Fevers of the Mind Poetry Blog

 

 So here is the deal with the future of Fevers of the Mind blog. We will be semi-retiring mostly from new submissions. I will post poetry from the Anthologies and my work as well mostly. I want to focus on writing for fun again.

I have major general anxiety, adhd, depression, and RSD and I love helping out other poets, but I want to find joy in writing again and less focus on trying the editor game. I want to focus on being the best father, husband, writer when it feels right. Thanks   – David L O’Nan

*On our blog we will put up content from our Anthologies and books. This content will come and go periodically when space is needed*  

Follow me on Twitter @DavidLONan1 and Fevers of the Mind  @feversof  and on Facebook: DavidLONan1

For More go to Amazon and look for the Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020 Deluxe Edition paperback & kindle  Split editions Volumes 1 & 2 from the Deluxe edition available on paperback (look for post on Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020 to know who are contributors in each book), Fevers of the Mind Poetry Digest Volumes 1-3 available on paperback and kindle. Also there is a Poetry Only combination book of Volumes 1 & 2:  Avalanches in Poetry: Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen available on Paperback & Kindle.   My poetry books (David L O’Nan) New Disease Streets (November 2020) The Cartoon Diaries (2019) Taking Pictures in the Dark (February 2021) also available on Amazon.  For my Amazon Author Page (may not have all listed at first)  I have had work published in Icefloe Press, Royal Rose Magazine, Truly U, Dark Marrow an offshoot of Rhythm & Bones Lit, Ghost City,  3 Moon Publishing, Elephants Never, Nymphs Publishing, Heroin-Chic & more. I have edited 5 Anthology editions & have poetry, prose, short stories, photography in Fevers of the Mind Poetry (&Art) Digest/Avalanches in Poetry Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen.  A Best of the Net Nominee for 2021.

The Hills Have Blindsides by David L O’Nan (poetry)

The Hills Have Blindsides

A flock of hideous birds float through the wind. I feel these crows in shriveled fur,
Their flight, an old man’s crippled slur.
They congregate together
Cross-eyed and angry
To yell from the diaphragm,
Your rebellion is based on ignorance!

These were feathers from the same war. All brewed up and steamed together, Before peace became a relevant idea.
In caskets, they lay
All purpled – in art
Waiting for someone to dance and sing –
With the bells ringing from the heart

After all the diseases sink in their talons Then gnashing and biting begins.
When the prettiest star waves you in
To meet God or the jealousies of all sins, They roll up those hills to see clarity.
The problem in all the darkness
Is not within your peripheral understanding. The hills have blindsides,
When you’re looking for Jesus
When you’re looking for Jesus

Photo by Evan Wise (unsplash)

Also published by Icefloe Press

Let it be Cindy’s Pain, Not Yours by David L O’Nan

Let it Be Cindy’s Pain, Not Yours

Cindy shall walk in when you are shaking and queasy,
After your fall of Rome
In a blue skirt, she changes out by the torn curtains. Without care from the peeping Toms
She’s got the eyes of a starving tiger.
And finding yourself in that blood orange revenge As you kiss away the letters to stray hands. She never wears red, but today Her dress is for a wet crimson death.

She will leave you in prayer in the frosty room.
In many hours reading the sadness of Hermann Hesse
She will weave in the stream of lies
The waters that drown the appendages of a once muscular tree.

So Cindy wears the chains.
The Silver pistol earrings
The eclipsing sun can’t hide Rodeo Drive
Where she struts around like a dimestore Bettie Page
She often dreams of her last breath
And she just stares at you like a trapped tiger.
Under some madman’s guidance and brainwashing. You are the one with the inheritance.
The diamonds and bangles, God willing.

The dialysis, the time is coming soon Where is the nurse, to the mystery of men? That runs the house like a tattoo parlor
Is tonight your last night as the hunted?
Let it be Cindy’s Pain, Not yours, not the flowers.

It’ll be hers in this curse
I’ve willed her in these Post-traumatic rebound pastures.

Photo by Emma Trevisan

Suicide 2020: In a Shoebox poetry by David L O’Nan

The cold floats over my dying energy
Shedding the ghosts from my skin
My breath has left a sticky gloss –
Over the plastic thin shoebox windowpane.
My last breath in the stained carpets of poverty.

The wind tunnels through the apartments
Like a storm, like a voice
That rips through my eardrum
They whisper the suicides to me
Like the embracing kiss of all seven archangels
To greet God in the corner
Behind the burning candles
That attempt to save me

My hands are clammy
And the shadows are already in unison to dance
Dance my freedom away
From this plane
From the rags of this old shoebox The conquering of another peasant.

also published on Icefloe Press

photo by Cody Chan

Suicide 2020: A Basket of Fruit by David L O’Nan

Let us all, stand by our baskets of fruit
That the rain and sunlight bathed out for us to dine.
I want to leave aside the sidewalks that burn
I want to wash away the pain that lives in my wrinkles.

I want the depressants to live behind the veils
And watch the birds fly from North to South and back again.
I want the suicide to climb back over the fence
While I think about the comfort of skin
While I blanket my mind with the thoughts of sweet breath.

Leave a war-cry
Echo back in the canyons
That I shall never want to see again
Leave the glass bottles on the edge,
To never feel the wind tip them over the ridges.

I want to remain by this fruit basket
To close my eyes
And reunite me with the loves that hold me
In tenderness, they have passed
I feel them again, my tears must obey
I must obey to put those bottles away.

And live for the saccharine.

from “New Disease Streets” and also was published online on Icefloe Press

photo by Karolina Kolodziejczak


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