Poems by David L O’Nan : “Slime Pennies” “The Nuisance Ball” “The Brown Eyed Symphony” & more.

Slime Pennies (2018)

War heroes picking imperfect flowers,
for bony ladies
Bare naked treetops as lively -
as a parade in February.
Old men taking walks
Trying to count the barrels of bourbon -
that comes bouncing down the hills.
Visions becoming tricky
Life isn't always easy
Hissing, cracklings from the lakefront
Buried our treasures in memories 
In the blink of a heart attack
Deafness as loud as flashing sirens
Shadows as silent as tip toeing child -
about to ruin a new morning.
All your monsters are trading dream scenarios -
over your bedroom ceiling.
Laughs bounce from the lifting ground
Laughter pressing against your mouth
Grinding your teeth
Like the pennies hitting the concrete tunnels.
Chamber echoes
The parks fill up with hate groups
The tunnels of demons begin to crawl through the slime
The need for the energy is ripe.
And bloodthirsty from fiery grips
A young soldier passes by
Escaping the wrath of gravity.
The magnetic fields are losing the tight adhesive on the world.
Rain begins to fall
Bullets birthed out of the clouds
The ground flooding with smoke,
Anger, sludge and mud
And the aggressive need for violence.
Prisms explode from one side of the sky to the other side
A skies declaration -
to destroy the impersonating Jesus wannabes,
with brains filled with jam.
Rainbows that used to be sacred,
are now just dust in his hands.
Fishing down in a puddle is one of the old men
He appears to have caught a dollar bill
Crumpled up and soiled.
His hands now infected by stigmata
Can a new calendar day be the salvaging freedom?
We need to rectify this malnutrition that pounds our soil,
that boils in our lungs.
Asleep in the choking hands of a puppet master
Don't buy his greed.
He's a cult of one truly.
Slime pennies purple & green, 
grey & mutated.

Shame is a Hidden Knife Drawer

For many years
the sweat and my blood
Like an anger
Trying to needlepoint these seas
To a perfection
The perfect comfort,
Like fabric
All the deception that bubbles under
Keeps the stones tossing in my head
Hide me away,
Like scared oysters
In shame

Those knives do leave scars
If they don't shed me for good.

The Nuisance Ball (2004)

Come one, come all
To the nuisance ball
The men are climbing up and down the walls
Trying to find the women to return their mating calls.
They shed their skin
They shed their horns
No longer a beast or devil to be sworn against -
and frowned upon.
They are eager for their lord
A sinful youth chants
And voodoo spells have paved their roads.
Clinging on to last year's hopes.
The men lost their women because they felt more -
for the drug, for the lust
Thinking it was true love
Only pulled tighter...the ropes
Began to feel sorrow...pain
And tears that impaled skin
The challenge now has become who is the seeker -
and who is being seeked?
The deities are in laughter in grandiosity
Pointing at the desperate man, the laziness
Where are the women?
Are they lost?
Are they hidden?
They have walked away from the dread, the nonsense.
Well, there is a place and time to be unique
Now is not the time.
There are other treasures to seek
Like trust,
The last word,
The felt word,
There was a time you were that word
You cannot be trusted anymore
A soul drips as you walk out the door.
That's what has become of you
Much like these men whom have yet to leave the womb.
The women were there
To bring the touch, the love
They left them shaking as if nothing meant much
Until it was too late
Victorious in ugliness
Everything now
Quiet as the music muffles to powder
Balloons popping over the dead piano
At the nuisance ball.

Watching the Sun Set on Your Skin

I watched the sun setting on your skin
As you read Albert Camus to the oncoming stars.
And I was that obsessed pariah loner
The imperfection, cancerous
Broken handle holding the burnt leftover heat of the sun -
On my blistered neck.
But you look like the water lilies in Claude Monet's Japanese Gardens
When they've exorcised poppets like me away from the beautiful bridge.

I can watch Heaven move the clouds through your eyes
And hear a symphony of harps play with the choir of angels.
In the dream of you
The poor boy will be boneless,
skinless and wasting away in the crackling debris.
Towards the dirty city I float back
Unworthy of your champagne lips.


Lennon-Porter smothered in from the truth
He is the new stain of a lyrical muse
To the voices of sorrow
and earsplitting divinity.
In a life full of mysteries
he hid away from the wilderness.
Sat in the bottom waters in the bouquet
Until they call his name for the roll call of shame,
and offer him the complacency of desire
He wants love, he wants fire.
He wants the coils,
Shock of the wires.
To feel less like regret.
In the power of all that is false.


Life in 1993
You were young
Not knowing secrets and hoaxes
Not yet feeling dark shadows
to massage your brain with fear.
Still not understanding what God is
Hear voices tell you that paths and goals,
and people in the paths are not your goals.
Just the infancy of heart
Not yet filled with enough blood
to understand.
Decisions regurgitated
as new forms of the same mistake.
You tried to buy  love
through prayer and magic.
We were still young
Dressed in the fade of neon lights
Clashed against your pale face.

Part 2
Repeat for another 17 years
Until you can understand
Eventually you will see
the faith of the righteous living, beings.
Burn through your mistakes
Trying not to leave piles of scars
When the heart recycles itself to refuel
Never leave it empty
Returning to the infancy
True love shines most
when the blood thickens,
not thinning when the fear is resting.
In our shadows.
Call them back to their portals.
Love is neither pale, nor burned
Love cannot be bought, nor sold
You inherit the path
will not be created by impure dirt.

The Brown Eyed Symphony

Dove eyes stare into bored eyes, bare
Her eyes have traveled many miles
His eyes touch her eyes
By traveling back to those many miles
Love lifts, smog shifts to serpent shores.

Love is brave, unity of shame has broken it's lock
Rose is felt
Felt for the first time
Thorn is the brush,
the blood pour like wine
Let us share the melt
because we melt when we share
When we share a burn
The craving,
those brown eyes my haven
I feel secure
Bored eyes no more.

The Swing

I could swing as high as
A dragon's kiss to a burning sky
In a mosaic coma
I dreamt up an ending
To a world with the markings to glow
A black and white rainbow appears behind
A fireworks show
We are all lonely
Hold hands and swing.


While you were dusting off old suits
Wartime cologne stale and putrid
You laid me in a broken body
like I was your prized fossil
I was displayed like a museum through a cage.

A Great Fire

The graffiti covered the old home
Where our past ghosts still wander
In a dream I thought of a great fire
The memories are supposed to vanish
As we thought
Let it burn away
Keep the fire burning
The wars vanquished
Quiet, peace & the evil defeated?

Winter Pipes

I'm here as a broken faucet
Crackling pipe noises
Emits into the rusty surroundings
The last days of vivacity
The mirror breaks in wintery reflections.


I am nothing but fragments
Spun powder into a drink
I thought I was power
Now look at me, i'm recessive
As I've been dominated by the energy
of the blind, of heaven.

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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