Deah Curry indie author
The deepest, most secret core, the most raw
of wounds of the writer are revealed in her poetry
Poetry
Excerpt from Love is a Struggle
This is a selection of 8 poems that -- sometimes directly, sometimes obliquely -- tell a story of the journey of reconnecting with a lost love. Read or listen.
Poems copyright 2020 by Ellyn Mayfair, read by Deah Curry PhD. All Rights Reserved.
​
​
Once Upon a Time
Once
in a youth long gone
when she was but a teen
the love of her life
touched her breast
and created a bond unseen
Upon
their hearts was set a truth
to last decades to come
as their paths diverged
through the lonely years
their passion still held strong
​
A Time
thought lost
forevermore
they dreamt the same bold dreams
fantasies of a lifetime shared.
Mutual yearnings quenched
was the constant unlived theme
The Years
then filled with substitutes
who never met the test
of the love that had been planted
by the sparking of excitements
of his hand upon her breast
And Then
one day it happened
‘twas the digital age of course
they met on social media where
they both recalled their memories
and their ancient fires burst forth
At Last
the love they’d waited for
though no longer in their prime
demanded magic come to pass
would they now join their souls
more than once upon a time ?
​
Hindsight
​
Only in hindsight
did she see
that she should have taken
more risks,
been less afraid
of ridicule & rejection,
been more open
and demanding
with her desires.
She should have
worn her power
on the outside
more often.
​
Attracting Opposites
Her pleasures are his displeasures
for the most part, sad but true.
She lives in her head and spends her days
Over-thinking what to do.
He lives in constant motion,
on the Hunt for an adventure
Of the sort that she would rue.
She likes people one on one,
For him a crowd of family’s fun.
He likes good conversation,
She’s intrigued by observation.
The tastes of gin or whiskey
Please his palate, but not hers.
The sweetness of Moscato
Is the taste that she prefers.
He’s up at five, she sleeps ‘til eight
He goes to bed at ten,
Their biorhythms out of sync
Lifestyles diverge, but then
Many are the likes they have
When pleasuring each other
Displeasures never happen
‘Tween the sheets,
as they discover What feels good,
what they want more of,
Where the loving leads them to
Experience together,
It’s all good, and this is true.
​
​
Illusion and Disappointment
Happiness pierced by arrows of
Photographic revelations
inescapable reality
cold harsh evidence of illusion
My heart sinks in disappointment
Tears on the edge of release
Mind reordering priorities
To avoid being hurt
….. again
The fault is mine
for Believing in possibility
for needing to be
someone’s ….. special ….. someone
for wanting the validation
that love ….. and I …..mattered
​
​
​
Primed
She was primed for a fight
she knew she was right
there was lots to be said
swirling ‘round in her head
Waiting wasn’t among her strengths
and nobody knew the actual lengths
to which she’d go to keep her word
when even the digital silence hurt
Tho’ probably best he stay away
from her dark sarcastic mood this day
putting himself in her line of fire
Was likely to only produce more ire
She was primed for a fight
She knew she was right
Whether wounds would repair
Was left up in the air
​
​
​
Opening The Heart
Open my left eye,
time to awake?
Open blackout curtains,
does the world await?
Open the closet for
yesterday’s clothes
Ain’t goin’ nowhere,
no one will know.
Open the fridge
reach for the cream
pour into coffee
open the brain.
All before breakfast,
today and tomorrow
open again.
Then comes the hard part,
open the closed heart.
It’s not like you don’t know how
to answer the questions
respond to the feelings
touch into the senses
these chances to open
the door to your soul.
Take the time to expose
what is real, and the whole
Truths you couldn’t speak before.
​
Risk yourself to trust the one
whose hand is held patiently open
waiting for you to step into the light.
Allow the growth and the lesson
to serve you, allow the love
that is yours by right.
​
​
​
Happy Endings
To begin again when
you expected the end
is a startling occurrence indeed
a little bit scary
and so you are wary,
of this I will surely concede,
but it’s also amazing
having passions a-blazing
for real and not just a dream.
All these years that you waited
were so complicated
now life’s as sweet as can be
since love has returned
and trust was well earned
may you live out your years happily.
​
​
​
Fantasies Sated
There once was a buttoned up writer
Who deep down inside was a fighter
For wild thoughts created
All fantasies sated
Retirement will surely delight her
Wrestling
Demons
Demons arrive
when least welcomed
to eat the sins
helping us survive,
demanding we reveal
what's been concealed,
forcing bare all illusions
releasing conclusions
stripping down to Truth
rising up in bravery
hiding nothing,
granting peace.
​
© 2020 Deah Curry PhD
.jpg)
Be the
Medicine
Psychospirituality in action
what a concept --
stepping up
lowering some boundaries
while holding others
and whole-ing others
by being the medicine
of mindful reflection
deepening awareness
leaning into awakening
© 2015 Deah Curry PhD
~.~ Absent and Needy ~.~
Another Mother's Day Story
Copyright 2016 Deah Curry
— with Raziel Bearn.
Free spirited and liberal I painted
the mother of my fantasy
she of my biology
closer to my age and
understanding that mother
I longed for, hoping,
never expecting,
to know, for certain
strong forces conspired
to keep her forever absent,
shamed and in denial,
afraid and unready
for the unwelcomed daughter.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Adopted yet apart I endured
the mother of my reality
she of her own family-rupture
older in years and mindset
still, battling that mother
I rejected, wanting,
never getting
to feel self valued
wish-fulfillment born
of a wounded, needy heart
suppressed and dependent,
perpetually unprepared
for the daughter she got.
​
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
​
Liberated and seeking I authored
the mother that healed me
she of therapy's invention
adaptive adult, corrective parent,
layers of authentic allium
peeled away stinky
and delicious
rooted in the chthonic
new growth reaching
for satisfying connection
independent and solitary
observant and strong
daughter of Nature's song.
​
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Anapestic
Copyright 2018 Deah Curry PhD
All Rights Reserved
I aspire to write pomes*
in the happiest way
they will tell you that's called
anapestic, they'll say.
Just add tetra and meter
and you can write too
you can join all us writers
in writers word zoo.
*poems must be misspelled to make the meter work
The Ancestors Defied
© 2015 Deah Curry | All Rights Reserved
​
Tis the season for honoring the ancestors.
How will you honor yours?
How will you give gratitude for their endurance through hardships and the strengthening
of faith and genes that you could be born
so many centuries later?
How will you give gratitude?
How do you pay respect to those whose
names and places and forgotten stories of love
and loss, of fear and hope built your bones,
and if you are lucky, still reside within
your hazy memories and nearly lost traditions?
How do you pay respect?
How can you use your life to honor their struggles
to revere and preserve the old ways
when the conquerors came, when despite all odds
they defied and survived?
How can you honor them
this Samhain season?
Bump on a Pickle
© 2018 by Dr Deah | All Rights Reserved
​
Existing
without a plan
unusually
unmotivated
unconsciously
unnerved
Feeling
without a reason
disaffected
disappointed
discontented
Believing
without a certainty
life's in limbo
in unanimated suspension
just existing
to exist
like a
bump
on a
pickle
Disappointed
they said
about the election
as if a blue sweater
was ordered but a
red one delivered instead.
Surely such disappointment
is a mask against something
deeper
and darker
and more terrified.
​
​
Perhaps I am
projecting
​
​
Love and listening
they prescribe
as if listening
to threats and intolerance
will cure the traumas
of assault
and the
aggressions of
privilege run amok
as if being more loving
will erase anxiety
of untold perversions
of fairness and justice
​
​
Perhaps I am
cold-hearted
Instincts
© 2016 by Dr Deah | All Rights Reserved
​
Cynical
I fear
does battle with
instincts
for speaking out
from inner power
and being a way-shower
if not a lightworker
​
​
Perhaps I am
struggling
and grieving
and stunned
​
​
It is interesting to
notice all this at once
while waiting for pizza
to tamp down
panic
and lift up
unrealistic hopes
that one day
things will be better
​
​
Is that the same
one day
when I'll be skinny?
Confused
© 2017 by Dr Deah | All Rights Reserved
​
Confused, I sail
in swirling waters
holding secrets
I have yet to learn
and questions
I have yet to ask.
Cold isolation
envelops willingness.
Waves of frustration
begin to drown curiosity.
The adventure’s worth
suspect, hidden
from surface recognition
amid the jetsam
thrown by
preceding travelers
hoping, as do I,
to reach a welcome
to the magic land of authors
where social refugees
may find kindred souls.
Flagging
© 2017 by Dr Deah | All Rights Reserved
Do not be alarmed
by my flagging presence
as shifting priorities
make unspoken
changes
necessary
Let not the unexpected
dying off
of interests
and involvements
be interpreted
as more than
the simplicity of
chthonic
growth
in process
Beginning with endings
the vis renews
itself
“Flagging” is a normal autumnal process that occurs in the Western Red Cedar when some older weaker branchlets in the otherwise evergreen species die off due to long drought conditions in order to conserve sustenance and growth for the rest of the tree.
​
The Vis refers to the naturopathic concept and Latin term of the vis medicatrix naturae -- the healing power of nature -- sometimes also used to refer to one's vital force, soul, the natural essence or life force that animates all living things.