photo credit to Pete Mellekas (c)
interview by David L O’Nan
Kristin Hersh has been putting out music since she was a teenager. Evolving in her styles from completely rocking to telling you a story full of emotion and life’s experiences. To becoming a mother of four boys to overcoming battles with the evils of the world and also with mental health. From an 80’s baby like myself to currently, Kristin is still putting out classic album after classic album. Her latest solo work “Clear Pond Road” will release on September 8th. She still puts out music with the band “Throwing Muses” with David Narcizo and Bernard Georges and sometime member Tanya Donelly. Kristin also has been putting music out with her band 50 FT WAVE with Bernard Georges and Rob Ahlers. Today we are going to interview Kristin about her long, illustrious career, the upcoming album Clear Pond Road and the future.
Cover art to Clear Pond Road (releasing September 8th)
The following interview will be released in an upcoming Fevers of the Mind Print Edition called “Fevers of the Mind Poetry, Art & Music 7”: Bare Bones Writing II coming out in September. So look out for that. Many of the inspired by pieces will also be included.
Q: What excites you about this new album? What about it stands out to you personally or otherwise that sets it aside from your past solo albums? Kristin: My youngest son and I were the last people left in a family of six, kind of roaming the world on tour and also moving around a lot, when we found a street sign in a junk shop that said “Clear Pond Road.” We both felt drawn to it because our shared nervous energy felt like ripples on dirty water. We figured if we put the sign up in our kitchen, we’d eventually become calm and clear. I don’t know why we thought that; that’s not usually how things work. We just wanted an image to aspire to, I guess. Years passed, as they do, and the day we looked at each other and realized we’d settled our jangly spines enough to have earned our street sign, I felt like I was allowed to make this record, which is oddly reminiscent of my first solo record, “Hips and Makers,” 30 years old this January. Q: I feel that some of your cover songs get overlooked? And I only really notice cover songs if they are really good or feel repurposed. And I really enjoyed Panic Pure which about a decade or so ago you did a cover after Vic Chesnutt’s passing. What made you Choose Panic Pure or was it chosen for you for the cover? Kristin: Vic chose it for me, actually; it was done before he died for Victoria Williams’ Sweet Relief. We used to play it onstage together. We called it The Ham Song (“either smoked or honey cured”). Q: Obviously, many people discovered you through “Throwing Muses” sort of an alternative-rock/post-punk style band you had formed with your stepsister and super talent herself Tanya Donelly, Do you feel that Throwing Muses style was a pre-cursor to bands such as Jesus & Mary Chain, My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive, Ride with your creativity when it came to dark, surrealistic lyrics & chord progressions? Kristin: I honestly never looked up from my guitar long enough to concern myself with the music business. I’ve been lost in songs for so many years. Music and the music business are very, very different things...I never wanted to be a pop star, so I didn’t pay attention to that world. Q: I didn’t realize Throwing Muses had formed so early? When did you get your first real break into feeling like “hey, we can do this and get some good gigs?” Kristin: I was about 12 when I started the band and after playing parties on our island for a few years, we played on hardcore bills and then in rock clubs. Dave (my drummer) and Leslie (my bass player) pushed me to book the band in Providence, RI and in Boston, but if it weren’t for my bandmates, I’d still just be playing guitar in my apartment. I have a great deal of drive when it comes to my obsession with music but I have zero ambition in the business. Q: I believe the first Throwing Muses album I remember having was “The Real Ramona” was this when you felt you were on the big MTV indie radar or with “Hunkpapa”? Kristin: Yeah, I was beginning to feel that disappointment around Hunkpapa and then I was really shattered during The Real Ramona. It’s just such a sexist, ugly industry. They don’t want women playing music, they want chicks playing product, you know? I never even thought of myself as a woman. I’m a human. A human musician. It’s not a humanist industry, and I refused to participate in that damaging flirtatious way, so I traded my first solo album for my contractual freedom from Warner Brothers. I obviously turned my back on some earthly rewards by doing so, but I’ll never turn my back on real music or real women. Sometimes you have to stand up for what you believe in. Q: So, without The Throwing Muses albums and 50 FT WAVE albums, how many solo albums is this for you now? Kristin: No idea. Hahaha. Probably a lot. Q: What has been the biggest inspiration or driving force behind this upcoming release? Do you plan on touring? Kristin: The sonic vocabulary of each session develops quickly, as you try things and suck, try other things and get happy, build instruments that play sounds you can’t find because you need to hear a particular noise, etc. My last solo record was meant to create the impression of a live show with concurrent mushiness and shifting EQ’s; electric guitars sat behind the kick drum rhythmically, for feel, but the bass was intentionally swimmy. A lot of movement and noise. It was a very chaotic sound. This time, it’s a more measured acoustic approach but with sonic extremes. An octavized acoustic baritone sits on top of the beat in an almost Celtic or Spanish counterpoint to the percussive rhythm guitars (I put foam under the strings and duct tape on them). Very low lows and high highs create a wide sonic picture, rather than the strummy background acoustics we usually hear on quieter records like this. Q: As a reflection, What has been some of the most defining moments in your career so far? Kristin: Leaving the music industry so that I could play music was important to me. Becoming DIY and then listener-supported. But that stuff is just background noise to the ever present songs. I’ve been fascinated and haunted by songs since I was nine years old. Every day is devoted to them. Q: How has your creative process changed over time? Kristin: I used to hear songs as if they came from outside of me. Then EMDR pulled the songs back into my head. Q: What’s been the most challenging project you’ve undertaken, and why do you think that was the case? Kristin: Starting 50 Foot Wave, my dream band, with Throwing Muses’ bass player, as an answer to the vanity-and-greed-run recording industry. We gave music away and lived on the road to see how far we could push integrity and music. I’m so proud of that perfect, noisy band. Such a strong trio. Obviously, it’s just Throwing Muses with a different drummer, but we play noise rock. Last year’s “Black Pearl” was a surprise to us, though: super trippy and spacious. Q: Do you feel it is harder as a woman in the music industry to pick up the same following as a wonderful lyricists and musician as male musicians? Kristin: The industry doesn’t have many actual women in it, you’re right. It’s mostly actors playing dress-up and making goofy faces at cameras. It’s so ridiculous. I’m not in the industry per se, I’m a working musician. I don’t have to care about radio friendly product or flirting and fashion, etc. Music—the spontaneous human impulse to play—is found outside the music business for the most part. I’m respected in my underground music subculture, which doesn’t put people in gender categories anyway, just musical ones... Q: What prompted you to venture into a solo career? Is it too personal to get into or just a need for a change at the time? Kristin: I wanted to escape my Warner Brothers contract, so I made a solo record that they then owned and in exchange, they let me go. Which wasn’t as big a sacrifice as it sounds: I had literally never made a penny from any of my records because I was held personally accountable for Throwing Muses’ recording debt. Q: How does your solo work enabled you to express your creativity differently than in a band? Kristin: Creativity doesn’t change, but sounds do. Q: You’ve been open about your struggles with mental health at times. How has this influenced your music and lyrics? Kristin: I wasn’t open on purpose, I just answered questions honestly because I haven’t figure out how to lie. I do appear to be different from other people but I’m not sure that’s a mental health issue. I mean, who isn’t different from other people? I think I have a musician’s wiring. My lyrics reflect my experiences but the songs themselves are the ones who determine which of my stories need to be told. Q: What message would you give to fellow musicians or writers/poets who might be facing their own mental health challenges? Kristin: Anyone, regardless of their state of mind, should throw away their baggage, issues and self-expression before publishing any work, especially music. Magic work is the kind with a voice all its own. It should use you to express itself, not the other way around. Q: What have been the biggest challenges when it comes to being a musician, writer and a mother of 4 boys? Kristin: Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Q: Obviously, you received big recognition on your duet with Michael Stipe of R.E.M. during “Hips and Makers” for the song “Your Ghost” how was this collaboration set up? Kristin: Michael found those songs on my business manager’s desk in Athens, GA and ended up singing on one of the songs. I wasn’t intending to release any of that material. Q: Songwriting is often seen as a deeply personal process . How do you approach songwriting, and what inspires you? Is it when your at peace or when there is more chaos to set off a song? Kristin: Songs play when they want to. I don’t invite or force them. Once they stopped playing for a couple years, while I was living in the high desert near Joshua Tree. That was nice and quiet, but it was also cool to hear them again when they came back. It happened in New Mexico. Some Native American men were blessing a guitar in the back of a café. I didn’t see them, but music came back to me in a rush while I was trying to order coffee. The men told me that they missed the guitar and hit me in the back of the head with their blessing. True freakin story. Life is nutty. Q: Your journey in music started at such a young age. What were some of your earliest influences and how did they shape your musical style? Kristin: The music I loved (X, the Violent Femmes, the Meat Puppets) didn’t have time to influence me because I started too young. But maybe my parents’ taking me to Woodstock and playing Appalachian folk songs did, I dunno. My dad liked the Clash and Talking Heads, so he played that stuff when I was a kid. Q: With your experience and the everchanging music industry (which is making it harder and harder for indie-alternative style musicians) to get a good start…What advice would you give to aspiring musicians who are just starting their careers? Kristin: I’m not sure we should be thinking that way. Everyone should play their own music, everyone should become musically literate so that we aren’t marketed to with fashion any longer. Music could actually have meaning, integrity, could be animal plus spiritual, if we could just leave self-consciousness behind and stop manipulating each other. When vanity walks in, music leaves, but when music walks in, vanity leaves! Rock stars and fans are on different sides of an unhealthy equation. The music business is a fairly recent invention; I’d like to see music become human again. Q: Do you have any specific rituals or routines you engage in before writing or recording music? Kristin: I light candles, but that might just be because I’m a hippie chick and because it’s dark. Not sure that counts as a ritual. Hahaha. Q: Looking ahead, what are your hopes and goals for the future of your music career? Kristin: I’d like another forty years of fascination, please!
Press Release Info for Clear Pond Road through Fire Records
“A FEARLESS ROCK INNOVATOR”
– NEW YORK TIMES
“FEW ARTISTS UNDERSTAND THE
INTENSITY OF LIVING ONE’S ART
LIKE HERSH” – THE GUARDIAN
“KRISTIN HERSH IS A MUSICAL
GENIUS.” -HUFFINGTON POST
NEW ALBUM CLEAR POND ROAD
OUT 8TH SEPTEMBER. AVAILABLE
ON ROUGH TRADE LTD ED
TRANSPARENT BLUE WITH LYRIC
BOOK, LTD ED CLEAR VINYL & CD
UK & AUSTRALIA 2023 TOUR
Kristin Hersh’s new album Clear Pond Road is a cinematic road trip;
a series of personal vignettes from a fiercely independent auteur,
plush with layers of atonal, edgy-dreamy strings and mellotron. It’s
a watershed moment in a career overflowing with creative firsts
and inspirational thinking, an elegant piece of personal reportage:
a home movie caught in time.
Previously, the juxtaposition of light and dark has been essential to
the drama of Throwing Muses and 50 Foot Wave, but this solo set is
something of a departure: more inward looking. Produced and
performed by Hersh, Clear Pond Road is quieter yet more
outspoken, its inventive musical logic underpinned by the
ambience of field recordings.
“Passion sounds less angry here, more grateful, I think,” Kristin says,
“sweeter, sadder, and somehow no less alive. Honestly? It’s a love
story and its erratic heart rate reflects this. As textured and raunchy
as real life songs like these can get, the sonic vocabulary is
delicate, so I had to respect that and keep it grounded with car
engines and rain in New England, then whistling ducks and wind chimes in New Orleans. Which sounds wistful, like a
blurry photograph.”
“Kristin Hersh’s tough, instinctive wail, has been one
of the greatest sounds in American underground
rock for decades.” Stereogum
Clear Pond Road is sensuous: a life-affirming
statement, a new piece of this mysterious jigsaw, a
very personal memoir. From street signs to
snapshots, it’s a blossoming of a true icon of
independence. The record is both intimate yet
expansive.
“Some records demand to be made,” says Hersh,
“and you know this is the case when the songs
function as systems in a body. I octavized an
acoustic baritone as the skeleton, cellos are the
lungs, a Nashville-strung Collings and glockenspiel
were the fingertips feeling around in this weird-ass
dark space, and drums are always your heart, of
course…but the vocals are a strange narrator here.
A narrator lost in the story, of all things, more like
eyes.” She laughs, “In other words, no brain! Never
let your mind anywhere near your music.”
Referencing the album’s artwork, Kristin elaborates,
“The street sign on the cover is one my youngest
son and I found at a junk shop when we were
wandering the world, the only ones left in our
family. We took it with us everywhere we went to
remind ourselves not to get too damaged, too
fuzzy. It’d be easy to slip away under the spell of
damage, so he and I decided not to let that
happen. Back then, Clear Pond Road was a goal.
And when I got there? It was time to make this
record.”
These songs are like staccato commentaries, short
cuts from a long reaching narrative. It feels like a
movie soundtrack, painting pictures with lyrics and
melodies sweeping across the screen. Kristin laughs,
“I did notice a cinematic quality, small world/big
picture, as if each song is a scene. But the last song
is so sad…hope it’s not a tragedy.”
Her songs have always been both confessional
and formally challenging; they expose her, but also
evade us, throwing down clues and scurrying into
dark thickets before revealing anything more.” NPR
2023 – Live Dates
27 Sep: The Phoenix Arts Centre, Exeter, UK
29 Sep: St George’s Church, Ramsgate, UK
30 Sep: Florence Park Community Centre, Oxford, UK
01 Oct: Philharmonic, Liverpool, UK
03 Oct: Strange Brew, Bristol, UK
04 Oct: Acapella Club, Cardiff, UK
05 Oct: South Street Arts Centre, Reading, UK
06 Oct: Storey’s Field, Cambridge, UK
08 Oct: Arts Centre, Norwich, UK
09 Oct: Metronome, Nottingham, UK
11 Oct: Mill Hill Chapel, Leeds, UK
12 Oct: St Michael’s Ancoats, Manchester, UK
14 Oct: Mono, Glasgow, UK
15 Oct: Summerhall (Dissection Room), Edinburgh, UK
17 Oct: Cluny, Newcastle, UK
18 Oct: Trades Club, Hebden Bridge, UK
19 Oct: Cleers, Kilkenny, Ireland
20 Oct: Roisin Dubh, Galway, Ireland
21 Oct: Pavilion Theatre, Dublin, Ireland
22 Oct: The Court House, Bangor, UK
23 Oct: The Spirit Store, Dundalk, Ireland
24 Oct: The Old Brewery, Kendal, UK
25 Oct: Foxglove Arts Centre, Leek, UK
26 Oct: Hare And Hounds, Birmingham, UK
28 Oct: St John at Bethnal Green, London, UK
29 Oct: Komedia, Brighton, UK
02 Nov: Black Bear Lodge, Brisbane, Australia
03 Nov: Smith’s Alternative, Canberra, Australia
05 Nov: Memo Music Hall, St Kilda, Australia
08 Nov: Northcote Social Club, Melbourne, Australia
10 Nov: Vanguard, Newton, Australia
11 Nov: Baroque Room, Katoomba, Australia
Thank you Kristin for all this wonderful music that we enjoy and are inspired by. Here are some poetry & other writing styles from poets including yours truly that are inspired by your work.
Thundering Over Calliope Street by David L O’Nan
influenced while listening to Downtown by Throwing Muses
Beginning thunder over Calliope Street
The sisters are spiders impaired and weaving
sounds pounding echoes to the thunder's beat
Trying to get home in floody puddles,
wanting to sleep against that old stranger's apartment building instead-
Threatening to repair myself by destroying with puzzles.
Where did all the pieces fit, when I sparkled like a goldfish?
before threatening and envious, you'd say. Damaged. You'd say.
I felt courageous, spiffy, heavenly and vanish away.
I became a little fluttered, tired, bored and new inventions had to be-created.
Became like the threat of sleet to these feet-
rarely on a January Calliope Street.
Matter and energy collide
Here he comes, from the slip under rotten walls
as offbeat as always, he was only a canvas I'd hide away in.
Storms raging on, he picks me up from the jazzy vomits.
The other sister just watches, listens and smokes amused.
Dress stains and fighting flawless while quizzical.
Without a care
city laughter, everyone is this.
Whip the alcoholic ladybug
Enrich my admiration with a lightning spark
Just shut up, I never needed your calloused hands.
The world is awakening, the city has never slept
While the sky is dark and the clouds are screwing
Tendrils of energy reach out and entwine,
Dancing storm, a divine thing. Oh, spinning head.
On the street below, the cigarettes pile up from the wax of her infections.
Gathering and watching the show, he leaves again.
Where is he this time? Oh, he's in the thunder.
Speaking his humorous language to the gods
and tightening in a new lightbulb to the next bolt
to strike me deadpan.
Here comes the faint.
The fainting.
The sweats and rain and tears and burns.
My coat is my pillow in my garden to sleep
Sprouting or oozing new seeds. Just please -
keep him or death away while I think things over in my dreams.
Someone pick up these scattered branches and we can wake up
to the morning shouts and humidity.
Unpredictability is the only way here.
A haiku by Jenn Ryan-Jauregui
scream singing lyrics
to Throwing Muses records
until we’re dizzy
K Weber recommends "Bright Yellow Gun" by Throwing Muses originally published in Memoir Mixtapes (2018) https://www.memoirmixtapes.com/memoir-mixtapes-archive/k-recommends-bright-yellow-gun-by-throwing-muses?rq=throwing One night in 1995 I waited for that college radio hit by 4AD label darlings, Throwing Muses, to explode in front of me. The standing-room only audience was a polite wave of bodies. I saw potential for crowd-surfing in this mosh-less space. My friend had done it several times at concerts while I stood idly nearby (or far away depending on where he was in the maelstrom), holding his glasses and flannel shirt. I was tired of being the venue’s coat rack so I decided that night I was finally going to crowd-surf. I wanted an ocean of strangers to carry me through “Bright Yellow Gun.” As soon as the song was in play, my partner-in-indie-rock-crime assembled a team of many arms and hands to hoist me into the unknown. I’d seen people float in that lazy river of bliss. Sometimes it would get a bit clumsy but looked cool against a backdrop of killer music and professional lighting. This wasn’t stage-diving. This wasn’t circle pits like I’d experience years later when I should have known better. This seemed like a rite of passage where you trusted others who shared whatever magic was in that particular music. You were all inside the armpit of this tightly-packed speck of planet earth for a reason! I was lifted with a deep breath and a pleasant sigh. I relaxed into the crowd and felt light. People passed me around in the uneven flow. It’s been 23 years and I remember I was wearing cut-off socks on my arms and Boy Scout uniform pants. My moment finally happened! It lasted 45 seconds. After that, I was dropped but caught upside-down. All attempts to rise like a phoenix with red, drugstore hair dye were a bust. Who groped me? I’m done! I was letdown that I didn’t spend 3–4 minutes in the current. Strangely I felt like I accomplished something, but I never tried again. I was back to securing others’ belongings as they began treading water, waiting for the right time to swim or sink in the live show. Veins are Closing by David L O'Nan inspired by Echoes while also listening to the instrumental Anima Mundi by Harold Budd & Andy Partridge In bold and feeling obsolete. Veins are closing. Zipped up and plain as the soul of the world grabs me back. I was fertile with the dead. Yellow and unaccountable. I'm lavished and woozy. Melted into existence with the whole. Yet, veins are closing. I'm sweet and everyone is scared of me. The stiffness and the greedy is what makes everyone cheer. With flashy-high, stereotyped luxury. I can break the sound barrier and still feel silent. The universe moves in me, veins are closing. They curved an already cluttered street The blood doesn't pass from the heart freely, There must be claustrophobia! and souls jumping rampantly! Repulsively and spiritually, cruel and opposite of my taste. Cloudy in here, sunshine addicted, veins are closing. Needless, helpless, they want me to remain simple. To remain addicted and chivalrous when you come in smiling with fake eyes. Mixed up and mushy, levitating existences eating at the grasses and the the trees. Watch me abuse the stimulation of ugliness and become fascinated and pure. Shake me awake! Those that are deaf. Do you want me to be classy or a statistic? Violet melting proudly, while the forces pull me away. My body sounds whiny and purring. The exotic wind echoes. Veins are closing
2 pieces by Sean McGillis (a limerick and a poem “Pioneer”)
Pioneer Pick yourself up by the guitar strap Sing in an otherworldly voice Not getting rich You made a choice Won't ever be some pretty girl cutie Music filled with its own deep beauty Moguls frowned, do it our way or fail Smiling, she replied, "I'm not for sale" Ain't no people going gaga over me Going to be a real mystery Top 40 set thought her music trash Was lacking sex and needed flash She'll never be a household name Yet we love her just the same We don't have a timid ear Her songs the one that we hold dear Connections and 2 drawings from ElRat The One Hersh Elrat Everything speaks to me, But not everything makes sense. Things that speak to others make no indent on the holes inside. The pieces rattle, loose & ill-fitting, or sit on top refusing to slot in. When I heard your songs they crawled inside me, seeping into holes in my heart, in my guts, in my brain! Not a comfortable feeling, fingers poking in the darkness. But still, comforting, in its own way. Knowing I'm not alone... even if I can't explain it. It's a special gift.
Dandelion Hope (c) Elrat
Cry baby Cry (c) Elrat
Poetry from Kendall A. Bell (5 poems below) bio: Kendall A. Bell’s poetry has been most recently published in Hobo Camp Review and The Aurora Journal. He was nominated for Sundress Publications’ Best of the Net collection seven times. He is the author of three full length collections, “The Roads Don’t Love You” (2018), “the forced hush of quiet” (2019) and, “the shallows” (2022), and 33 chapbooks, the latest being “how does it end?”. He is the publisher/editor of Maverick Duck Press and editor and founder of Chantarelle’s Notebook. His chapbooks are available through Maverick Duck Press. He lives in Southern New Jersey. kendallabell.com
i built a tower in my bones
it’s all backward clocks and the thud
of heartbeats against cracking mortar,
a clogged sink, smeared fingerprints
along spider-cracked porcelain. kept
in the bone prison is one thousand
spider corpses, a tarnished locket—
memory is dead dog hair under your
desk, the tick, tick, tick of moments
ready to send the structure to ruin.
voices loiter in your skin. clear cut
through this broken greenhouse mausoleum.
water hangs in the air like you stayed but you found a delete button, a kitchen knife, the cover of snow flurries and broken down boxes to barricade the windows at the sun's break. you burned up books and river beds, circled your own drain and pooled in the corners, knees to chest. your coyote sunset, your forest backyard— you didn't bother to scream or leave the radio on some classic rock station. your dropped phone call mind, fishing for reason, a cloud to push aside. airborne, where the kisses fly. another ending we won't start scatter the ashes and reanimate with gasoline, with a seance. salt the ground with the shards of a wedding ring and pickle brine, a boomerang vow to the face. bit tongues and friday night rain— hearts and cliches crack easily. all we have is the sweet fear, our eternal groundhog's day. we can't swim our way out of this. it's moonshine from cactus shitfaced in the sand, a drunk dial, the sideways gaze into dying stars and the full moon over the wail of stray dogs and you, stumbling over your own rubber limbs. a skinnydip—my shipwreck body stays behind, your full gut laugh echoes over ripples and empty bottles, your night ocean hair a-shine with sheen. we just drove away into the day we packed nothing— some kind of abandonment, some kind of jail break. we can hydroplane on this winter wet, this gray swallows the trail behind us. knots undone, and frayed thread over old brick covered in bird shit. one last surgery to save both patients. one last iv drip in an antiseptic room. our stitches are bleeding, and we don't know where to go to disappear. 2 poems from Chris Papps She puts it out there She just puts it out there, doesn’t care if the people hear her inner workings she knows people’s need to always compare make everything into a product wrapped shiny to sell, that’s a vision of hell She just puts it out there, because inside that little lamp light does need to shine for herself, some who get most stuff is dumb we are so starved for a meal somedays we will gratefully take an honest crumb We are thirsty and dry, we’ll take a cool drink and think it is the finest of wines, not tap water is that what we have been missing? Taste? all along we kind of knew what really was fake we just got caught up by the flashy parade Sounds fade, amps crackle and mics buzz truth is in the detail, she takes time to craft the layers are there, if you take time and care to listen hard, you weren’t born to be mute your were born to breathe and hear life to sit with the discomfort (and joy) of pure energy Strange Angels Standing up playing saying her lyrical lines sending Shivers down our spines six strings resonate lives linked By fate and time to see Strange Angels Walking free.
Bathing in a burlap of Bees and dreaming in a jar by David L O’Nan
Burlap, rough and coarse to the touch, A fabric of humble worth and such, Yet in its plainness, it holds a power, To enlighten souls in their darkest hour. Some worship silk and satin's sheen, But burlap, too, can be a queen, With its earthy hues and rustic charm, It decorates the world with simple calm. Envy may vex those who seek more, But burlap's beauty, they cannot ignore, For in its roughness, a grace appears, That softens hearts and calms all fears. In December's chill, burlap's embrace, Can warm the soul with gentle grace, And with a simple kiss of love, It can unite two hearts to wed above. Sterilize the world of greed and pride, And let burlap be our guide, To a world of humble peace and joy, Where love and simplicity can never be destroyed.
Sugar whipping in the Sticks by Diana Archdeacon
In the deep woods, where secrets hide,
A story whispered from tree to tree, side to side,
There's a tale of a soul lost in the haze,
A whisper of sweetness, a bitter craze.
Sugar Whipping in the sticks,
A delicate dance of highs and tricks,
In the caverns of shadows, she roams,
A symphony of whispers in her bones.
Lost in the wilderness of her own desire,
She walks a tightrope, fueled by the fire,
The white crystals, her clandestine thrill,
A powerful elixir, a bitter pill.
But the forest watches, silent and wise,
As she spirals deeper where darkness lies,
Her spirit calls out for an escape,
From the echoes of a life she can't reshape.
Amidst the trees, she chases illusions,
Searching for solace, amidst the seclusions,
But the sweetness fades, leaving scars unseen,
Leaving her craving a different scene.
In the depths of the woods, a bittersweet plea,
For liberation from a tangled debris,
But as the sun rises, illuminating the air,
Sugar Whipping, to repair and repair.
Old Bleed Lipsmack by Diana Archdeacon
In my town of broken dreams,
Where shadows dance and silence steams
There's a legend they all whisper 'round,
Of a figure lost, but never found.
Old Bleed Lipsmack, a haunting weave,
Her voice a torrent, her heart a sieve,
She wanders in the darkness deep,
Old Bleed Lipsmack, her secrets keep.
Caught in her own spit
She wrestles out stories with a fevered hint,
Of lovers lost and battles fought,
In her mind, their memories bought.
With fiery hair and ethereal eyes,
She mesmerizes with her lullabies,
But beneath her eccentricities,
Lies a soul marred by tragedies.
Among the whispers, tales she'll tell,
Of a love once vibrant, now turned to hell,
She sings of scars that won't fade away,
A melody of pain that cannot sway.
In the town of broken dreams,
She walks alone, it seems,
Old Bleed Lipsmack, forever bound,
A legend in the stories, whispered 'round.
Bio: David L O’Nan is a poet, short story writer, editor living in Southern Indiana. He is the editor for the Poetry & Art Anthologies “Fevers of the Mind Poetry and Art. and has also edited & curated other Anthologies including 2 inspired by Leonard Cohen (Avalanches in Poetry & Before I Turn Into Gold) ,Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan Inspired by Bob Dylan, The Whiskey Mule Diner inspired by Tom Waits, The Blue Motel Rooms Poetry & Art inspired by Joni Mitchell. The Poetica Sisterhood of Sylvia & Anne” poetry & art inspired by Sylvia Plath & Anne Sexton. On the Highways with Many Miles…To Go! Poetry & Art inspired by Jack Kerouac, Townes Van Zandt, Miles Davis & Waltzin’ Through Rusty Cages inspired by Elliott Smith & Chris Cornell. He runs the http://www.feversofthemind.com website. He has self-published works under the Fevers of the Mind Press “The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers” “The Cartoon Diaries” & “New Disease Streets” (2020).”Taking Pictures in the Dark” “Our Fears in Tunnels” (2021) a collection of poetry called “Bending Rivers” a micro poem collection “Lost Reflections “Before the Bridges Fell (2022)” & “Cursed Houses (2022)” David has had work published in several litmags and books. Twitter is @davidLONan1 @feversof for all things Fevers of the Mind. Join Facebook Group: Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Arts Group .
Fevers of the Mind 