Denis R. O'neill
Author, Screenwriter & Producer
The Author’s New Book
The Author’s Last Book
The Author’s Previous Book
The Author’s Sixth Book
The Author’s Fifth Book
The Author’s Fourth Book
The Author’s Third Book
The Author’s Second Book
The Author’s First Book
Musings 2024
Just Released: The Author’s New Book
The Gathering Storm… an Ominous Year
Author’s Note
I am pleased to add a fourth installment of Musings to my library.
Of the first year’s collection, “Pandemic Musings,” former Vermont Governor Howard Dean said, “Denis O’Neill uses his pandemic experience to reorder his internal life, making sense of what has happened to our county, and to him over his seventy-two years as life as an American in the world of strange contradictions that America has become.”
As the newest collection of essays suggests in its sub-title “The Gathering Storm,” America in the lead up to Donald Trump’s second term is a republic in trouble. To fully understand where you are in life, and where you might be going, it’s important to know where you’ve been. Musings 2024 ~ The Gathering Storm, paints that picture… with a blend of history, politics and contemporary events… in prose that is edgy and insightful with a splash of droll. It isn’t America the beautiful.
The First Review:
“Denis O’Neill continues his observations on American politics and culture in his fourth book of essays.
Edgy and insightful, with a splash of droll, the author reports on the chaotic last year of the Biden administration that overlapped with a Republican primary that ultimately returned the twice‑impeached former President and convicted rapist, Donald Trump, to the White House.
To fully understand where you are and where you might be going, it’s important to know where you have been. Musings 2024 (The Gathering Storm) paints that picture. It isn’t America the beautiful.”
~ Howard Dean: former Governor of Vermont & 2004 Presidential Candidate
Sample Musings
A New Year’s Poem
Oh dear, what a year,
If only Dr. Seuss were here.
A friend of my father,
A teller of truth,
In a proper martini,
The splash of vermouth.
He could tell us what went so wrong,
He could sing us a doomsday song,
He could warn us it doesn’t take long…
For the fox to find the chickens.
In the year of twenty/twenty‑four,
Donald Trump knocked on the door,
A conman, a swindler,
A felon to boot…
He sold enough people
A gun that don’t shoot,
A dog that don’t hunt,
A pig that don’t root.
And they voted lock, stock and barrel.
It’s shocking to me
that a man so feral
Has been able to put our nation in peril.
A rapist, a racist, a liar since birth,
For those who bowed down,
I say what on earth?
Were you thinking, or drinking,
What flavor Kool‑Aid?
When the spade is a spade,
And tells you just so,
You give him your vote
And a green light to go?!
A New Year’s Poem — Continued…
To ruin a country so gloriously born,
Now a rose with no petals,
Just thorn upon thorn.
When you love only money,
Power and greed,
Division and hatred
Are the offspring you breed.
But this time the Red Caps aren’t just coming.
The message is THEY’RE HERE!
The greatest of redcoats,
Winston Churchill by name,
in WWII’s darkest hours.
He knew what was needed
For freedom to hold,
He knew we must never fail.
Our own FDR,
a match for Sir Winston,
Told us fear should never be feared.
Both men, we know,
Knew the dangers ahead
the darkness of Hitler’s grip.
And that only the way to
Finally succeed
Would forever be crystal clear:
Never give in, never give in.
Never, never, never, never.
The only way for freedom to win
Is to never, never, NEVER
Give in.
August 4 — Fiesta’s Last Dance
Fiesta postscript. A procession of line dancers, flamenco dancers, singers and musicians graced the stage last night at the Sunken Gardens at Santa Barbara’s exquisite Clock Tower Courthouse (worth googling; surely one of the most beautiful civic buildings in America). They were celebrating the city’s Spanish and Mexican heritage.
As the various dance groups took the stage in wildly colorful dress, I couldn’t help but think of the universality of dance and music in all of America’s melting‑pot ethnicities. Irish clog dancing is an obvious close cousin to flamenco. Michael Flatley and his Riverdance dancers took the world by storm with their thunderous, hands‑at‑their‑sides, synchronized foot stomping (to some kickass Celtic music.
The dancers last night were equally captivating, the women with their swirling skirts, colorful as a flower garden in full bloom. Viva La Fiesta. No one has to make America great again. Our greatness lies in our celebration of all the colors and scents already here…and our tolerance for those that might be on the way.
Where to Get the Book:
Get it on Amazon
Levellers Press