Category Archives: Poetry

Make Your Life Spectacular, Robin Williams Tribute

I’m not one for celebrity, so I have no idea why Robin’s death impacted me so hard. Maybe it’s because I’ve been depressed before, maybe it’s because I do comedy for a living. I don’t know. I just know that I grew up watching this man, loving every minute of it. He was part of my childhood, my young adulthood, and my kid’s lives (think Aladdin and Hook). He’s even part of me now as I find the courage to make people laugh. I would give anything for his spontaneity and talent. 

My favorite memory involving Robin is when I was 13. We didn’t have cable so of course my mother had never seen his real stand up. We were at Sears N Robuck and I saw his album Reality What a Concept. I begged my mother to buy it for me for my birthday. She looked at it, though Oh It’s that Mork guy – sure you can have it. 

HA!

We listened to it, I laughed at the funny voices, Mom laughed at all of the jokes that went over my head and she took it away from me until I was 18. 

This is a beautiful tribute. It’s only just over a minute long — I love the words. 

Twas the Night Before Lessons

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Twas The Night Before Lessons

By: Deana O’Hara

Twas the night before lessons and all through the house,
I start praying to the gods of blue grass:
Scruggs, Watson & Krauss
I’ve played all the rolls
both forward and back
but no matter how hard I try
this new song
it’s still whack.
It’s easy he said
What a lie.
What a ruse.
Instead of grassing,
I’m singing the blues.
He’ll listen
He’ll wince
He’ll encourage
and smile.
He’ll keep me as a student
at least for a while.
Teach has the patience
of good old Saint Nick.
Even if he makes me cut my nails
to the quick.
You’ll get it.
Keep trying
He say’s through the tears.
Once you start playing,
you’ll be grassing for years.

Mending My Life

Well written poetry heals souls.

Why bother using an Ivy League vocabulary when the truth is as simple as that?

Well

written

poetry

heals

souls.

When discussing great literature, I catch myself wanting to write as if I’ve graduated from Baylor instead of business college. That makes book reviews difficult for me sometimes. I want to match the intellect of the authors in question and write as if I were a scholar myself. My main problem with that however is the scholastic approach to writing does not match my day-to-day voice. I’m not an MFA graduate. I’m just me. Mac and Cheese as Molly calls me. Comfort food in many ways.

I went looking for my literary voice last year and found my heart. Granted my heart was at the time in a about a million pieces all over the floor. I was lost in the rubble when a ragtag band of modern-day poets and women’s rights activists invited me to internet tea last fall. We banded together as only women can and sifted through the debris of unmet needs, false hopes, unrealistic expectations of others and toxic co-dependency.  Their love and acceptance breathes life into my battle weary soul.

I have no idea how long I’d been holding my breath; it must have been a while. I just know that it had been long time since I’d had fresh air. I found a respite and breathing place with these women. I took big gulps of air at first and gushed quite a bit over their acceptance and caring. I’ve settled in quite nicely now and my heart rate and oxygen levels have returned to normal.

Recovering from a broken heart takes more time than I am sometimes willing to allow.  One of the unexpected bonuses, while I am picking up the pieces I discover that not all of them fit any more. This is good news. This means there is room for more –

More friends

More hope

More adventures

More love.

I have officially turned the corner and the scenery is to die for.

I wrote my first poem of sorts in many years on September 12 of 2011.  My poetic soul knows what I didn’t. You might say it was my battle cry.

The Fractured Mirror

To be handed one’s emotional ass on a silver platter and yet have so little regard for self, that the best revelation one can muster that anything is wrong  are stomach issues, persistent blushing, and chest pain is a travesty. While it is true that artists are capable of being emotionally empathetic to a fault and that our souls can easily be a magnet to acts of spiritual terrorism, we still have choices.

Does one choose to succumb to this warped sense of reality, thereby being a victim of the fractured mirror of others as well as their own learned misogynistic views? Or can the false mirror be broken and a new paradigm created?

Some world views are nothing more than a fractured reflection of one’s own self-hatred and false dichotomies.

Unrealistic expectations and lies of others do not define me. I DEFINE ME.

Thus began my journey back to wholeness and life. Molly gave us the following poem during my very first week of writing classes – I’d never read The Journey by Mary Oliver before. As soon as I read it, I knew I was home.

one day you finally knew what you had to do, and began. though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice, though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles, “mend my life!” – each voice cried, but you didn’t stop you knew what you had to do. though the wind pried with its stiff finger at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible, it was already late enough and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches & stones. but little by little as you left their voices behind the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds. and there was a new voice which you suddenly recognized as your own and that kept you company as you strode deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do, determined to save the only life you could save. – mary oliver

I’m continuing my journey next week by attending Poetry Book Camp led by Molly Fisk which means I won’t be here. While I’m gone might I suggest reading a good poetry book or better yet – write your own poems. Like I said – Well written poetry heals souls. Your soul is worth it.

I’ll be back before the month is out.

Take care.

Poem: The Cottonwood I lived in as a child…

Added 2:00 pm April 4. — Continuing with poetry month – my newest submission to the group — the prompt was “the cottonwood tree I lived in as a child.” In publishing this on my blog, I caused some confusion in my group — in light of that, I’m going to be more careful and probably keep my group writing separate from my blog writing. Learning a new thing means being willing to make mistakes.

The cottonwood tree I lived in as a child
sat on a hill
in a field far away.
Cattle lay with me
for respite from the heat.
A lone bull stood watch by day
and at night
hoot owls sang their song
while the moon rose
and cotton wisps
like wishes
flew through the air.

Poetry: Leather or Lace

April is poetry month. Today’s prompt was “A Little Love Poem.” Here is mine

Leather or Lace?

I used to be so afraid.

Of your size.

Your strength.

But your eyes speak peace.

You nuzzle my neck

I tickle your ears.

And we belong to each other.

The scoop swoosh scoop

of seamless motion

step by step

Hips in rhythm.

Fast or slow, we flow as one;

Even bareback.

I brush your hair.

And you eat out of my hand.

Sometimes you thump me on the head with yours

A love tap between friends.

And when you try to knock over the outhouse when I am in it

I know you love me too.

Poetry: Unfolding a Myth

Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth. ~Rumi

A Poetic Response by me.


Vicariously living off the wishes and dreams of others,

She spends her days lost in black and white.

Oblivious to her own pulse

Her life is spent like a cheap romance novel;

Gripping, yet void of real meaning.

Lost in fantasy;

Never truly loving

or living

She dies a stranger

to herself

and to the world.

Don’t be that woman.

Open your eyes to the life

and breath

and pulse of the women you are.

Breathe in the sensual poetry

of motion and living.

Glance long.

Smile back. 

Move slowly.

Drink deeply.

Love wholly. 

Live Abundantly.

Metaphors Make Brains Touchy Feely – ScienceNOW

I’m home.

I’m ill.

Not allowed to ride horses or bikes, doc says I have to rest. So I’m getting caught up on my reading.

There are truly some things I wish I could unread – like Ron Paul’s idiotic thought process. Why are people voting for him? He’s a moron.

There are other things I’ve read that truly have me fascinated like the article linked below. I’ve never given much thought really to the connection between poetry and science or how the brain responds to poetic verse.

Either my left brain is jonesing for some action and is thrilled to get it, or this is really a good article. Enjoy.

Metaphors Make Brains Touchy Feely – ScienceNOW.