Short poems by David L O’Nan

Work Breakrooms

In breakrooms
While everyone dresses their smiles for the holidays
I am feeling powerless
With poetry pounding in my head
And nowhere to turn, or write
This would have been my father's 76th birthday
Today I choke in thought
And damage my ears in music.

Little Nerves

Explosions throughout my little nerves
Blankets of skin wrap around my aching body
And my December eyes
Listen, watching the snow
As it pops on electrical wires
Holding gifts
Shake out all the air
Missing pieces

The heart needs repaired
To burn away
As ugly as money.


Through all the revelry lay fragile ghost-skinned
Poison ivy on a frostbite
A dancing fool on a train track
A zipper away from my skeleton
A dream that became reality in the same room, the same nightmare
From nightmares before
Vaporates the idea of dream
We are all riven loners.

The Overlook

A dirty minded storm approaching
And my mind is rambling
I've got police car flashes burning my retina,
And I feel my disease is spreading
Head to the angry waters of the river in some lost park,
An overlook
For the drifters
Pen in my hand
I write my sins down to be forgiven.

Stones of Heaven

Limping through slain sand
Spreading birdseed from a cup over a Carolina beach
Life is a fool's gold
When you have a collection of photos
to get you from morning to a grave
Your love still etched into the stones of Heaven
Where is her touch, now?
Feeding the seagulls and I wait.


Shiver out my concrete heart
Crumbled statues that rest as cuts inside my glove
In mad genius hideaways
Sometimes the world stops
The mirror breaks
The reflection becomes your shadow
Rearrange my jigsaw puzzle
As it unravels, frayed and dull pieces missing.

Nameless Woman

She was the nameless woman on a Greyhound bus
Going from the twin cities to the beach
Escapes from the cold cemetery
Of all the blemishes and bruises
From the tremors and sweats
The whipping of an evening knife
Escapes to Jesus
Unite her with a breeze
To heal and to love.

Prayer Pose

Questions written in the lines of our hands
Gold implanted these answers in these lines
In codes, of language we may not know
Crooked energy, blurs our visions
bend away
our faithful devotion
Now ask another question
Do your hands respond?
Form me into a prayer pose.

The Park

The park has become a spy
Of nature
We watch as the day becomes a blur
From beauty to an armageddon
A wonder as the past to future vanishes in a flash
Our eyes are the guides
The search for mazes, 
in twists & turns
Love is all we have as we fade.


What are your true feelings?
A cryptic wonderland we swim in
Tears of saltwater cuts through the oceans
And now free the sharks,
to feast on our death in our shells, we hide
And hope the fog will mask our scent.
Left to feel nothing.  Pellets.


A branding of pain hits the city sidewalks
A blind rain
A wail heard like a sting from a scorpion
Residuals heard in wind
A mutual terror shakes us all
Defamation of a storm which never materialized -
into a superiority complex
It never knew all the graves they dug.

I was Told

I was told to magnify the disease
From a scramble to a destruction
They were always telling me to
Become the evil wisp of air unseen,
And intravenously become one with the blood
Infect the roots
And feast on the freedom now
I'm a fugitive locked in a cage, silent.


Old men speaking in riddles
On floral print recliners that their wives bought in 1974
They joke about how they used to have long Partridge Family hair,
And could drink all night and sleep 'til the afternoon
Then they cry endlessly as bbq chips spill all over the floor
A heart attack by the toilet foiled Wheel of Fortune that night.

Maine Timbers

When born to the wild
You are the comfort with sunlight
And the hell of a meteor
A vigilante disguise
Bullets for eyes
Cloudy ash tears
Death of old cigarette breath
But you are the running fawn
A run into the Maine Timbers
And they are just a sniper who stepped on a nail.

Alpha Hero or Bipolar Drifter

Growing scared like a pretender, I am
Show the tough leather skin of an alpha hero
Whilst I cry in the hands of night
When only truth, we look inside
Pull away at my mask
Begin the cuffing
The weakling survived the fight,
but inside he melted to ash.

Sunday becomes cool and drips of rain
Ripped jeans sipping in the dryness,
of the room
Gaze out of the window
Only to see clouds that look like a staggering despair,
A broken manic depressive drifter
Shooting stars of spittle meanders to the sidewalks
And he trips over a pile of bricks in the slick wind
The militant march of a hangover.


Bravo, good job, Romeo
You smell like old fish and piss
Well aren't you a tiger?
With your emotional bullshit
I'm sure all the ladies had quivering mouths and hands
Ready to twist your chord.
Did you feed them all of these feelings?
I mean, feelings
Do you have feelings?
Never have had feelings?
Come on sting me, talking bee, sting me!

After a Mother's Funeral

Being baby talked to,
Is so annoying at her funeral.
I wanted nothing but the nausea and the feelings of
Stabbings in my own backside.
I felt like I needed to be a lone wolf now
I went into this day not expecting to cry,
Not to have a flush of memories.
To just close a chapter on an inconvenient life.
However, I felt the day feeling like I'm the only one there -
that knew anything of her.
I just stared for what seemed like an hour
At this beautiful woman who apparently was my mother.
I went home with dad around 9 p.m. that night
Dad suffering from food poison
Stomach cramps from poisoned funeral lunch meat.
Provided by an unknown family of strangers.

Omen Breath Freewriting

Capturing beauty with a blind eye
Stuck my hand out to the guiding light
I'm full of potential and set for life
But i'm caught in these blended bees buzzing in my mind.
Drained of life and drained to thought
I'm stuck here dry
Looking at dry clouds
They look so crispy
And i'm so thirsty
I want to just poke one like a cactus
And see if it is worthy.
I will climb that invisible rope,
and reach towards the hands of an unspoken leech
That'll suck away at my blood
And I will be loved
by the Omen breath that lingers above.

Fever 32 (about my dad and his battle with ALS)

I am aware of light above me
Unaware of the darkness that is eating away inside of me
Then I look at my family
Why are they full of tears?
Why has my body defeated me?
When my mind is still young
God saved me 34 years before
Now he needs me.

And we entered the flames tied in a knot,
mouth on mouth,
heartbeats tumbling like dominoes.

Battling the Roses

A wrinkling face
A cheek to the window
Electrical light now dimming
Everything used to be brighter
My head is a swimming ocean
Full of endless drownings.
I rest on the pane, inside screaming

No energy left
I can only watch
The surge of rain battling the roses.

Orange Sea

Over the plaid mountain
In the windy orange sea
with long Emerald Green drapes
For waves, for eyes 
millions of miles into
Space shuttle dreams
You meet a Bob Dylan impersonator
Playing harmonica in a wheelchair
Jim Beam bottles bouncing off the beach.

Miracle Parlors

We lament in miracle parlors
In coffee domiciles
Your neurosis becomes a camera to capture us all,
as your vision
Hiding miracles in your mind sleeves
Collision of thoughts
Deliberate in your laughter and ridicule
I am the naive wave,
and you now vigilant.

Maroon Clouds

The earth was shaking
Maroon clouds clogged with a sick mix of green
We all hoped for the unzipping of destruction,
the apocalyptic dream scenario.
Disappointed to find out no angels,
just the falsetto of fainting divorcees
hoping for a Hollywood sixpence.

Minnesota Winter

So, you image yourself a clydesdale,
Strong and free
Narcosis breakdown -
in the flattening of a Minnesota winter
Takes you by the skin,
and leaves you the dinner for a blizzard.
Stay away from your dreams of escapes with Dorothy Parker
And realize your strength is in the clear.

A Hobo and a Nun

From mud puddles it spawns -
a hobo and a nun
Chased by the breath of hornets
The hobo, smokes wet cigarettes
The nun, burned all her bridges.
They met in a spin of lightning
Near the sewer by the hustlers
Near a Gay pride parade in the conservative side of town.
And like magic, now they are one
And always were
Personalities evolved from a grip of vapor.

 “Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press 

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now! 

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor) 

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 Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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