Poetry: from the Cartoon Diaries by David L O’Nan “Your Hollywood isn’t For Chronic Dust Bunnies” & “Watercolour Smile”

Your Hollywood Isn’t For Chronic Dust Bunnies

Now you are Mr. Munchausen Syndrome
With Cherry lemonade cigarettes
A fingerprint criminal
In a dusty Hollywood fog
You want to be invisible
Then spotlight you,
To be invincible
Stamp your ghosts,
Resonate your wails
Infect me with the theatrics
Detach me from my mind
So, in stride you can love me
For all my wrongs
View me from the tiny box
Where you rest like a silky angel –
In the clouds
Realize I am the authority
With a puncture
I can melt you down to wax
Ahh, my Hollywood
Is built in the forest to the plains
My glamour,
White teeth wonders
Are just diseases under the demon’s shawl

WATERCOLOUR SMILE

He lived in the saloons, the old haunts
On the Edge of Kentucky
Lived dangerously like burning pianos
Now, an old man with a Periwinkle cough
In flannel grief
Paint stains on his pocket
A chronic condition
A heavenly gate breaks
Enter in where the shadows can’t
Oh, my where does he fall now?
Chasing angels with my watercolour smile
A masterpiece evolved to clouds

photo on unsplash.com from Vera Gorbunova

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.

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


I am a cartoon
Spawned out of sedatives,
And the undressing of social ghosts

From another era,
A misplaced shadow
Picked up by his brain
And placed into the grey
The black and white mingling
With the coolers of evergreen grass,
And sunshine
Only on days beyond the pale


The programmed moments
To feel human
Soon the eclipsing,
Back to the litter
The polluting of liar’s kisses


The youth that have regressed
From freedom to greed
I am a cartoon
All eyes wanting a joke,
You have become the joke
Smiles are for the pretty,
The handsome


The crooked money ticklers &
The sensual succubus
Teasing you into a melting,
Staining thought


Restraint, your control
Faceless,
Soul non-existent
Your mouth dry,
Drawn on
By the hedonistic mystery of power


You are tattooed in –
The rust of their hearts
All eyes are fake, to you
Their spinning, dancing words –
Are dreams, to you
When they move b y you
Fast like a motor’s hum
Trying to inject their life,
Inside your bubble
Puncturing the ink from my skin


They are annoying, to you


I am a cartoon
Murdered from the loving,
Peaceful world we knew –
Many vastly shaded moons ago –
And placed into this,
Whatever this is?


The unknowing,
The apprehension,
The reality
Placed into the soil to resurrect mania
Buried into this soil
To alleviate trusting


A cartoon always wonders
If they’ll make it –
To the next page

This poem is from my book “The Cartoon Diaries” (2019) found at this link tinyurl.com/v2pg5nrv Follow me on twitter @davidlonan1 and @feversof

Poetry: Injustice: Can You Say Her Name? (Pouvez-vous) by David L O’Nan

The Spring air hit Kentucky on just another day

The bricks lay by the fields

The cities and the horses meet

To run from the prairies to the streets.

And hooded servants like that of Ankou –

Fill up with artillery and the monsters within reach into pockets

And can’t say her name

Because to them she didn’t have a name.

The fascists jockeys that ride onto fainting thoroughbreds –

To pray surrounded by a predatorial illness

To pray-in what you want your ideal to be

To not match the ideal of thee.

Who is your God? Where does your Paraclete emerge from?

The bubbles of blood you create,

The dream of the young dissipates,

You wear the skin as the badge,

The prized buck that sits bodiless on your wall.

Le reve des jeune, elle s’appelle Breonna.  Pouvez-vous?

Cowards can you say her name?

The helicopters, the earthquakes, the fireworks,

The guns pop, and you scatter

Away like the cowards,

Hiding behind.

The fury of the streets, the siren’s beat.

Asleep in your dead skipping song

When we yell, Say her Name!

When they yell, Say her Name!

The sunshine peddles away behind your ant shaped clouds

The rest of us are mice that’ll find the cowardly lion.

The roar hiding in dresser drawers.

To peek out, to hear if you’re still being talked about

Just want it to go away, watch the ink decay on newspapers.

Every now and then

Several racing moments in your dead skipping song.

Move forward,

Backtrack to forward, stagnate

Incomplete.

Was really looking forward to the chorus that we can never get to,

Because

You can’t say her name!

You can’t say her name, You can’t say her name

A policeman arrived in the every man’s cloth.

The bloodshed, and you fall to the God

You fall to the Holy spirit, you fall and have failed at freedom.

Il sangue versato e fallisci per l’umanita

Now say her name

Ora di il suo nome

Maintenant dis son nom

Ahora di su nombre

Jetzt sag ihren Namen

Breonna

In any language

Say her name

Give her justice