Poems by David L O’Nan : A Prince Was Born on Chartreuse Street & short poems

A Prince Was Born on Chartreuse Street

I was pretty and I was weak
I was the brawn and your father's strength
I was four walls, water and bread
My body a quivering bull on Chartreuse Street.

And they are like flames on the Mississippi
The beauty of petrified smoke
To us all we become the incisions and stitches
To rivers we can never compare.

You're cradled in a womb, but restless
Felt lonely from the quiet calmness of a Flora escape
A prince in the blessing stage
A phase when the chains still hang loose.

They lay the sick all around you
As your pan of gold grows in power
And your mind dances with needlepoint
Until luxury and meadow sobbings create your crown.

So does the poor cajuns admire -
The beauty or the clutch of your hand?
Will you be a razor, or live in neutral sands?
Power mad oceans usually fall
And their destruction comes faster
And what is left, is the sin.

All that is dear in these binding stars
That wants you to make a dying man's wish just
boredom in the mornings.
They will begin to sweep the streets
from your last parade.

Or was it a charade?
Never knowing you were playing the game.

You always will be hers
From the clouds down
You will rest in tears, baby boy.

King of the tapering hurricane
The vortex carried your throne
To the pines, off Chartreuse
And into the mud of voodoo.

A prince whispering to the epidemic,
To the hungered,
And the drowning,
To the peeling paint of his castle
At a mission,
With diadems flushing through 
the drains of your street.

The Tiger's Tongue

In the night
heat exchanged over an expressway
Love is leaky, sweaty
Twigs break apart
blow across our arms, past the veins
The dark eyes peeking through evening shuttles.
Cold, winter bones chilled to stone
We live without our poison.
No hazy drum to beat upon
dangling in the night,
hanging like a bat
As blind as the wind.
Hesitation from the peek-a-boo headcases
Leaves the wounded lifeless,
the lively ones, weightless
They won't infringe over our last rites
Or kiss our climate dried cheeks
We will be venomous,
as sweat
Meandering as serpents,
crawl into the truth
Spit out as wet lies
Taste our flesh
As we dry into the dirt
the passion meets blood
on the tip of the tiger's tongue.

Our Former Life

Between you and I
Let's manifest this fire
Inside, it's been burning for years
I can't clearly comprehend your rebuttal
I feel trapped by your beauty
The outer door
inevitably the inner door.
Like it was in another life -
that we shared together.
If it is the same
I will feel only love
That can be certain
My angels have told me that
You are finding yourself
Which ones should I believe?
I will continue pondering this
As I fall asleep
and dream of you once more.

The Impossible

Love is the impossible
You just allow me to be slime
Step over me
Never looking back
Maybe you'll see the reflection
but ignore it
The possibility is never engaged.

Winter hands you have
Shaking, cold, always a muted void
Love is the impossible
Warmth is not programmed in your heart
I'm dreaming as a kid watching clouds mate,
They are so loving
Such a gripping hug together
Articulating the sunlight
Love is the impossible?

Old Moments

With thought to thought
Kindling closer to the shadow weaver
We meshed in shadows for a moment
We touched hands and glow for a moment
Yes, a dark glow
But a glow anyhow
That is all it was
And that is all it needs to be.
So, now i'm skin and you're the salt
So, now i'm burning
and you're oil.
In broken words 
from another day
We were one
For the moment.


She grew up i n a town of 1,500
With skinned knees
& horny creeps looking up from repairing cars.
Mavericks with dagger stares
Stabbing waltzes in Main Street dance halls.
She said she had an epiphany when she
became an emotional rollercoaster.
Nervous breakdowns with no refunds,
forgery companions.
As the Kentucky Derby day burns
under the grifting rhythm of the sun.
103 degree blisters on the lips.
She says the clouds have died, incinerated -
Like ash scattering the town like feathers from a pillow.
Ashes covering lottery ticket dreams 
Beer breath hitting the city like a sauna
In a town living in ditches
In a truck driver's graveyard.

The Dishwasher Man's Dirty Secrets

The dishwasher man in the kitchen 
From a famous restaurant outside Cincinnati
Is exhausted, sweaty, foamy, drunk
In his filth, in his hands he cries
"Does anyone have the time of day -
To show me the way
To burn out these lights
That's causing all my sins
That sin is burning in my  blood
Each night I defend -
In prayer by myself
When I'm pulling at the cape
When I'm drinking myself out of shape
When I'm telling my woman she is no good
When I'm sleeping alone, feeling misunderstood
Because I'm living a life that is so out of place
With the rest of the world trying to paint me a new face
I want to repent and feel sorrow
I want to steal, not borrow
All of your time, all of your attention
Perhaps I will fall in line
Perhaps maybe another glass of wine
Another glass of wine" 

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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