Re-post:Poetry by Neel Trivedi from Fevers of the Mind Press Anthologies

Why the Hate?

I ask a stranger how s/he was born?

From a mother’s womb they say.

Just like I once was.

So why the hate?

I ask a baby what religion is.

To the best of my ability to decipher baby talk,

s/he appears not to know.

Just like when I was a baby,

blissfully unaware of grown-up talk.

So why the hate?

I ask a stranger how s/he communicates?

With a tongue just like mine, they say.

The birthplace of every language, I think.

So why the hate?

I once spilled paint on my arm.

A palette of various colors made habitats on my skin

before leaving during my next shower.

Yet my heart, personality & identity

remained the same throughout.

So why the hate?

I try to form a collective hypothesis of my conversations:

We’re all born the same way & die someday.

Skin color & religion prove to be highly incompetent

to help a heartbeat, lungs breathe & brain cells grow.

So why the hate?

Beauty: A New Definition

For generations the wise ones have said

That beauty is in the eye of the beholder

But time passes, generations evolve

Some simple, some a lot bolder

Some proverbs die

Some new are born

Left to all to choose

Which are progress, which are scorn

Perhaps a similar time has come

To give beauty a new definition

Leaving the beholder out & say

beauty is in the heart of the pious one!

Beyond the Obvious

How the naive think

What abuse means

Perhaps some blue bruises

And a shattered spleen

Such evidence & signs

Are no doubt a fear

But is there no value

Of an isolated tear?

Everyone sees the obvious

Without a look inside

Curse this bloody flesh that makes

The wounded heart hide!

The Invisible Aura

Step into the vortex of my soul

To decode the language

I often speak to myself

Every night when I peel off my mirage

That the sea of gazes around me

surmises to be nonchalance

This is my universe where:

Depression is not a mere mood swing

It’s an actual chemical imbalance

My facial expressions are not always

Gateways to the feelings of my heart

Sometimes they are merely decor

My silence is not a symbol

Of any kind of equanimity

Listen to the aura who’s decibels

Don’t roar like a lion

But squeal like a mouse

Observe the aura that’s the

shy one in the corner

Acknowledge the unfelt emotions

For you may not feel them

But just a moment of your cognizance

Could determine their fate for eons

Soul Whisperer

I come with no ostentation

No glory or cavalcade

For I creep upon this junction

Not to arouse a racket

But to dismember the status quo

I make no proclamations to be

Your knight in shining armor

Or to dry your tears

But to bequeath equity of them

To feast on the salt with thee

I come not to sheath your malformations

But to stand in their gallery

And be a zealot for ages

Of what my heart senses to be

Not wounds but victors of endurance

Think not of me as a paladin

In a quaint fable

But a commoner just to proclaim :

I once bore what you did

 

And hearken the language of your soul

That others have stained as an enigma!

 

The Midas Scratch

 

Lay your fingers on the canvas of my flesh

And scratch till what you carve

Becomes the cynosure attire of my body

Never to be removed

Till the mind in its entirety

Is severed from the bones

Take no heed of any provisional brood

Or waterfalls of blood

For the blemishes will eventually mitigate

But the fable your fingers nurture with love

Will give me an immortal prevalence

To any and all around me!

Playing Along 

After Leonard Cohen’s “Waiting for the Miracle”

When the heart drowns in total despair

I soothe it by telling tall tales

Of an intoxication known as hope

A miracle is coming, says the heart

The mind just plays along

I dance in the name off faith

Even when my feet are numb

Lest I reveal the inner abyss

A miracle is coming, says the soul

The body just plays along

Stay in the slaughterhouse

So, my wounds can blend in

Lie in the rain so tears seem small

A miracle is coming, say the tears

The eyes just play along

So far not a sign

Not even a mere shadow

Or the calm before the storm

A miracle is coming, I say

The miracle just plays along

Neel photo(c) Neel Trivedi

Neel Trivedi is a freelance journalist & in the advertising business in Dallas, TX. He writes poetry & fiction. His work has been featured in Rhythm & Bones Magazine, Drabblez Magazine, Paragraph Planet, Dodging The Rain, Mojave Heart Review, Elephants Never, Chronos Anthology, Rising From The Ashes Anthology and Purpose Magazine. As well as Dailywisdomwords.com  He can be reached on Twitter @Neelt2001   

Poetry: Tomatoes by David L O’Nan (from the Cartoon Diaries)

We were in silent prayer in the garden
Feeling second-hand and lazy
With nice heirloom tomatoes growing
Around us
Let us lead them from the stomping –
And all those tobacco viruses
Our family needs the well.

For years we’ve slept in the same room
The children and us smack away the mites
On nights the thunder broke our bodies
And we became shy to the windy shadows

We consume the juices of the fruits
Kill the poverty from our heads
Separate us from the worms
We shouldn’t run away

When the man wants his money
All the hospitals want to own us
And hear them knocking down our doors
They garnish my wages
Force me to bankrupt depressions

Watch the money fall from dark clouds
In the many miles barely in our view

Damn it!

It makes me feel psychotic
I want to dissolve in this fertile dirt
Continually,
Crash me to the vines
When bruised and stabbed
I will just stink in the swarming heat
In the well,
Lay all my scriptures


photo from unsplash.com

Poetry: Psalm 46 Haze by David L O’Nan from the Cartoon Diaries (2019)

In mornings when most kings dine
In a sweat of night, the heat clutched
To the skin
In mighty robes
Yet, like a wet mop
A tide of anger
A misguided dreamer
Of thievery, wanted all the treasures
All the lucid wanderings
Gold coin eyeballs
Designed in statuesque build
Shallow, there will not be any crumbling
in my march through civil breakdowns
One king, death on rapid waters
The rocks like the clouds,
depends on powers of the wind
To move us from the heat
Like a Psalm 46 haze
He breaks the bows and shatters the spears
And cartoon kings start to smear
Paint begins to clump, like a clogged artery
Stains through to the canvas,
Blasphemy blankets purity
And in oceans and rivers
There isn’t any fresh fish
Smudges of floating ink, like blood
Ships keep moving in the night
The lighthouse light reflects only former royal shadows

You forget false righteousness
And you brand in the tattooed crimson to sea bottoms.

NEW! The Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020 available in Deluxe Edition, Kindle/ebook, and Split Editions Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon. An interview with musician Austin Lucas included in Deluxe & Volume 1

The Fevers of the Mind Press has a huge collective of poets, writers, interviews, recommendations & more in the new book https://amzn.to/3sjgWnz (Deluxe edition) https://amzn.to/35EJ8Yl (Volume 1) https://amzn.to/2LyiedF (Volume 2)

Volume 1 includes contributions from myself (David L O’Nan), HilLesha O’Nan, Rob Z photography, Ankh Spice, Catrice Greer, the Poetry Question & Chris Margolin, Jenna Faccenda, Ethan Jacob O’Nan, Icefloe Press, Robert Frede Kenter, Moira J Saucer Darren Demarree, Abdulmueed Balogun, Bradley Galimore, Anisha Kaul, Foy Timms, David Ralph Lewis, Paul Brookes, Sidney Mansueto, Lawrence Moore, Karen Mooney, Jenny Mitchell, Makund Gnanadesikan, James Lilley, Richard Waring, Vern Fein, Ediney Santana, Rachael Ikins, Samantha Terrell, Al Matheson, Ceinwed C E Haydon, Will Schmit, Dai Fry, Barney Ashton-Bullock, M.S. Evans, Megha Sood, Jane Rosenberg LaForge, Matthew M C Smith, Lucy Whitehead & Merril Smith as well as an interview with Americana/Indie/Punk musician Austin Lucas

Volume 2 includes contributions from myself (David L O’Nan) HilLesha O’Nan, Rob Z Photography, Troy Jackson, Book Reviews for Hokis, David Hanlon, Susan Richardson & Norb Aikin, Karlo Sevilla, Steve Denehan, A.R. Salandy, Steve Wheeler, Sher Ting, December Lace, Ken Tomaro, Kushal Poddar, Tan Tzy Jiun, Amy Barnes, Jason DeKoff, Raine Geoghegan, Jim Young, Tim Heerdink, Damien Donnelly, Kristin Garth, Mela Blust, Jackie Chou, Rickey Rivers Jr, David Hay, Kari Flickinger, John Ogunlade, Z.D. Dicks, Julie Stevens, Gayle Sheridan, Wil Davis, Samantha Merz, Iona Murphy, Gerald Jatzek, KC Bailey, Samuel Strathman, Mike Whiting, Peter Hague, E Samples, Ann Hultberg, Jane Dougherty, Michael Igoe, Maxine Rose Munro, John Everex, Lacresha Hall, Kelly Marie McDonough, Gabe Louis, Linda M Crate

Deluxe Edition is over 300 pages and includes all of the Poets, writers, interviews, musicians, photography & more.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder: The Shadow That Rests Inside My Skeleton w/poem Anxiety Dances (c) David L O’Nan(also on Headline Poetry & Press)

So, yeah I’ve got Generalized Anxiety Disorder. It is something that is an everyday battle between all possible anxiety one can have at any given point.

With this post I would like to begin to share some of my poetry writings. I have written about Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD for short).

Every day is a new adventure. Will today be depression, calmness, fun, claustrophobic ending in several panic attacks, OCD, Overwhelming leading to embarrassing anger spurts, crying from the smallest memories entering my head? The feeling of loss at all times, disappointments, always trying to make good on something you might have done when younger, and always looking for apologies or apologizing yourself. Looking for acceptance, then being a loner, wanting someone around to comfort you, then feeling like an alien.
I am in constant fear. Fear those I love are going to get hurt at any given moment. The scenarios constantly play in your head.
So, i’m guessing no one would be surprised that I’ve had numerous “small to rather serious nervous breakdowns” throughout the years.

I’ve had these moments since I was a child, I would try to mask away all of the fears and emotions with overindulging, overcompensated, overanalyzing, just overdoing it!
There has been breaking moments as a child (when I realized that everyone eventually dies), at 18 when I lost my last 2 grandparents, and then subsequently leaving College after only a couple of months.
There have been moments at 24/25, 29 after a dramatic episode that left me with PTSD in which I was taken advantage of, harassed, and forced by threats of violence by an unbalanced woman.
Again, in my early 30’s adjusting to not living alone after 12 years of doing so when I got married.
Then the fears of becoming a father, and learning to be a good husband.
At 36 I lost my father to ALS, My body was numb for months for long periods of time. I fell into some old habits, and had to re-evaluate how to be a human again.
Then just recently in the last few weeks at 39. The seasonal depression, the overbearing Social Anxiety that has gotten worse as of late, the memories of my father, financial worries, possible pending medical dilemmas have broken my mind once again. The holiday season is a hard one to digest, my father’s birthday is in December, I lost him on Christmas night 3 years ago.

So in the moments I can escape to watch my children smile, look at my beautiful wife, watch a wrestling match or basketball game, listen to some Comedy Podcasts, and of course writing. These are what I life for when everything else feels like an everyday prison hovering over your bones.

ANXIETY DANCES

Riding blind like a trapped voice
Stuck to the corners –
of the echoed walls
The Blue waves of light-
travels through my visual acuity
Swallowing all the memories,
what was easy?
I cannot forget however –
the ripping of my flesh,

Like night over day
To reveal anxiety dances –
on the nerve pores
I can remember
everything that you wish –
I’d lose

silhouette of man standing inside structure

photo by Rene Bohmer