Cornelia DeDona- Poems and Photography

Momos and Destiny

2026-04-13T06:04:00.004-04:00

Destiny

was eighteen,
dreaming of college
and a one-way ticket
out of that one street town

when Momos rolled past
on his chopper
having left the first wife,
three children,

and Patty Feathers
a stripper with nine cats who kept him in designer clothes.

Destiny parked that night
behind the theater to meet friends.
Her head in the clouds
fantasizing about her birthday, leather boots, and boys
as she pushed through the beaded curtain,
into the rooms in the back of Zeus’s Everything Shop,
meeting Momos for the first time,

fresh from his shower, a towel wrapped around his waist.

His moist skin was scrubbed and sweet-smelling.
His jive was as smooth as the fat marijuana cigarette he offered her.

Momos plowed every juicy female that crossed his path.

He tried to win Destiny that way, too, but she snubbed the ride.

Provoking his quest.

They soon met at a local dive. Destiny and Momos drank Southern Comfort, chased with Budweiser.
Shot for shot, they drank until a one-eyed Momos begged her to drive him home. And a besotted Destiny beheld her future.

He’d captivated her by walking a lobster on a leash,
hustling the drunks for money as he fed them the cherrystone clams, Snaps
the lobster had cracked with its claw.
And stunned her when he reached under her shirt and exposed her
to the bartender, like she was the prize at an outlaw biker rally.

Momos promised her the world.

Both dangerous and different, she craved his ilk.

Three years later,
even their infant couldn’t convert her.

She'd made her bed.
Momos was now her god.
His passion was hypnotic and biting.
His commands bled from her ears.

He burned his mark deep, lest she forget her place.

Her fate darkened
as Momos
pinned another vicious note
to a graphic sex manual with a switchblade,
her shortcomings were highlighted in red.

In time, Destiny became a beast, too.

Destiny studied. She became proficient at
"The Ways of the World," according to Momos.
She understood that none
of his friends would appreciate his art class.
The words he spewed

and punched
into her face, her palette of black eyes.
The way he offended her allies.

Beaten down, she waited.

Ridiculed, she waited.
Terrified, she waited.

Hopeless, she remained.
Until Zeus looked down from Olympus
and saw what Momus had done,
and a dreadful Destiny rescued her journey.

Momos however, remained the same.

Power mad atop his plinth, he continued to lament, boast and blame.

Time passed before
they spoke.

Momos the frantic talked in circles.
He spewed
harbingers
declaring
he’d grown humble
after the attempted murder,
after the charges were dropped
and after she'd left him;
that his new conquest was a fill-in for her.

He professed to all that could hear

that he still loved his Destiny.

But Destiny was no longer his

to claim.

Soon, Momos the miserable mocked the gods again.
Dragged his new soul mate by the neck
through her car’s open window.
Vowed to drive her to Hell for defying him. For saying no.
Heroic, she summoned the men in blue and Kratos the Enforcer to file her grievances.

Despite this, the fugitive fire in Momos raged on.
He became like Cerberus,
loyal guard dog,
compelling
The Fates
to impose their leaden doom
fusing his gifts and his skull
to a lower calling. And Hades sighed as the river Styx rose to greet him.

The Chaos is Intentional

2026-04-11T07:18:00.001-04:00

We were great, once—before the reset.

Now we dance to a new algorithm,

broadcast the old signals,

patch the archive,

delete the logs.

We are young and brash,

drifting like bodies in low orbit,

sedated on dreams of yesterday—

old transmissions calling from a parallel channel.

They scream, “Let us out of the vault.”

But we follow the credits, honey.

AI will absorb us—like it was always written.

We burn forward on thrust and telemetry, still watching the rear cameras.

I take my cutter and calibrator

to find the shape that hides

inside this cryo-slab:

strip away the noise,

step back,

scan again.

I get a lock—then I lose it.

Keep writing. Forge ahead—

ahead of the swarm of hunter drones,

their pings in my skull.

I need to breach the perimeter this time.

I crave the station-hush before cycle-change.

I am a creature of protocol.

Are we star farers?

Can we edit the timeline?

Can we warp the clock?

We still reenter Earth’s atmosphere—heatshield singing.

We came from water—primordial code.

We are mostly water.

We return to water.

The answers are out of range.

Juxtaposition Captures Spirit (and Wings)

2026-04-10T06:41:00.005-04:00

(Inspired by: “Juxtaposition” by Melissa Miller Nece CPSA, CPX)

Three spirits racing
Toward the rumbling wide dark sea.
Ocean’s thunder slows.
Time opens its bright palm wide—
Youth spills into joy, complete.

Blowing Bubbles

2026-04-08T05:44:00.006-04:00

Bubbles float on air.

Air

On On

Float Float

On On

Air

Bubbles float on air.

Bubbles are dazzling rainbow planets we escape to.

Bubbles bridge the gap between the past and the present.

The magic orbs spiral up

down

and wrap around our minds.

Bringing our peace into sharper focus

Bubbles circle fast and track slow. Baffle us as they scatter…just out of …reach

Bubbles P O P without notice while they dance on thin light

Blowing bubbles requires that we breathe deeply

Bubbles float on air Releasing us from care.

Until the matrix calls us home.

Playing GOD

2026-04-07T05:45:10.262-04:00

Open the Strait of Hormuz, or I will decimate you.

Iran, you have just lost your ice cream privileges

Go to bed and think about your decisions,

I’ll wait, but not too long.

Time to surrender. Time to take your medicine.

Open wide and swallow.

(Grins like a demon.)

Swallow all of it.

Don’t read. Don’t educate yourself, do as you are told.

I am great. Don’t you want to be great, like me?

(Leering and staring at women’s boobs.)

…

I grew up watching Star Trek. I especially liked Spock

He was so cool, so rational. Spock would’ve said,

“Interesting.

You act like a god, but you are a puppet, a pawn, a hoax perpetrated on the American people.

Your rhetoric stinks, your smile is fake, everything about you is fake. And your psychiatrist is calling. “

She is not happy — time to come back inside. Put those carbon-based life forms back, and don’t forget to wash your hands. What did I say about playing with strangers?

But I don’t want to come in, I’m having fun.

The party is over, Donnie. You go too far.

I want it NOW. It’s NOT FAIR, I HATE YOU! It’s your fault I missed the ball. You never get me anything good.

SILENCE!

(Door to his universe slams shut.)

Snow Cats

2026-04-06T05:37:08.872-04:00

I think we’ve managed to break another ceiling

We’ve been snowbirds for seven years.

Our relatives, unnamed, followed suit two years ago.

This year, they chauffeured their two cats to experience the Sunshine State’s warmth and tropical breezes.

In less than two days, the two males have staked out their territory.

Now, cats reign over the snowbirds in two locations.

The takeover was swift, and collateral damage minimal.

The dominant male keeps a short daily agenda:

1. Beach party

2. Hunt local birds

3. Attend Spring Training in Fort Myers

4. Shorebird BBQ

We are grateful for small mercies. The list is brief. Plus, something we recently hatched is brewing.

Easter Sunday

2026-04-05T07:16:06.219-04:00

Awake

predawn sunrise

partly cloudy with a

huge chance of rabbits hopping by.

Easter.

Lettuce

pray together

for chocolate to dictate

bunnies hop, and bees buzz

and fighting stops on planet Earth

worldwide.

Holy

He is Risen

accept the commandment

be kind to your neighbors these times

daily.

"A Cinquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines. It was developed by the Imagist poet Adelaide Crapsey."…

We Are Astronauts

2026-04-04T05:53:00.003-04:00

Talk about breaking the glass ceiling

They do not want to be recognized as women or female astronauts

They are astronauts, period.

They have jobs from the Ground Up

Some are from the Military

Some are Mission Commanders and pilot astronauts

Some are mission specialists and spacewalkers

There are women of color, of various races and creeds.

MD’s and PhD’s

Brilliant minds all.

Sally Ride was the first

Christina Koch- 1^st on Artemis mission around the moon.

61 + 6 new trainees

On missions

Since 1978

Trailblazing

Inspired and Empowered.

There are record holders:

For Most Flights, Most Time in Space

Longest Stay in Space, Most Spacewalks, and Longest Spacewalk.

YES, We Can.

Lunar Launch Party

2026-04-03T05:51:04.745-04:00

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

2026-04-02T07:37:00.001-04:00

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

2026-04-01T07:19:00.000-04:00

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

2026-03-28T06:57:19.116-04:00

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

2026-03-27T06:54:00.000-04:00

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.

2026-03-26T06:02:07.427-04:00

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

2026-03-24T07:25:11.346-04:00

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.

2026-03-23T07:07:00.002-04:00

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)

2026-03-22T06:45:07.683-04:00

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

2026-03-21T06:26:00.002-04:00

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)

2026-03-20T11:09:00.003-04:00

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

2026-03-19T06:20:00.001-04:00

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

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

2026-03-18T07:16:06.664-04:00

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

2026-03-17T09:03:00.002-04:00

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"

2026-03-16T06:26:00.002-04:00

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

2026-03-14T08:06:00.003-04:00

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

2026-03-13T08:02:00.001-04:00

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?