Some poems from Elisabeth Horan in Fevers of the Mind Issue 1 (2019)

Egg, Eggs, Robin, Robin'S Eggs
Robin's Egg Blue

Soft bird loves night light
gowns her body and walks the last cerulean mile
flies in her mind ---a
misery broken wing trails

Along like ramparts fizzling Hitler's last
stand. What a bunker. What a braun. What a

Petty woman's war. Or stronghold---Had
she had a birdie
To release---did
she wish for a pop-out screen or a
Female Parliament to impeach; did
she know what I know
that

Her daddy was her
lover; did she know of the fetus which doth
smother a new mother?

Daughter turns - burns.
Small broken bird falls to asphalt
out jail window

So softly as the morning eats children---

Troubled Water

like a bridge below me
out into    the world

strident arch for once
your back  - not mine
deep into the soul/self

and the river rages under skin
hide in the vivid moon

- veins like sticks - caught -
snagged    on milk river

and they wonder why fish give in
to a hook and lure

lines
sinkers

my lip swollen - sags -
so many punctures
so many timeless reeled in and in
in

streams of black
             and crimson strokes

i am not dead
but i am not swimming

ECT or You Loving ME  - Vol 2

Shock treatment is for me
bridge programs

so, so, easy --- the walk
down the hall

the IV; the vomiting;
the need of a driver at 2 pm

and some deeply tinted
Jackie O glasses

the other option ---
your

trenchcoat, I could get into
it's muster; I could swear myself

over to you -
Chief, and you could throw
the sink

out of the window -
rip its pipes up from the linoleum ---

and i could not chew the gum
and i could

not let them cut me open ---near or on the location of my deformity:
at the temple

& icould

not let them win
&icould
not let them win
like...like they
did before
when i was young. When I was
Nicholson.

What's Eating Gilbert Grape's Mom

Heartbroken; shattered plates
aren't coming together; swelling
makes muscle plump on bone
pooling hematoma prickly blue
bruising like a comical formula

For damaged tissue, neurologic
palsy, and bloody mess elevators
arrange the bandage as a diaper
to hold the fester a little longer

In this dillapate house caving down
upon my head, my body, throbbing
with death - no chair helps me tagalong
green lawn, green lawn, before the oak
commences burning, plays dead

Smells smoke, and crackle fawn
succumbs to the obese splinter -
white wash monster consumated
her pyre comes together - over; over

Ropes Have No Idea Their Impact 

I went away,
Cycled and spiraled and all that shit -
&
i went to the place
where you know about the
dirt floor
&
I saw you bent over
scratching at your eyes
once before -
&
I laid there
a virgin to the Ward's fuckin' power

& there was boy dangling in the corner
& there was you and me -

holding out one E.T. finger
touching each other
as if it would shock
the little white pills
right out of our mouths
&
I wanted to kiss you
Some might think that is
weird deranged
inappropriate -
&
who cares - no one is watching
me smoke all these cigarettes
dreaming of the time you let me
give you a foot rub with my cocoa
butter lotion.  I was a dying lamb ---
&
So, yeah, I went away again
I'm trying to get back to you
I know you're still in the membranes
waiting and watching in the brain cogs
&
the meds don't regurgitate
the brownie doesn't react to
the laxative - the demons
giggle - so excruciating in my
spine - they want to suck
me - marrow & saliva
&
the boy still dangling in the corner
I cut him down ---over and over
I swaddle and kiss --- over and over
give him a foot rub with cocoa butter
&
I make him mine---each day. Because
I never seem to get better. 

Bio: Elisabeth Horan is a poet, mother, and small press publisher living in the wilds of Vermont. She is the author of numerous poetry chapbooks and collections, and the Editor-In-Chief of Animal Heart Press. Elisabeth is passionate about discovering new voices and mentoring emerging poets. She is also a fierce advocate for those impacted by mental illness. (from her website ehoranpoet.net)


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

1 comment

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s