Photo filtered by David L O’Nan of a coalmine.
Living in This Toxic Coalmine first published in Icefloe Press
There are fields that no one wants to breathe There is a reality in which we cannot be I wait for you to heal, as you wither like the sand I wait for your angels to come by and build a temple with your hands You’ve breathed in the blackest of beasts That smother the air within the flow of these demons Within our heart is little shards of twisted quartz The crystals that cut through like minuscule crowns The devil’s wind rips at the brim of my hat I’ve got old souls dancing and trying to read the word to me They know I’m no longer feeling human, I’m becoming a wooden boy Talking like a stranger, fumbling sickly with his oil can toy. Diseases like loves are just the flesh of charred whispers Both feel the burns to the pores. Sunlight can only wave in the hope to our deepest core We’re tired of this burning, these shovels The mouthing rambles of some fake heroes Broken nose old men become experts at living As they work on that same carburetor in that ‘95 Ford Taurus every day. The sunshine has browned the roots of the grasses. The heat has freckled me to the bones. Through a life worth living we’ve all felt the worst grief Some predators and sinners drink in to become their personalities They’ve watched as the women weathered all the pedals Under the icy stares from the devil in their men. The minds that we all see as windows Always think that they are invisible The blackest of beasts may not be a pandemic But the beasts that walk within one’s nerves, flesh & mind. The darkness of the coal-seam fires Leave the purity of what is underground to rise up to murder our hope The mines are vibrating to combustion The little stones quiver around my pulse The pulsating veins quake like that bituminous coal The canary flew in to sit on the wall just to become a wooden body. The self-igniting madness of families severed by the greed A pandemic could have been tamed The spreading of ashes just splintered our breathing, and left us leathering. Before the Bridges Fell Poem #8 by David L O’Nan “Those Hazels, They Slice” – poetry first published on IceFloe Press. Before the Bridges Fell: English to French and Italian Translation of Clearly! by David L O’Nan CLAIREMENT! and CHIARAMENTE! Poem #3 from Before the Bridges Fell by David L O’Nan : “They Had Sadness in Their Eyes (like in Littleton)” – poetry Interview with EIC David L O’Nan with Anastasia Abboud on Grains of Sand : About how I write, my weird thoughts and a few of my revised Cohen Avalanches in Poetry Poems.