Poems by David L O’Nan : Under Rocks, Another Old Spiritual Infection, Minor Fame Backwash

Under Rocks (2015)

We had to crawl away for awhile
Hiding under rocks to protect our hearts
We are both so fragile
Could easily be swept away -
by a mad wind's claw
I remember each night,
breathing, breathing for you
As the new day's sun arose
I collected more memories off the ashy ground
The light,
warmth quickly tickled the fire to my skin
Soon was the burning,
the burning made me ill
So, I hid away
Ingested my mind into a dream
I discovered your eyes in this haze
Your eyes were meeting mine
The moon was dancing naked after a rainy hour
Lightning bit the ground
the illuminating ghosts came out to play
They acted as the childish thief
Asking me if my heart was the prize
It hid securely under that rock
They all materialized into a solid push
They wanted me falling, 
falling again
Feeling blindly, on repeat,
I was falling again
We are reminded of those cold carnival lies
Frozen by fear on those rollercoaster rides
We were juggled by the clowns -
that thought they knew us
Interviewed by those
who only knew our weaknesses
No rocks to hide under
just a maze
of our misshaped freedom
Controlled by the laughing ,
the maniacal laughing.
I've sat by the crying hills
Earth moving like the blood in my body.
I was there wishing, 
hoping, praying for completion
I tried to donate my wisdom,
said that I've learned my lessons
My hands still shaking,
crying out for patience
Walked the many miles back
to see if I had anything left for reality.
Raised up the rock to see if it is still living
I pick it up
Dust off the stale energy
Believing, to let it feel,
move through its circuits for one last spark
Now thinking as one,
maybe we've entered trusting.

Another Old Spiritual Infection (2019)

You died in 1982
2 years before I was born
Your old spirit thrived 20-30 years before
Had begun to morph the wisdom into me
Maybe,
as I watched Sesame Street,
or I played with action figures
I began to talk in metaphors, in my head
Must have been materialized
by some euphoric ghostly voice
with more to say.

"Let me speak my words through the pen of some pale midwestern boy"
"Some otherwise societal crumbling shadow pariah , whom becomes breathless when conversations are introduced"
So, now your infection lives in me
Infections that played hooky
like an icy mountain on a day of Embers atop the peak
You try to morph me to your demise,
You wanted to fashion me as a man in the noose
Years of deprivation,
apartment life living
Alone in poetic gutters
Watching coffeehouse baristas -
become lips to soldiers
Burn me with a million words
Time after time,
a different world.
With the same background,
painting me like a common world maniac
Women, women, the pedestal women
"Bathe me in, soak me in and always put me first"
Unhealthy and inner clouds brewing
Thundering in my mind
Then you fall for a little while
Lose yourself in the disappearance of smiles
Everyone's mouth drawn on like wiggling lines
breathing out mild words,
for no ears
So here I am in my noose
Writing checks to further my abuse
Then you meet a woman
Then you have children
Then you mature into a family
Then you meet Jesus Christ
And wonder,
and wonder how you can know him more
when your rollercoaster fires  -
are bullets of war,
from shore to shore
Then you meet mania,
trying to hide your spiritual infection.
To keep comfort and stability in clear hearts beating
Visions of the noose flashes like siren lights
Imagine the cutting of the chords
Watch the noose fall to the floor
Your infection is at a loss of words
and the irony.

Minor Fame Backwash  (2004)

Saliva covering unsanitary tongues
clinching every corner, 
every crevice on my face
The whispering in my ears
Are promises, promises of lies
of tickling feathers, 
the harmony and love and joy
The consumption of lust
blood flowing through the veins quickly
Savoring the taste of tissue and bone on the way
To the hardening, the softening,
the promise of sanctity
The slivering of her hand touching mine
her long brown hair, 
the smell of raspberries and Spring flowers
Traps my mind into only one thought
"My how good does it feel, for now"
Her hair touching my skin
is the same comfort of warm water
as it sucks your every pore with its subtle heat.
Her gorgeous, slightly tanned skin,
the slight sweat
The hunger of a woman
The air around us
smells like borrowed candles,
and recycled insense.
My face now wet with lipstick,
and that saliva
Her clothing next to a floor heater
The flamboyance and erotica of a townhouse
actually can be tempting sometimes.
My wallet full of receipts of purchases,
of phone numbers of these type of women
The women who don't really give a damn,
The women who are turned on by the wallet,
That quiver at the taste of champagne
That want the security of muscle.
These women are sequestered in the unknown
Of what is reality and what is fame
They have swallowed emotional highs
They have spit away reasonable daft thinking.
Wanting to live a garnished existence -
of pleasing themselves by -
temporarily pleasing those who have a name
So now it is morning
Light outside, light inside
The sun is a beautiful sinister yellow
The sky is a mundane blue
The clouds showing confusion,
the wind knowing of another one-night stand.
I gather my clothing
and walk towards 4th Street to begin another day.
Another day made
for a black and white dream sequence
in some out of date movie
that only survives
through the passion of lies and promises.

 Wolfpack Contributor EIC Bios:  David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan

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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