Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Blog

Our twitter is @feversof also eic @davidLONan1 Facebook Group: http://www.feversofthemind.com Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Arts Group

Paypal & Submissions e-mail: feversofthemind@gmail.com 

*UPCOMING PRINT ANTHOLOGIES*

HARD RAIN POETRY: POETRY & ART INSPIRED BY BOB DYLAN

FEVERS OF THE MIND 6: BARE BONES WRITINGS 1 (LESS PICTURES MORE POETRY THAT HITS THE HARDEST- A COLLECTION OF POEMS FROM OUR FIRST 5 VOLUMES OF FEVERS OF THE MIND)

FEVERS OF THE MIND 7: BARE BONES WRITING 2 ( TAKEN FROM OUR WEB SUBMISSIONS)

We are unable to provide compensation at this time for any postings on this site. We have to reach out through the year for donations just to keep the site going. This is for the art of poetry, music, art & other creatives.

Some poetry/art published on this site will periodically be taken down if space is running low. Pieces that are up for Best of the Net Nominations and other award nominees will remain on the site longer. You will be guaranteed at least 6-8 months exposure on our website. No promises after that and don’t take it personal.

Submissions open: Looking for Poetry for Adhd Awareness, Mental Health, Anxiety, Culture, History, Social Justice, LGBTQ Matters/Pride, Love, Poem series, sonnets, physical health, pandemic themes, Trauma, Retro Pop Culture Music & otherwise.

Submissions Open: Bob Dylan Online blog anthology Hard Rain Poetry.

The Wolfpack Online Contributors will last from May-August of this year. Many of the pieces will be eligible for our upcoming print anthologies. Each contributor to Anthology will be given a free PDF and then there will be an option to order copies when I supply links to the books.

Submissions are for blog are poetry showcases/wolfpack contributor pieces only at this time: Poetry, Art, Book Reviews, culture pieces, rants, pre-published poetry from self-published materials, defunct lit mags, pieces from other lit mags with permissions. We will soon be straying away from pieces on website first by late Summer. We will eventually be having you send the pieces for Anthologies first, and eventually can be moved to the website.

All submissions with bio. Please let us know if something has been previously published, we will make a judgment call on whether able to include.  We will not send rejection e-mails. If you have simultaneous submissions out there please keep this in mind. As long as work follows our guidelines or contests, prompts they have a good chance of being published on our site. If not accepted at first Just try again…but please just send once a month if a piece was rejected at first. We will not accept pieces that we deem racist, sexist, homophobic, or have pornographic themes, photos, or any type of nudity in submissions.

Please donate to our paypal at feversofthemind@gmail.com if you enjoy this site and our anthologies. Anything helps. Thank you!

About Editor David L O’Nan

Check out a link about my new book through Cajun Mutt Press “Before the Bridges Fell” March 2022

https://feversofthemind.com/2022/03/15/before-the-bridges-fell-by-me-david-l-onan-poetry-book-is-out-today-on-cajun-mutt-press/

David L O’Nan has been writing poetry & short stories for 20 years.   He is founder and editor in chief of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Press with his wife HilLesha. His newest book “Before the Bridges Fell” was published with Cajun Mutt Press. We have released 5 Anthologies of poetry & art since 2019.   He has also Curated & edited “Avalanches in Poetry: Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen” and “Before I Turn Into Gold”  He has just put out a 500 page book combining 5 of his books available on Amazon “Bending Rivers” Poetry & Short Stories from David L O’Nan.  His work has appeared in Icefloe Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal,Anti-Heroin Chic Magazine, Royal Rose Magazine, Cajun Mutt Press, Dark Marrow/Rhythm & Bones Lit, Truly U, Spillwords, Punk Noir Magazine, Eat the Storms Podcast, Cajun Mutt Press features, Ghost City Press, 3 moon Publishing, Elephants Never, Nymphs Publishing, and of course at www.feversofthemind.com His books include: The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers, Our Fears in Tunnels, The Cartoon Diaries, New Disease Streets, Taking Pictures in the Dark, Lost Reflections (micro-poems), His Poetic Last Whispers

https://www.amazon.com/Bending-Rivers-Poetry-Stories-David/dp/B09QFF55K3/ref=sr_1_1?crid=25YEZAM5Y4EGO&keywords=bending+rivers+david+l+o%27nan&qid=1642523310&sprefix=bending+rivers+david+l+o%27nan%2Caps%2C128&sr=8-1
(c) Geoffrey Wren art




Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Here are the U.S. Links for Kindle & Paperback. Please check for availability for the links in your country on Amazon.

https://amzn.to/3rYO2uV

Features artwork by Geoffrey Wren, poetry & stories from David L O’Nan, Ethan McGuire, Tom Harding, Joe Kidd, Robert Frede Kenter, Joan Hawkins, Ankh Spice, Arthur L Wood, Sadie Maskery, Kari Ann Flickinger, ps pirro, Peter Hague, Lorna Wood, Benjamin Adair Murphy, Attracta Fahy, Christina Strigas, Barney-Ashton Bullock, John W. Leys, Amy Barnes, Jim Young, Elizabeth Cusack, Richard LeDue, Michael Igoe, Samantha Terrell, Lisa Alletson, Carrie Sword, Samantha Merz, Janet Beekman, Lennon Stravato, Catherine Graham, William Taylor Jr, Kat Blair, Adrian Ernesto Cepeda, S. Reeson, Shane Schick, Gerald Jatzek, Merril D. Smith, Jim Feeney

“Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now!

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor)

“Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press

Before the Bridges Fell is a series of poetry based on characters that are scrambling to figure out life before the inevitable destruction of their towns, their ideals, fantasy worlds, fame of past figures that seemed to work so well to influence and shape today’s world. Before the Bridges Fell and what is unknown is always in the back of your head, and you are still expected to life your life without worry, hardly. That unknowing is always there. The script isn’t fully written, and so the improvisation of our everyday lives can be scary.

https://amzn.to/3KQ3tfx is the link on Amazon!

Please read my debut poetry book with Cajun Mutt Press. Full of prose, stories, poetry that digs deep in imagery. Influenced by Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Townes Van Zandt, Bruce Springsteen, Joni Mitchell, Jack Kerouac, Marissa Nadler, Johnny Cash, Richard Brautigan, Langston Hughes and much more. Praise blurbs from Gail Crowther author of “Three-Martini Afternoons at the Ritz” poets Kushal Poddar, Robin McNamara, Robert Frede-Kenter, musicians Ron Sexsmith, Austin Lucas

If you like this book go back and read my independent collections “Bending Rivers” “Lost Reflections” “The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers” my Leonard Cohen Anthologies “Before I Turn Into Gold” and “Avalanches in Poetry” and the whole Fevers of the Mind Anthologies. Currently 5 volumes.

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor)

Poetry: Monet’s Trees by David L O’Nan

photo by Adora Goodenough (altered)

MONET’S TREES

We speak as if death,
as a reflection of shade
As we navigate in the circles of sunlight
As miracles of breath
Miracles of Mother Nature
The trees of a Monet painting
Have become real
We become bearers of our sins
To discuss, to confess
Confessions to the caverns of bark
Eaten away at,
We lay in the comfort of cold ground and confess
To the lace ripped from the corner of an orange moon
The days of strange
By the riverfronts
Watching little devils form in the ripples of water
We met each other
As soldiers of war
Soldiers of mental scarring
We met each other
From dust to blood
Battle-wound confessions
Blood of the dawn
Paints the tears to my skin
One with my pores

Can you feel the burning?
All the reflexes in a burning

Tremor
Confessions
When we whisper lies to celebrate infamous moments
Celebration of ego
In radical boredom
The moments we walked on the bridges of bone
To climb the highest mountain to touch the hands of God
Superiority complex, confess
That you are lost in a possession of spirit
The caverns of bark, to climb through
And let the animals, tunnel through
Nibbling at the periderm
Confess more
Were you satisfied with the awakening of madness?
As it spread, fires across lakes of thought
Confess to the artist that sketches into your brain
Confess to the colors that swirl in your mind
Greens, browns, grays
What shall the Rhytidome be?
When confessing to the caverns of bark
In a blending of Monet’s Trees

“Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now!

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor)

2 poems from Dee Allen

EXPRESSION

Naysayers 
Need to be 
Ignored. Tuned out.

Self-appointed judges 
Hidden behind social media profiles
Are cyberwaste for a reason.

We live in a country
That prides itself
On freedom and

Freedom is
Letting the woman
You are inside
Take a walk outside—among us.

Honestly,
There's nothing wrong 
With having your beauty lean
Toward a dark, otherworldly aesthetic:

Teased black crown of hair,
Facial foundation
Like snowy Northern winter,
Long black lashes above brown eyes

Flutter like moth's wings
When blinking, 
Vampiric fangs
Show in your blackened plump lip smile,

Black leather collar with leash ring
On neck, rosaries & crucifix, companion pieces,
Shiny black claws tip your fingers,
Lacy black dress,

Flowing sleeves,
Black leather conch belt with chains,
Torn fishnets,
Demonia® platform boots—

Your keys 
To contentment 
Are worn.

“Dressing up normal”
Would seem like donning
A Halloween costume.

The most liberated 
People live out
Their best lives.

Visiting cemeteries in the day,
Prowling shopping malls with friends,
Attending live concerts or doing photoshoots,

You're demonstrating liberty
The U.S. Constitution only mentions and
The slavish Normal would envy and

Freedom is
Letting the woman
You are inside
Take a walk outside—for keeps.

W: 3.11.22
[ For Mamie Hades, YouTube®/TikTok®/Instagram® sensation. ]

SUBCULTURE

I'd spent my entire
Young adult life
In active search of
Myself.

Racism
Made me leave the Heavy Metal scene.
Backstabbing
Made me leave the Punk Scene.
High school clique-level immaturity
Made me leave the Circle-A scene.
Lack of a lover and peers of similar tastes
Made me shed
Black Gothic threads
In favour of colours.

In my pursuit through the crowds,
I found myself in pieces, went

From Metalhead
To Punk
To Goth
And Anarchist combo.

Those years, those stages were fun,
But they ended
With dissatisfaction
Or the taste of spew.

The Mainstream don't want me
And the Underground doesn't either.

I don't see a contingent of folks with
Open arms, happily chanting
One of us, one of us, one of us
To me

Any time soon.

Through the looks, crowds, years, stages,
I found myself in pieces, went

From Metalhead
To Punk
To Goth
And Anarchist combo.

Now, I'm nothing
But a subculture of one.

W: 5.3.22
[ For Barbara Mercer, Darren J. Beaney and Nick Paleologos. ]




Bio: Pronouns: He/him/his

Dee Allen.
________

African-Italian performance poet based in Oakland, California. Active on creative writing & Spoken Word since the early 1990s. Author of 7 books--Boneyard, Unwritten Law, Stormwater, Skeletal Black [ all from POOR Press ], Elohi Unitsi [ Conviction 2 Change Publishing ] and his 2 newest, Rusty Gallows: Passages Against Hate [ Vagabond Books ] and Plans [ Nomadic Press ]--and 53 anthology appearances under his figurative belt so far.






Poetry from “The Light We Cannot See” by Anne Casey : Portrait of a funeral arrangement (for Denise)

Portrait of a funeral arrangement

for Denise
Dark stars pierce the luminous heart
a shrouded mouth fallen open, 
a delicate central cross.

         Daubs of captured sunlight
         loll among the upright
         congregated throng.

Burdened others cast out
and down; a huddled cluster
bows off to one side.

       Each with green wings
       flung upwards-as if
       in silent supplication.

Swanlike, cheek to cheek,
a pair intertwine at the neck -
tied for the span of their brief life.
     
       Your spray of luminous hearted kindness
        to pierce the dark star
        of our grief.


Poem from the book "the light we cannot see" by Anne Casey 
from Salmon Poetry 40 


A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Anne Casey

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Nathanael O’Reilly 

Before the Bridges Fell #12: Radio Ghosts by David L O’Nan – Poetry

Lennon Stravato from Avalanches in Poetry Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen

56242696_2141096139261090_899596873130573824_o

I remember the moment as if it happened today. I remember it as if it was the moment which precedes every moment. At 10 years old I rode my bicycle to the South Huntington Library, in Long Island, New York. This library of the neighboring town had a superior selection, compared to our local Harborfields Public library. I walked in, found the poetry section, pulled a book off the shelf, and opened up to a random page. The book was “Selected Poems 1955-1968” and the author was Leonard Cohen, a “singer” whose music I had heard countless times, along with that of Bob Dylan, as a passenger in my father’s car. It was on page 233 that my life changed. It was a simple poem, entitled “A Person Who Eats Meat.” I read: “A person who eats meat wants to get his teeth into something. A person who does not eat meat, wants to get his teeth into something else.” The deep 10 year old that I thought I was, paused for a moment, reflected, found it fascinating. I returned to the final lines: “If these thoughts interest you, even for a moment, you are lost.” The cosmos had gently slapped me in the face, and it used Leonard Cohen’s hand. The message was very simple: dig deeper, little boy. When the cosmos speaks that clearly to you, only a fool would ignore it. I, who aspire not to be a fool, had no choice but to comply. I have not stopped digging.

In the nearly three decades since that time I not only hung on Leonard’s every word, but I also delved deep into world religions, theology, existentialism, and my own, at times rather tumultuous, life. His early work, which often contained suggestive and darker allusions, reflected his era, and was well suited to my teens and early 20s. His later work, which I have enjoyed as something of an adult, spoke to the ages. Leonard masterfully used the voice of God, and man in ecstasy and terror, in the face of the divine. He balanced delicately and piercingly the interplay between the sacred and the mundane, the holy and the demonic, the essential and the existential, meaning and meaninglessness. His lyrics: “a million candles burning for the love that never came,” “behold the gates of mercy, in arbitrary space, and none of us deserving, the cruelty or the grace,” “He wants to write a love song, an anthem of forgiving, a manual for living with defeat” are eternal and timeless descriptions of the human condition. They have also become the core themes of my own interior landscape. It is no wonder that as Leonard described poetry as “the constitution of the inner country” that his work has had such an enduring impact on me personally, and my writing, which attempts to communicate in what I called, in a poem published in the Bards Annual 2019 Anthology, “the inner dialect.”

For many years, writing has been a passion of mine. In early 2019 I penned a screenplay which has just completed production. I also previously published dense political articles for The Hill newspaper in Washington, D.C., though I no longer standby those opinions. It wasn’t until 2018, however, two years after Leonard’s passing, that I began to find my own poetic voice. Sitting on my patio, I lamented that I might not hear a new Leonard Cohen song ever again, I wrote the following, as one of my first poems, entitled “The Master”

Because his death was something, my heart could not withstand,
I asked the master for a final poem, and offered up my hand
I said “for many years, I’ve been a student of the word,

And if you speak to me, I’ll help your voice be heard”

Then the master softly spoke “did you think those words were mine to tell?

You must know that I procured them, from deep within that great communal well.

And there, young man, you may go fishing, but if anything retrieved,

I’m afraid you’ve got that burden, from which I’ve been relieved.”
And then the master did retreat, back into that great abyss

From which all beings spring, and into which we are dismissed.

Yet in departing, he did leave a final remnant, a tiny piece of dust

As if to say, that’s all a man can give, the beauty’s not from us

So, I sat there for a moment, and then found some fresh new pages,

Knowing that is all a pilgrim has, when he goes to meet the ages

And dutifully I will wait here, with that paper and my pen

And my little promise, that when the spirit speaks, I’ll transcribe all I can

___________

Midway through 2019, in response to a text message in which a friend mistakenly thought Bob Dylan had passed away, I went into a deep reflection about the loss of Cohen and the inevitable loss of Dylan. Early that day I dwelled for a period of time on Cohen’s suggestion that there are both a divine and a human will in each of us, and between the two exists the religious enterprise. I penned the following:

If the prophets all go home,

with no heir to hold their torch

may the oceans be reduced to foam

and we build museums with remorse

For if the will that burns in each of us

is not the one we choose to serve

to life itself we have become treasonous

And we get the hollowness we deserve

I heard Dylan and Cohen speak and sing

the voice of god was in their tunes

but the bells of freedom that did ring

belong to each and every moon

And while the spirit still blows where it will

and we cannot command it as our own

it may yet select our hearts to fill

and in our art make temporary home

And that is why I sit here with my pen and pad

Knee-deep in that finest meditation

indifferent to claims that I’ve gone mad

or that poetry is an unsuitable vocation

I never bought that brand of sanity

where culture was confused with marketplace

products are preferred above humanity

and unlived dreams are commonplace

But if that will which burns in each of us

becomes the only one we serve

self-doubt shall not bind the holy impetus

and that torch’s flame will be preserved

_______________________________

Finally, in response to my own lines above, I decided it was time to dedicate myself to poetry. In a poem that is in part the inverse of Cohen’s famous hymn “Hallelujah,” where unlike David, I do not please the Lord, and with allusions to “If It Be Your Will” and “Joan of Arc,” I wrote, what at the time of this writing, is my most recent poem.

I once reached into the ether

for sublime words that I could share

But each one did fall beneath her

to whom my best would not compare

She said: you are drenched in varnish

but all my people have no glare

Hear me, for I birthed the prophets

and you, young man, are not their heir

Well, I trembled at this trumpet

it shook me to my soul

but I was not made to crumble

and instead I raised my goal

So, I gathered all my kindling

then I trekked up old Mount Sinai

and said, if you be so willing

have this fire as our alibi

She said earth is temporary

just as those who seek its favor

they that seemed extraordinary

were forsaken like that savior

I said I know the truthsayers

and though unfit to walk their path

Indeed, I’ve come for this affair

as all, but you, to me is wrath

She said then join me in this fire

but know that varnish won’t survive

there is no room for false attire

if you wish in Truth to be alive

I pledged myself to love, not pride

to live and die in just your name

So here, right now, I’ll climb inside

I won’t resist this perfect flame.

Poetry: Currents by Beth Mulcahy

Currents

It’s the vastness of it that calms me
from the shore
my toes exfoliating in sand
watching the waves come in
absorbing their lap of the shore
the sea goes on forever with no end
the way I wish this life would

When the waves get larger and louder
I imagine myself 
riding a current
the vastness of it 
provoking anxiety 
needing land
needing out
can’t breathe
nauseating endlessness of it
rocking panic 
until

Back on land
breathing with the swells
my toes exfoliating in sand
glancing for shards of shells
it’s the vastness I’m in awe of
relishing in the ceaseless of it
the ebb and flow 


Bio: Beth Mulcahy (she/her) is a Pushcart Prize-nominated poet and writer whose work has appeared in various journals, including Full House Literary and Roi Faineant Press. Her writing bridges the gaps between generations and self, hurt and healing. Beth lives in Ohio with her husband and two children and works for a company that provides technology to people without natural speech. Her latest publications can be found here: https://linktr.ee/mulcahea.

%d bloggers like this: