4 poems from David L O’Nan in the Cartoon Diaries : Summer Fatigue (I’m Tired of July’s Fireworks), I’m Still This Memory, Emotionless Void, & Malvina (for Malvina Reynolds)

Summer Fatigue: I’m Tired of July’s Fireworks

Every land has a burn
The sad, scarification of the scorned
The motorheart
A spiritual loss
Sex shielded by the master’s cost
Here’s the pretentious in biblical eyes
Lit my flame with damnation disguise
Envision the sheath on my heart
Haptic touch of needles start
The hammer hits, the hammer glides
Blue, mellow rapacious minds
Secrets are pure
But also, blind
Gods, Angels, the saviour,
holy ghost intertwined
Sudden loss of beauty, the trepidation
My spine tickles in mortification
Is this my motherland, my mossy adobe?

Saluting patriots and freedom,
burning the world through me
The advantage went from solace to blood money
Collision of an Earth’s palpitation

I’m Still This Memory

I’m incapable of sin
Sitting breathless
In an abandoned auditorium
I feel the beauty of mind, erased
Dreaming in the rust of a tin can
I have everything,
I’ve ever needed
The love of the occluding touch
Of rose,
With sparking fingers
In smoke,
My home
Forget me as I rest in these chairs
I am that ghost,
Watching rain droplets
Drown in the night,

Fireflies murdered in this dry wind
In this abandonment
In this reality –
That only a medium in a ceremony can feel

Emotionless Void

It was a morning in knots
Listening to the kitchen sink drip,
They drip over the glasses of last night’s mistakes
I continue crashing everytime
When I become an emotionless void

And the coffee hits my stomach
Like volcanic ash
All the drugs can’t cool me down,
Or make me identifiable
So just separate me from my monsters
That turns this home to hell

In my mirrors I search for my lost loves
And try to pinch my lips to mumbles
I just feel all the old hate breathe down – my neck

Now you know when you look at that last
Suds of beer in the bottle
That you don’t belong in this town
You feel severed from all humanity

Segregated from the rest of these tickets,
To this outlaw train
Like a frightened chill

You see all the bullet faces,
In every passing window
As the train feels flat

While going up hills,
But never climbing mountains
You’re alcohol sick
And biting off the top of your coat buttons

And you just want to live on that floor
And watch that rat slide around in a rectangle shifting.
All that neglect,
Finally has eaten away your brain

And all those torn blankets from –
Childhood ran off,
With your mom’s rebel flag hat wearing boyfriend,
And his damn rottweilers that smelled of shit and blood.
And ate all the deviled ham
While you lived on stale mini marshmallows

Now, emotionless is what they think of you
But maybe you were just beaten inside –
Continuously by those words of stone
You will be rebirthed by the river
And live with a semi-kind woman

Who will at least wipe away your tears.


Malvina (for Malvina Reynolds)

All of the gypsies danced in the graveyards,
and sung protest songs to the daisies.
The petals chanting Malvina
“Revolt in Folk, Malvina”
Your White hair has lived many seasons,
a woman of many wars, seen many deaths
Like the Winter warning the evils of March.
To a street you sing to the homeless, to the sad
You run out the ruin of brainwash propaganda
send the pimps crying over their lost moneys
you sing sweetly to a hobo’s heart.
to all the broken spirits drowning in the strangers of night.
in infected light.
May the blessed be in this pine box of feathers.
In these cyanide apples we reach for you, Malvina.
Tell us which trenches we can hide, to crawl away from the soot.
In the dynasty of coalmines.
Our clothes of rosy mud with breath of the crawdaddies,
whispering in army camouflage.
They love their kisses of the bullet winds,
that blow through this Vietnam.
We are all digging in the dirt,
and can’t wash the death from our fingernails.
Clouds that grow inside of them,
and sing one of your famous canary hymns.
mmmm…mmmm….mmmm…Malvina
Watch the snow pepper down,
and burn at our tear ducts
Our clarity whips and watch –
these devils preside in the caves
And they talk like a symphonic Nazi
Dragging freedom on the skin of his calloused feet.
In the cocaine webs pricking at the veins in his eyes.
they will hemorrhage at the stroke of your violin.
Let’s wash out this internal sepsis.
These war crime Valentine’s days.
Watching hippies falling to the sun.
Our heroes are the songs in your voice.
Washed out our glory…
They washed out our glory.
Can we grow as humans while crackling in the campfires?
The hum
the hums of your wonder
the hums of the caged birds
Many years sitting in depression’s wings
You finally learned to fly,
as you taught the progressions of Eve.
We discovered each raindrop could be your own.
Malvina, we failed your years
You were misplaced in a world that needed your transitions.

feature photo by Leon Contreras

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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