Before the Bridges Fell #21: Flowers for Jordanna by David L O’Nan – poetry

photo by HilLesha O’Nan

the following was first published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal

Flowers for Jordanna

Another evolving, cold ignorant day.
Off balance stumbling into the sadness of May.
They brought flowers from the graves and the gardens
Flowers for Jordanna! Flowers for Jordanna! They’d shout.

She rests silent after another bulimic purging from the ground
Heaven is a wild orchid that is quite wicked when you watch
The blooming to the dying, to the wild flying over tops of rocks.
City girl in a prairie town. Bohemians to framers to howling cocks.
This is just a windy day for an ordinary cloud. In a diseased crowd. In a viper’s town.

20 Gerbera Flowers after a bottle of whiskey, a depression in a Summer dress.
“I Wonder who brought these? Oh, it was the mighty, the mighty, the mighty broken light.”
“I see God in the Ballerina bulbs. I see Satan in the Evening’s throat.”
“I see all the angels become counterfeit, and washed away in the virgin’s blood”
“I wish for completion, instead of this glassy cold front. I will pose for the mirror and weep.”

In unwanted frosty grass, I begin to smell a thousand sweet breaths.
The loveliness of the Hyacinths, the waves over the coral and family I used to know.
In a sunbeam I’m ready, I’m alert and feeling the power back from a tilted sky.
By moonbeams I’m stuck in the witchcraft, the strawman, the broken winding blade-like stars.
I am on the hook, a slave to a crook, I’m the pawn to the Queen in her Amethyst Crystal crown.

Gimme snapdragons, they give me snapdragons,
They designate me to a different wolf.
Humming like crazy, a genius? Maybe, or just another tool to new faith.
I’m possessed by the rainbows, those double dead rainbows that cross over the bridge in the storm.
At the end it is just silver-tipped, the river is forever a recluse, and I’m drowning in its filth.

I’ve got the cure to her madness…pink carnations for sadness.
Circle her and adore in her pain. Spiral around her fantasies too.
Let’s inhabit her whole, live in the wildness of her womb.
Unfurled out as a dream and become a silhouette for her to worship.
In the arcs of her darkness, our morning birds will sing her an unforgettable chorus.


Finally in Autumn I’m calm, I’m hypnotic in the meditative leaves.
Your red azalea’s petals fall to the marble and brown.
I wish to create a new invisibility. I wish to nibble away negativity.
And now let my brain guide me away from improper courtesies.

I’ve always loved the smell of winter flowers. 
The perennials are mine and never was yours.
Take your narcissism and sketch yourself a new lizard walk.
I can find my own flowers. I will count to seven and release you from my blood.


Before the Bridges Fell #20: Villa by David L O’Nan – poetry

Before the Bridges Fell #19 : Circles in the Puddles for Jehovah by David L O’Nan – Poetry

Before the Bridges Fell #18: Rumors of Candles by David L O’Nan – poetry

Before the Bridges Fell #17 : By Our Well by David L O’Nan – poetry

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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