Poetry from David L O’Nan in Fevers of the Mind Issue 3 The Darkness & the Light (Nov 2019)

The Mystery of Mount Sterling

They washed the blood 
From the rocks to the seas
A wall of towers
Crash to the ashes of banging drums 
Still heard in rumbling hungers
Of Mount Sterling
In the orphanages, in the cries of lost land,
We can now march as the spark off the re-energized phantoms.


Say goodbye in hallucinations
Where we saw Heaven in a viewmaster
In the distances, in the hint of the kingdom
But, when do we begin running towards the golden flash?


Captured me, erased me
Severed the ties of cultures and families 
Washed me in the clots
And left me there a mystery
Waiting for the crows to connect the dots.
Your Stare
I climbed out of your watch, your stare 
And stopped time
To erase hours that leave me bare
To age defacing me
To the crippling of the bones
I will be resurrected as the spotted falling leaves.

Sleight of Hand

My blood is an old soul
That should be pumping through a robotic poet from classic times
If I’m breathing, you will hear me
When I’m not, you may hear me more
How else can you see these supposed fast-moving clouds dream –
As slow motion tantras through a heartless sky? 
This current world is too loud for me,
Yet it isn’t nearly loud enough
The art is secluded
The arteries are clogged,
Filled with supernovas and suffering 
And they call this a sleight of hand.

Come Possess Me in the Rain

The conduits all say that I invented myth 
and magic all in one breath.
There is a mist in the cold air
On a Greenwich Village Halloween night 
I can not feel the electricity
Only the forceful druids, and the chanting wish of death


They hold me up and say 
"Come Possess me in the rain" 
Licks the cold steel to my skull 
Possess me, with me
Real and muted by the shame 
In an execution style parade
What is the impression of a concrete stain?


They are practicing Shakespeare
They are faux Warholas and bohemians in sunglasses 
Without a notion of care
And I’m in this shadow that you feel at the river
Cold to the touch, blood like paste
The arrows kill the stars in the nuclear waste 
In the air, decaying the ground

Now I’m expected to love all
As I’m pierced to these skyscrapers
Bound and bullied
My hands shaking off frost
It takes every breath in my lungs to 
Release all my cowardice and all the vapors

Like this militant view of my skewering 
They drop me off like unused flesh 
Love was only the invention
Off the roots of an untimely reptilian dream 
And hate grew in the garden
And shook the city lights to the seas
There isn’t a Picasso left


Digging up from the cracks
I crawl up through Cherry Lane 
And I watch all the faints
And my nerves constantly dance an alarm 
I am rushed in my steps
I am hushed in the slivers of my brain


In my mind that never sleeps
In my possession they fed off for years 
I can only find truth and humanity
And live like I’m the Palomino
Dodging in and out of the hustling of fear



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

Short Poems by David L O’Nan

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

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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