Cornelia Poems | Examples

Cornelia's Red Vest

Cornelia’s Red Vest

Cornelia Chipmunk wears a red vest
Without it she feels pos-i-tive-ly undressed
It has thirteen pockets and twenty-one zippers
And fastens in front with some Velcro-like grippers

These pockets can hold all kinds of odd things
Like shoelaces, pencils, and bright plastic rings,
Gum wrappers, pine cones, paper clips, too
Why, there’s nine fuzzy socks – 4 turquoise, 5 blue
Ribbons and nuts and bark from a tree
Some rocks, shiny buttons, a big purple pea.

She stacks them all up in the back of her nest
And goes to sleep thinking she loves her red vest.

The Trees and I

I've lain beneath the trees as they wept
Spread-eagled on beds of wild sage
Surrounded by the brave soldiers
of fallen leaves turned crimson and gold
I've breathed in love on a sweet scented 
summers day
And exhaled my soul in the sparkling frost
of winters halo, circling before my eyes
like fallen stars
I've felt my soul sinking 
into the forest floor
The earth rushing over me,
swallowing me in its warmth
I've wept like the trees
In sorrow 
and in joy
While the dying sun
carried me home

© Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel 2015

The Secret Room

Row me out Captain
to our secret room
Steal me far from shore
Let me sit tight against you
Bathe with me in this gold-flecked light forevermore
I’ll trail my fingers through the warm silk of the water beneath
While we glide silently towards the edge
of the woods velvety deep
Where whispers of our embraces lie hidden
The moss covered banks imprinted
with the secrets we keep
Row me out Captain 
Dip your oars into the watercolors of my soul
Take me away, give me wings
Let me float among the lilies sweet perfume
Watch with me the sun,descend and surrender
Help me always remember
This time, this space
Set adrift in the center
Of this 
Our secret room

© Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel

Love Offering

Caught behind barbed wire
Tangled in a child's shame,
old regrets and fears
We sometimes pierce our souls
in the death grip of our love offerings
Delightful wild-flowers
clutched in hopeful fists
Thrust out from our shadowlands
to be caught by understanding hands
How achingly beautiful we are
in the presence of their tender
and fragrant significance

© Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel

Awakened

She woke up
The bitter remnants of the past 
swirling in her mouth
eating her words
in a sulphuric acid brew
She woke up
and spat them out
before they charted a course to destroy
all she still knew
of the truth

© Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel

What a Woman Wants

Be the hero in her Empire
Topple her throne
Capture her desire
Claim her crown for your own
Crush her pearls
And devour their dust
Let your lips tell her stories, of both love and lust
Wander slowly through her flowers
Breathe deeply of their perfume
Collect her petals in your chalice
Let them fill every inch of your room
And when next she is ravenous under starlit skies
Be her pilot, on your voyage to the Moon

© Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel

My Love

Alta Luna,
my gentleman caller in the night
Ahhhh, yes
He’s making eyes at me
Sending showers of midnight winks
that melt the stars into my eyes
Tall and handsome
perfect to lean my ladder up against
And climb up to Mi Amor
Let me in 
and let me kiss you
Good Night

 © Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel 2015

Lost Prayer

The wind leans in 
against my walls
Tempestuous,
in a melancholy fever
It’s reckless moaning calls 
to every sinew
binding me in place
Howling to unleash me
from this empty time
this vacant space
Ripe with the frenzied ghosts 
of worthless things
And the hopeless chaff 
of words once prayed
Whistling through me
in a screaming choir
“Hail Mary full of grace”
Useless beseeching 
carried into the raging gale
by abused and sinful beads
ripped off their chain
The storm is breaking
as my eyes begin to rain

©Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel 2015

The Smell of Winter

I was the kind of girl 
That wore a woolen scarf
Like a strand of pearls around my neck
And you were the kind of guy
that couldn’t resist pulling me into your chest
by the dangling knitted tails of fuzzy plaid
So when I landed 
on the broad landscape of your coat, that smelled of Winter
I couldn’t remember a thing
Except perhaps that in your eyes
I caught a glimpse of a glorious Spring

© 2015 Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel

Life Line

I look up from my post, lying on the floor
Questioning the cracks in the ceiling above me
Likening them to my recent history
Stretched from end to end
Wall to wall
They mimic my life
Like jagged scars
A life-line transcribed
From palm to plaster
Split here and there, seemingly without rhyme or reason
Yet I know it has a cause
A beginning and therefore, an end.
And in between I witness an uncertainty 
Will the cracks expand?
Run amok?
Split the surface and break?
Or will they hold up the sky
with an unerring strength
As it has since that first tendril started to run across the clean slate,
Of wood and paint, heart and soul, above my world.
Cracks let the light in don’t they?
Yes, love
They do

© Cornelia aka Flying Angel 2015

Loves Tattoo

The brevity of life astounds me
As I question everything with a burning need
Must it all be ordinary, so dull and transient?
What is missing, what am I trying to feed?
And as I work through my day, in mindless ways
I find myself drawing the shape of my heart
Sketching it into the powdery dust of my dresser top
A fleeting piece of art
Following my fingertips in this chosen medium
Watching them turn dirty and gray
I realize I’m contemplating the tedium
And the meaning of my life, my mission,
As I play
It's love, I know
It’s all I am and can be
It’s all there is or ever was
Love is in everything I see
And like my dusty childlike scribbles
It can be made and wiped away, in seconds blown apart
I'd much prefer my love, tattooed in ink
Forever on the heart

©Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel 2015

Caverns of the Heart

Cracked crevasses
miles deep
Explode in thundering booms
as they spread
into hollow and empty rooms
Replacing the chambers 
of a bursting heart
with desolate echoing caverns
Splitting what remains apart
unraveling the fabric of our life at the seams
We are carved by an unforgiving river
fed by frigid tears and scissor-like streams
Pulverized into a frozen slush of memories
Suspended in our regrets and fears
we are trapped and abandoned
In an endless flow of irretrievable years

© Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel 2015

Crop Circles

My bed is Kansas
Endless, barren windswept plains
Of empty sheets
Stretching to a distant horizon
It could be the flats of Nebraska 
On a starless night
Lonely
Bleak
So far, I can’t reach
And I’m storm chasing
Longing for a wild tumbleweed
to get swept up alongside my fence
Messing up my pristine cotton fields
with a bit of dirty rough stubble
Brushed against my rosy cheeks
I want to grab a hold, of something unruly under my pillows
While making satin crop circles
At 3 am

© Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel 2015

That Kind of Love

Love is not one-quarter note
It's a violin concerto set on fire 
Played to a table for two
It’s not half-assed
Or half-baked
It’s the 3 inches thick 
finger licking frosting
with a cherry on top of my cake
It's full tilt 
Take a chance
Raw 
Messy
Hard
Bend over backwards
Give it all you’ve got 
Show me the damn cards
Risk layin' um down
Win or lose
Dare to feel alive 
Put your heart in gear and drive
sort of love…
Yeah, that kind

©~Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel~

All Grown Up Now

I grew up
as the day disappeared into the black of night
As love became a senseless fight
I grew up
and left my innocence behind
In a pink-lined box
where a tiny ballerina twirled
to a little girls song
While my dreams went to sleep there
Tangled and twisting
like the ribbons in my hair
And I smiled like I didn’t care
I grew up
when I shut that lid
and bent her in two,
silencing the dance
Discarded bands of gold and letters of old
Proof that I took a chance
I grew up 
when it was lost and never found
That box with velvet walls
that collected all my climbs and falls
I grew up when it disappeared
with remnants of a different me locked away
Transformed by grief
And yet the same,
I grew up that day

© 2015 Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel

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