Poetry

The deepest, most secret core, the most raw of wounds of the writer are revealed

in her 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 ?

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.

Hindsight

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.

 

Attracting Opposites

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

Illusion and Disappointment

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

Primed

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.

Opening the Heart

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.

Happy Endings

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

Fantasies Sated

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

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.

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

© 2017 by Dr Deah | All Rights Reserved

“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.

© 2016-2020 Deah Curry PhD

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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