Occp Poets


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Janie Mcdermott


Janie McDermott spent her childhood roaming the fields of Mesquite Texas before the trees were bulldozed and the creeks filled in to make way for houses that all look alike. She has a B.A. in Creative Writing from the New School University in New York and also attended the University of Dallas, UTD and Eastfield. Janie's work has appeared in the New School University online magazine and she has received several awards in the Mesquite Literary Arts Festival for poetry, songwriting, and fiction. She moved to the Cedar Creek Lake area three years ago to find trees and see stars again and is acting Vice President of the Poets of Cedar Creek Lake. Janie lives with 5 cats, 2 dogs, and whichever of her four children or their friends needs a place to crash.

A Dance in the Rain

Such a divine thing
to stand on the porch, just out of reach
drinking in the fine blown mist
of a Texas storm
only feet away great drops drum the ground
the sun refuses to cower
and suddenly, you too
rush out into the curtain
lift face to storm
dance like a wild thing
drum beating on your face
drum beating in your heart
and there, across the fields
a rainbow rises
suspended in the grayness
like a bridge to possibility
and you laugh aloud
part of the coolness,
part of the greenness
part of the wonder of it all.

A Wicker Afternoon

It is a wicker afternoon
and ladies of a certain age
perch politely
on carefully coordinated cushions
and talk about the loves they lost-
the ones that got away.
While outside, the old men,
on apple crates and lawn chairs
trade tales of near acquired glory-
of football games and fish,
the ones that got away.
At suppertime
the groups converge
and the women fuss
and the men hem - haw
and everyone eats potato salad
(except the ones who got away).

Buried Treasure

I wanted so much to tell you
that I saw poppies by the highway
but such things don't matter to you
and so I kept the discovery hidden
deep within myself.

A Walk in the Fog

Night wraiths
on an insubstantial plain
bow to the naked branches
spread souls
in prayer
ribbon of smoke
trees lost
in upward reaching depth
night terrors without form
voices clatter
fade into nothing
and we,
the dog and I,
are only echoes
in the world we left behind.

The Church is Closed

The church is closed.
here, on the lake
sailboats skim
across the clouds
white egrets
fish from the spillway
I find peace

To Mrs. Morris

Nancy, your house has brought me joy:
your rosebush blooms a red delight
and cicadas sing
in the greening trees.

I dug up your yard
and planted a garden
sprawling tomato vines
ripening beans, peppers
hot with promise.

My children play
where your children played
and trace their names
in the gray cement.

Only bricks, only wood?
A home is so much more.

Nancy, your house
has brought me joy