ten- more
eleven, twelve-eh
thirteen, fourteen-gulping
umm-fifteen, ahh- sixteen- then
seventeen, eighteen and let’s see
Yes- here’s Nineteen, and TWENTY DOLLARS
GOOD ----- I have enough for today’s Workshop.

Hawaii Five O- APB, Cherita

We gonna issue one APB, so try listen up.

Missing muses seen heading towards
Kailua Beach Park. Da kine names be Moose and Mercedes.

We got one tip dat dey
stay betting on da white horses.
Approach wit one shaka brah.

Dysfunctional

Funny how family can be so different

He-- solitary
monarch brooding on yesterdays news.
She--a painted lady asleep in her cocoon- her delicate wings surviving
his brutal blast
dreaming in her closed off space.

Waiting for first light, for the siren blast warning of impending disaster
The full report unclear
He sets a plan in motion
doomed from the get go.

Their offspring--forever upsetting the cart
in the thick of things
testing
the emotional bonds.
Vexed by the uncertain nature
of the day
locked
somewhere between insanity and reason.

Metamorphosis-Haiku

Painted lady lies
safely in her warm cocoon
butterfly wings furled.

Papilio xuthus--Asian Swallowtail

Transformation

Almost
nine months
along
and
no belly bump
no thumping from within
no indigestion
from weird concoctions
scarfed at midnight

Just

smiling
exposing some
new
teeth
sharpened
and
glistening
in the moonlight
howling
back at the wind.

Zeus, my brave dog
watching me,
taking it all in
waiting--
 for
my
transformation.

Ahooooooooooo!

Winter's Final Breath-Naani

Solitary brooding wolf

howling his icy breath

still visible

on the horizon.

Tsunami

 

Tsunami alert

readiness kits are prepared

vigilant focus.

Kolea

Golden plover stares
eyes focus on tiny speck
home in on dinner.

Daily Art and Photography

Hemorrhoid Hilda

I'm dedicating this to my Doctor--Susan thanks for the inspiration****

She is not cancerous
just a
pain in the ass.

A stuffed vein
screaming for
an extra glass of water
that should
cut out the
ice cream
and red meat--
red wine
cut back on
the
brie--
groan,
chocolate.
Add more leafy green
assorted bits of orange
and yellow
to her day.
Allowing
her
to cool down
have fewer flare-ups.
Soothed
by another
woman
named hazel
who
comes
highly
recommended.

Weather Forecast

Stubborn
slant
across
wide
forehead
interests
curious
bystanders.

forecast
predicts
intermittent
periods
of
rain
and
shine.

Clearing
to be
followed
by a
some
growth
spurts
and a
couple
phases
of
hormonal
flux
gradually
descending
into
tolerable
and
intolerable
bouts
of
suffering
eventually
coming
full
circle
learning
then
forgetting
about
weather.

I Came to Hear

I came to hear -- the last train whistle leaving Berlin,

escaping to the West-- the only sane noise

left in a young girls ears, blocking out the bombs,

wiping them clean from her memory.

I came to hear-- the growl of empty

stomachs churning from too many days

of gobbling raw potatoes stolen from the farmer’s field.

Bald headed mothers and children—classified undernourished C.

I came to see --the hopeful stare of a mother with five children

who vainly searched for her husband--

drafted and missing.

I came to smell the horror-- of a child

exhumed a month after he died, wrapped in nothing but a blanket,

reburied by his brothers-- tormented with lit cigarettes and cold steel.

I came to learn-- the truth of a young couple and their infant daughter

who immigrated to a new country

glistening with opportunity,

unschooled in the language,

having only their youth and wellbeing.

I came to know-- a young girl

who helped her parents learn the slang and the dialect,

who lived in the railroad apartment on the second floor,

of an old brownstone in Manhattan, where she learned to hate vegetables

and climb fire escapes.

The one with the crooked bangs

and the stubborn smile

who waited and held on tight,

and never forgot

what her Mother told her

about the horror

of war

evil men,

and shame.

A story passed down

piecing together fractured lives,

seizing-- stolen moments,

storing up-- the laughter

and the tears.

I came to hear.

In Training

At twelve
my biggest problem
was negotiating
a weekly allowance.
I earned money
babysitting
and dusting
furniture
for
fifty cents an hour
but that didn’t cut it
especially
when it came time
to get my first
training bra.

Next to getting my
“friend”
the thing that terrorized
me most
was beefy Braun’s gym class.
Man, even her breasts
had muscles.
She wore a
sports bra
under her man uniform
would often
steal a peak
from the showers.
Watching us change
into that ugly one piece
blue uniform
that was always riding
up my butt,
exposing my red pimply
goose bump legs.
Meanwhile cruel young eyes
would whisper
point and chuckle.
Look-she still wears an undershirt
hiss, hiss, meow!
So I begged the old man to have a heart
I was the oldest
had to train them
on how to raise a girl
Didn’t know how they did it
in the old country
didn’t care.

Spring came early the year
I got initiated
into the big girls club.
A club
that I dropped
in High School
diverted by
other things
until they
discovered that
I was short
on my Gym credits.
Of course
by then
I was
out of training.

Revelation

The best place
to hide
is in the open
just below the nose.
Saying out loud
what others
wouldn’t,
couldn’t.
The best secret
stares you down
dares you
to ask
is it true
or just my imagination?
It must be a coincidence
you couldn’t possibly be
telling me,
could you?

Celtic Wedding

inspired by
Pieter Bruegel’s painting “Wedding Dance in the Open Air”
http://www.wga.hu/frames-e.html?/html/b/bruegel/pieter_e/10/index.html


Red ribbons flash, strut
in a green triangle to
an undulating
Celtic pulse. A bawdy shade
plucked out of this human chain.

Book Recipe

I've spent half of my life traveling the globe

the other half looking for my reading glasses
remarkable when creating a new recipe.

Directions are as follows:

Preheat in a humid eighty degree oven.

Grease and flour pens.

In a large saucepan melt
½ cup of sentiment
Remove from heat and add 1 cup sugar.
Substitute eggs with thirty
individual portraits and
one hundred three photos
and add one teaspoon of vanilla.

Beat in
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder,
1/2 cup flour, replace salt with
1/2 cup Watercolor Art depicting local flora and fauna
4 cups pithy verse and provocative prose
and add 1/4 teaspoon of baking powder.


Spread evenly into a prepared pan.

Bake in oven for nine months.

Do not overcook.

To serve:

Sprinkle with passion

Charm with dramatic flair

And toast with a wee dram of Scotch.

A Look Back

Thirty three years
picking up dirty underwear
and socks
well,
actually thirty five
but who’s counting.
Countless trips
to the supermarket
preparing weekly menus
varied and colorful.
Pushing
and pulling
Rainbow vacuums
across lint filled
carpet and ceramic tile.
Bleaching the mildew from
bathroom grout, pulling
matted hair from tub drains.
Raising a precocious child.
Balancing checkbooks,
paying bills on time
weekly cutting the Hawaiian grass.
Washing the two Great Danes,
the two cars, two trucks, boat and four motorcycles
testing the pool alkalinity.
Pulling weeds
lodged between purple
and orange
potted bougainvillea
perched on top of river rock.
Climbing on top of roofs
at thirty eight
to dislodge shingles making sure to
toss them the same way into the truck
and then sweep and sweep and sweep.
Of course
there were
hundred dollar bills
tossed into the air and stuffed into B cups
while dancing to Hank Williams Jr.
after long grueling jobs of
backs bent in two.
Cruising the inside passage to Alaska.
Daring to follow
in the footsteps of the
Apostle Paul
from Civitavecchia to Egypt
Israel the Greek Isles and Athens.
Trips to the outback
combating the ferocious
sticky fly population with the in-laws.
Retired over ten years now
because I chose not to work in a smelly gym
trying to convince pudgy socialites and corporate
divas to back away from the table
and do an extra lap instead.
Releasing the poet
at fifty
to recount
the dim and not so dim memories
of a life well lived
single-mindedly disturbing the
cobwebs
from their menopause cave
sinuous strands glistening
in the tropical sun.

Pithy Proverbs

Fear
is waking up
cold
wrinkled
puffy and
all alone
with no
credits
to your name.

Faith
is
believing
in
unspoiled
fruit
floating
in
a rotten barrel.


Words
contain
power
use them wisely.


Genius
is blind
to
wisdom’s heart

A bad poem
never
shows itself.

A good poem
flits
in the breeze
of reckoning.

Be kind
introduce
yourself
to
the poet within.

Workout Lingo

Warm up for ten minutes to lubricate joints and stretch cold muscles.

Today’s workout will stress barbell exercises
Shrugs, upright rows and curls.


Curls- I only have an hour
I don’t have time
to get my hair done.

Six Word Memoirs-Valentines

Candy hearts confirm who loves who!

Chocolate roses do not need water.

Cheek to cheek spoons love’s tune.

Three little words, rub my back!

Rose petals paint a sensual autograph.

Diamond earrings kiss red paper hearts.

Unspoken words discerned below burnt bridge.

Love’s four letters, care about you.

Love’s proposal transports to seventh heaven.

Poets sing love songs on key.

Slam poets rhyme under yellow moon.

Bench Fly, Cherita

“Hug a tree”, in the gym

a sweaty language
its meaning dim.

A dumbbell fly in the hood
flexed by rats in sweats
their sneakers laced good.

Child Molesters

Edited---This subject took on special meaning to me when a friend of a friend was charged with Child Molestation and is now serving ten years in prison. This man is 70 years old and also a hoarder.
I wrote another poem about his hoarding titled the Crab Shack, had I known then, that poem would’ve been much different. His family is still trying to get rid of all the stuff he amassed.


I'm the next door neighbor
a friend of a friend as
I shop through my life
to manage this trend.
Young boys coerced
drawn to will stay,
to fan my obsession
and blow me away.
Frightened by my longings
their eyes open wide
choke dark secrets
this horror must hide.
If their Daddy finds out
they will go away
and I'll have
no more special friend
no more sick play.
I'll tell you
it’s love
that’s why
I hang around
but love shouldn’t
hurt
make you feel bad
or hide in the shadows
stalking and sad.


Mother's
caution your babies--
on new friends debate
advise your children
to always tell,
lest they become
the hunted,
lost-- inside their shell.

Meadow Pause

Meadow Pause

By Cornelia DeDona

Book Preview

Boogey Fever

Boogey Fever

By Cornelia DeDona

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Dessert

Dessert
is sweet
on the tongue,
it satisfies
the taste buds,
it completes
a special meal,
and it is
time spent
with a good
friend,
sharing past history
without judgment.
It leaves you
privileged
and
content.

Persistent Noise

It persisted
throughout the day
the drip, drip, drip,
ping, ping, ping
clap, clap clap,
until I stopped hearing it.
The sounds retreating
into the background,
to a distant roar
of a thousand hands
clapping,
encouraging minds
to delve deeper
to pursue
with a vengeance
that which needed
to be drawn out.
As a bucket lowered
into a deep well
deeper and deeper
until the only sound left
was the creak of the crank.
At the bottom a splash
drifting upward
higher
louder until,
water
icy cold
and wet
guzzled down.
Clear fresh water
pulled out of the earth
returning back towards the sky
an endless cycle
of energy
redeposited
into our depleted frames
multiplying
percentages
a thousand fold
until the roar
becomes us.

Pele’s Faith

A poem about doubt and faith

Nature is never rash,
doesn’t deviate from the plan.
Day into Night
Spring
Summer
Fall and
Winter.
Perfect progress
dominates her canvas,
conserves the integrity
of her seed.
She nourishes
her offspring
that worries not
about belief.
Even now
flawless
in her beauty.
Prudently marking time
her cauldrons simmer
beneath fiery lakes
dripping molten art.
Leaving indelible
impressions
vibrant and intense,
this testimony
cloaked in
nothing
save a
crimson smile.

Word Play

Use the following VERBS to write a poem or story-
Racket, Snug, Green, Spoon, Boggle, Snake


I recently returned from a trek
climbing the Haiku Steps
popularly known as
“The Stairway to Heaven”,
seven thousand steps roundtrip
climbing a sheer rock face
exposed to the wind and rain
not for the faint of heart.
My hiking boots racketed
down the metal stairs.
Gloved hands
grasped the rusted
rickety railing as I
silently prayed my
legs would hold up
my cadence, remain constant.

My partner shushed
me, from the trail as he snaked his
way back from the banana patch
to make water, making sure
his camouflage jacket snugged
through the dense undergrowth
boggling the female boar suckling her young.
As she spooned later with her mate
safely beneath the lush fern
jungle,
greening
in the
Hawaiian sun.

Unconscious

(From a poem titled Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold
one of the writing starter’s at Saturday’s Writing Retreat, I used this sentence and crafted a poem (“Ignorant armies clash by night”)



Ignorant armies clash by night
in the darkness of their sin
blinded by the shadows,
forced to march
through the trenches
to save the soil from
a hedonistic fate.
Then reason that they were following orders
not fully understanding the why.
Never, fully understanding
the ramifications
of how, who, and why.
Many return from their tour of duty
and continue
to trudge through
the dark corners of their minds
in a maze of self doubt.
Trudging on toward some
unholy reward
where all
the cheese is
a moulded dark shade
of green.
A place where green rules
the world and the world
is decayed and remembers
little, about other colors
or about truth.