Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Blog

Our twitter is @feversof eic @davidLONan1 Facebook Group: http://www.feversofthemind.com Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Arts Group

Submissions e-mail: feversofthemind@gmail.com 

Please send in word doc format and mostly traditional styles for easier translation to the page if possible. If not pdf will work. Google docs don’t always work so well.

Donate to our paypal also at feversofthemind@gmail.com (anything helps to keep the site going)


We are open for Poetry Showcases for anyone to send 3-5 poems/prose. If not all pieces are accepted. I will post the 1 or 2 poems but will not be considered a showcase.

We are unable to provide compensation at this time contributors. We have to reach out through the year for donations just to keep the site going. This is for the art of poetry, music, art & other creatives.

Some poetry/art published on this site will periodically be taken down if space is running low. You will be guaranteed at least 6-8 months exposure on our website. No promises after that and don’t take it personal.

Themes we are Looking for Poetry/prose/articles/other styles of writing are for Adhd Awareness, Mental Health, Anxiety, Culture, History, Social Justice, LGBTQ Matters/Pride, Love, Poem series, sonnets, physical health, pandemic themes, Trauma, Retro/pop culture, inspired by music/songwriters, artist, inspired by classic & current writers, frustrations.

Online Submissions could include Poetry, Art, submitted Book Reviews, culture pieces, rants, pre-published poetry from self-published materials, defunct lit mags, pieces from other lit mags/books/blogs with permissions. We prefer 3-5 poems sent unless you are sending for a writing prompt. There could be exceptions to this rule of course. If we take 3-5 or more poems from you will we feature you as a poetry showcase on the website.

We prefer submissions with a bio to help promote your work. Please let us know if something has been previously published, we will make a judgment call on whether able to include. I don’t love the idea of sending rejection letters.  If you don’t receive acceptance assume we passed up this time and send something else. If you have simultaneous submissions out there, please keep this in mind. If not accepted at first, Just try again…We will not accept pieces that we deem racist, sexist, homophobic, or have pornographic themes, photos, or any type of nudity in submissions.

About writer/editor David L O’Nan

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog.

My newest book released October 2022 “Cursed Houses”


Out now the Deluxe Edition of “Before the Bridges Fell”

https://amzn.to/3ftkxNX for a copy on paperback or kindle (U.S.) please check availability in your country. Some countries take awhile for the paperback to be released. It could be a few days to a couple months until available.

*Announcements for October including release of Deluxe Edition of Before the Bridges Fell (Fevers of the Mind Press)*

U.S. Links to paperback & kindle. Please check availability in your Country. Sometimes it takes a few weeks to a couple months to show up in paperback in certain countries. I know in India this is the case. The deluxe edition includes all my poems from the Leonard Cohen anthologies & my poem “Malvina” as well.


Coming in October

*More writing prompts from artwork/photography gathered by Pasithea Chan

*Inspired by Tom Waits poetry will begin

*Inspired by Joni Mitchell poetry will begin

*Inspired by Harlem Renaissance Poetry will begin

*Inspired by Pablo Neruda Poetry will begin

* Inspired by Tom Petty poetry will begin

*I’m going to try and get my book “Cursed Houses” out between mid month and Halloween.

*Working on my wife HilLesha’s book

*Writing new poetry for “The Empath Dies in the End” a themed book collaborated with other writers. When I write something I will send to only the other poet/writer involved. Looking to hopefully put book out in Winter.

*If you still have poetry inspired by any of the following please still send

  • Bob Dylan
  • Leonard Cohen
  • Prince
  • Nick Cave
  • Chris Cornell
  • PJ Harvey
  • Sylvia Plath
  • Anne Sexton
  • Claude Monet (any artwork by him)
  • Andy Warhol & the Factory including The Velvet Underground & Lou Reed
  • Instrumental music from Harold Budd
  • Warren Ellis & the Dirty Three
  • Audrey Hepburn

Plus on our front page you can find our normal everyday topics to send in for poetry showcases, Quick-9 Interviews for writers/poets/musicians, some book reviews although i’m understaffed on this and can’t take all of them. Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Blog

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog.

Coming Soon: a revised 2nd edition of Before the Bridges Fell from Fevers of the Mind Press

I’d like to thank James and Cajun Mutt Press for putting out the 1st edition of the book. There are some re-visions/possible artwork changes inside that i’d like to look into. So this will be out of print through them soon. I do have a few copies left if interested email feversofthemind@gmail.com and we could work out a paypal deal possibly. It is nothing that they have done. It is more of me wanting to have more of an idea of a daily what is going on & how to market my book a little differently and with rearranged vision.

Poetry: They Are Running my Prints & Scattered Christmas Garbage by David L O’Nan

They Are Running My Prints

He was our pan, he was our pearl
He was our pre-fixer and our path
He was our pandemic, he was our praise
Now they are running my prints
To look for the oils in my skin.

The clusters of pebbles in crimson
To clear waters are now scarring
We scare back to our bacteria grip
With a straight wind quarrel
The composer even trips
Absorb in mentally
Absorb in innocence
Absorb his narcissus esprit
Absorbed in his kill

He was a bruise, he was a brick
He was a bell witch, he was a bite
He was the briar, the broken blade
He was bravery, he had that breath

Bending in to slay us in his plot.
Fingerprints for proof.

Scattered Christmas Garbage

I was sitting alone in a nasty gust of a choking wind,reminiscing on five years since the venom took away my father and left him atrophied, mute, and bent. I wondered if I could ever feel complete like I did before his illness quaking. I’ve been swinging from branch to branch, they are so brittle and this time of year, go from hazel green to a white ashy bone. Scattered on the ground like wrapping paper on Christmas. The leaves are orange, red, yellow, and brown.

Reach under the sink and grab the big black bags.  He picks up the paper and everyone laughs.  And he doesn’t always hear them, he was always just playing a part.   Fathers, Christmas bells, and stones.

And everyone starts chanting out “Songs of Faith, Songs of salvation, Songs of hate, songs of delusions, and songs of materialism and what can you get for me this year with no money and no home”

We go from one tragedy where a disease struck another, and then another and then the bloodline greed gets thicker.  And they want the seeds of what he could give them.  And he had much less than lint for them to drool over.   Yet, they argue, and they steal.  They walk up and down the soft hills, and they come out melting like wax and foam.  

Then another obstacle.  Another payment we can’t make. Bailed out again as we beg to bathe.   And we watch the sunrise undress to show us its nocturnal clone.  Yet, we still have this, and we still have that.  We still have each other until that is challenged by this and that.   The greed comes from the most scared cat.  And they don’t need it now, but they want it all and don’t even care that we don’t have a home to sit our celebrations inside.

Where is the bloodline, where does it fade in and out.  The blood is never fully thickened. It’s pasty, wet, and caked in unraveling crusty dirt.  You were one of those 3 that always got the looks, not quite one of theirs and a little unusual.   You didn’t celebrate or bring in a blue-collar job to crown your abode.   On Christmas mornings you’d just stare off into the distance, hoping that no one was sitting there talking about you or making you feel like a pity show.

Another Christmas comes and another unknown.  Every year I’m beginning to feel sicker at the thought of snow.   The cheers and laughter are nothing but a cage.  And I must continue to pray that there is someone to pray to. So, I can celebrate breaking out of this zoo.  And spread over the ground like Christmas garbage looking for another hitch from home to home.    

Now, I don’t wish hate and I don’t wish for your blood.  I don’t wish for death, and I don’t wish for much.  I wish for some compassion and a little trust.  I wish you could look in all our eyes without staring back to the ground.   And I expected more from humans than to become their forever teenage clown.  

Getting out the black bags and pick us up.  Place us in there or find some luck.   Find some peace through all this hazardous muck.  We will begin to shovel our way from tunnel to tunnels under these bridges of stone.  And we will make our way there, Christmas will leave the air, and we will be blessed by the exit of leaving the flakes where they lay.   It will be yours now and we will look the other way.

A Super Deluxe Poetry Showcase from David L O’Nan (from several books pt 1)

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog.

Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan Anthology available today!

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Bare Bones Writings Issue 1 is out on Paperback and Kindle

Poetry from David L O’Nan : The Fevers of the Mind to Inspire Artwork Series

The Fevers of the Mind to Inspire Artwork Series

Afraid of the eternal silence
The proselytizer ran away from his soul
Naked into the woods
Raw and free
His recruiting no longer a thrill
He's seen the ruin; he's seen the loss of passion in the smiles
He's at loss from another day
A saved one, hung above our gardens
As a stare, tears dried on scared skin
A body, head collapsing clumsily
Lifeless, laying from the limbs of a bruised apple tree
He knew that eternal silence was a very real world.

On the day of the blue mollusk skies
The dandelions flirt with the giant
Blowing kisses that he catches with his paws
He's feeling bashful while stepping over the world with -
his swaying hips
Dancing sunshine into moonlight, from seizure days to stone dead nights.
His dancing body causes leaping eyes for his harlots
His tugging heart brings him to sing
Singing beautifully along with the continuous dance
There are the crickets filling up in his soiled socks.

A storm was dreamt
Balancing the art of destruction with the calm stroke of a swimming of a peaceful cloud.
A storm has evolved
The bones broke apart during the frightening walls of the screaming wind.
A storm is lifting
Over the veil of clouds mimicking our dreaming minds
A storm is no longer cohesive, broken
a victim of a sodomized smile
In the mouth of wind, the city's skyline into submission
You awoke with sudden energy, the nuclear bomb implanted
Now the normal day begins
Brush the teeth, comb the hair, bathe the body
Put on clothes for work, open to the door to birds chirping
The mountain of breasts left by Mother Nature's rage, now an apology
As you climb over the walls of skin tissue to the other side where society rests
Dreams no longer exists, where storms are only evaporation.

I cannot help myself to taste the lake
Raspberry smiles on a face of decay
a Closet mind
Creeping out of a town of clouds
Train whistles blowing through the tracks
Brick walls shimmying through the cracks
The centipede climbs upon my ear
Daring it to tunnel inside of my walls of fear
I will dream in the waves I make from...
that sacred sound of my drying skin, grinding teeth through the burning ground
This bastard life has me seeking those sacred sounds
Of my drying skin, grinding teeth through the burning ground.

There is a factory
Machines, other deities’ control
Molding bones from lost souls
We are possibly cut from the same skin fabric
Wrapped around our skeletons straight from this factory
and distributed around the world as humans
As we learn what we are
The muscles develop like magic
The heart, the brain, the lungs
Are injected into us a seed of ink, or blood to sprout amongst us -
as our energy
Form us into breath
Into pain, into love, into sanity or insanity, into beauty, into dreamers, into light, into shade.

When unknowing, when finally, happy
the lemures tranquilized the night
Melting over you, collapsing

The picture snapped
Caught you screaming yourself into a statuesque state

Another injection ostracized by love
He removes the mask from his face
Now you see every aged line, baggage drools from the mouth
That mummified mouth, nose, eyes, and ears
The beautiful hair now long, stringy, torn and frail
The pasty pale globe of veins connecting one disappointment to

Now he makes the other choice
This one much more permanent
His heart ripped from a once muscular chest
While in his hands he screams WORK!
From the cavity, lay his decay
The ventricles, arteries, veins, and valves
His reflection of dismay burned over the pericardium
He becomes a fading memory in a black and white painting
Frozen forever in his breaking point of lunacy

Poetry: They Had Sadness in their Eyes ( Like in Littleton) from David L O’Nan

Collaboration poem from Merritt Waldon & David L O’Nan

A Quicksilver Trilling by David L O’Nan    : Poetry & Writing style lyrics inspired by Dylan 

In 1961…In 1961 by David L O’Nan (from Before I Turn Into Gold Anthology)

Collaboration Poem “Bleeding Summer City Sidewalks” by David L O’Nan & R.D. Johnson

Poetry from David L O’Nan in the Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers

The return & revised version of “New Disease Streets” by David L O’Nan Poetry and stories

Poetry : A Castle Melts by David L O’Nan

Poetry: The Parody King’s Castle by David L O’Nan

Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan Anthology available today!

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog. 

Bare Bones Writings Issue 1 is out on Paperback and Kindle