*updated* The Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020 available in Deluxe Edition, Kindle/ebook,

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) *released early 2021*

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 ,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.

“Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press

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

Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now!

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor)

Poems by Peach Delphine: Every Cloud Has Life of Its Own & Speaking of Home, Beyond the Wind, Flat

Photo by HilLesha O’Nan (with blue orb)

Every Cloud Has a Life of Its Own

Knife dreams of stone and wire
of edge, curling upon itself,
wire, once burnished away, reveals
the sinuous and bright word of cutting,
the long tongue of scar tasting bitter orange,
laceration stained hibiscus flowering,
rain sluiced into the bay, sweltering cauldron,
broth of migrations.

We did not dwell, ephemeral precludes
habitation, residency is the privilege
of those less soluble, less phosphorescent ,
we left no trace, no photographs, not even ash,
mouthfuls of sunset and the shimmy
of gossamer night unfolding  every horizon.

Room could not contain, windows
being more than apertures, points
of egress where we vanished into the breathing
  of sea, iron bellied clouds concealed  as weather,
tide of carrying, tide of shell calling us   by name,
   those once lost, those who could not remain.

Voice at the ear, voice of the cloud,
   swirling through palms as wet prairie
opens itself in a supplication of frog singing
lit by lightning, sleepless wet season,
irrigation ditches filling with water
not yet dark, not yet caramelized,
our names flow through creeks, cypress
knees, long plumes of moss licking
the surface as we make our way
out to the flashing jacks, silvered
mullet, tangle of mangrove, leaves
salt frosted and blazing verdure.

Accompanied by gifts, shelf clouds
piling on shore, white feathered egrets,
slivers of lightning, the low glide of pelicans,
we receive more than we can make in return,
   we name more than we can remember, endless
recitation against erosion,   we are bound to voice
of tide, of wind, raucous calls of rookeries
where our dreams slowly feather, singing
their way into flight, drawing us from roof
and door, returning us to a world without habitation,
without the naming of place, tides of giving
washing our bones smooth as wave, moon bright,
curling in the  mouth of conch, relentlessly.


Speaking of Home, Beyond the Wind

All thaw and sweltering, not yet
season of moonflower or sphinx moth,
sleeping by day, dreaming of manatees,
buoyant in the spring, blue flow silvered
with schooling jacks, jumping mullet,
boiling white sand, living  by the light of a cold flame,
speaking to the mirrored burning,
lost as we are, on the margins, talking
  to the moon in less dangerous
than conversations with men,  which is more
dangerous  than swimming with alligators,
shadows treading water, elegant logs
with shining eyes, the weather here
  is affectionate full of heat and damp,
thunderstorms brewed up for the taste of coldness.

Lightning licking its way through cypress
and pine, the dog wedges herself
under the table as the cracking approaches,
 sizzling despite the rain, gouging out
long strands of bark from the pine next door,
waiting for this, bursts of illumination
wind straining at the oak,  a song
out of darkness, an answering voices,
a defiance of what would deny us
the everyday gentleness and motion
of tide, nightgown soaked, shiver
in my voice, the dog is not amused
at any venturing out in the rain.

Some can't abide tangle and clutter
of thicket, slash of straight line wind
and deadfall, shaggy cabbage palms
or the wicker woven arms and knees
of mangrove, some can't abide
that their god has not yet struck us down,
or caust us from the precipice,
or that we are not afraid, having known
the song of the blade for so long
we have become the flowering
no edge will part from the earth,
the vine that will not fail, the fox
sleeping in the shade of oak and cedar,
a wave rolling out of the Gulf no fence
will restrain, no hand will push down,
no prayer will deny that we are such as we are,
wind in our hair, sea in our eyes,
fragmented and worn, we too will add our shells
to this shore, to the constant arrival of tide and star
  of moon and sun, to the constant repetition
of the litany of belonging.

Flat

Water, not anguish, lifts oaks
the first steps of flight, yet leaves
cannot overcome the heaviness
of memory, so much despair soaked
into the aquifier drawn forth, hydraulics
of root, trunk and limb, beyond the trees
blanket flower, railroad vine, gulls
facing windward, waves stacked
on sandbar

Brittle is how the tooth cracks,
blade chips on bone, the self shatters,
shards pooling on the floor, resolve
to endure vanishing as cold sets in,
warmth flowing out, body anticipating
  the glide into quietude.

Arc flows through a line
in the sand, it is a far shore, sea
flowing from here to there, a woman
inscribes glyphs in the sand,
what is mending, the cup once broken
becomes new, the shell remade speaks
of a ghost, without hymn or prayer
we are without, unattached against sun and rain.

When you're small
and want to vanish but don't know how,
 there's no way to see how you'll learn
 to turn the pain inside out and eat it
 like an orange or how fifty years will pass,
the hard cold breath of morning cracking
 sternum, memory will come, as stealthy
 as wind as the taste of the sea ever on the tongue
 salt and the swell of wave, tide washing
   through lacerations, scars forming a text,
a chart of what horizon long ago swallowed,
submerged lands.

A drowning that returned you, moon pale,
a form  that cannot leave the sea, facing
oaks and pine, palms open in supplication,
beyond the treeline an orange burning,
a brighter flame filling the sky, a wind darker
than crow, the only tongue between us
being glyphs inscribed in sand, lifted
from the body, unlaced from skin, visible
  only to sea and moon, tide erasing
each word before barnacled memory
solidifies the text of departure,
form dissolving into wave.
Bio links:
Bio: Peach Delphine is a queer poet from Tampa, Florida. Infatuated with what remains of the undeveloped Gulf coast.

Poem by Peach Delphine: wave is a circular motion (poetry repost)

Meet the Fevers of the Mind WolfPack Pt 1: David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan

Patience of egrets (c) Peach Delphine

Narcissism Taxi Cab Parades by David L O’Nan (Before the Bridges Fell) Poetry, Photography, Art

Narcissism Taxi Cab Parades

While listening to Tango Whiskeyman by Can

I was picked up during the middle of a Buffalo Trace Wild Turkey run, on a windy day going across our bending bridges. They're oblivious  are not talked about. How our world could end when they shall fall. Most of this hideous breath former wunderkinds want to live young, rich & dangerous. Driving erratically and uncaring of a permanent damage. They haven't a thought of salvation, salvaging, or empathy. Oh, they want freedom to ring only in their ears.

Picked up by the slick backed balding haired man. Is he a stranger? "You, alcoholic and worshiping yourself" I'm mute yet screaming. I've been loved, but my love now is mute when you're in control. The parade, oh it is a happening! Bubblegum, candy, rusting, raining, popping bullets into the windshields, and watching us frighten into skeletons.

The drive continues as clouds clash fucking harder! Thunder so angered its bleeding crimson all over our minds. The weaving concrete seashores. Are we in for a flight or a swim? All I see is a saint to himself, cigarettes don't take away your whole anxiety. Have another drink. You were anyways.

Your yolk, eases and oozes, blood with madmen living inside. My broken stems, well are your broken stems. The same blood circulates, the greed we share in dire moments. Mine in desperation and yours permanently scarred into your soul. Yours covered in liver spots. Mine are just imagining the cars dodge from your metal dances off the cliffs.

The drive is me, a mummy. In stitches. Your chains rattle the trunk and I feel your hoarse voice bubbling fire. I don't know your impulses, and you, definitely don't know mine. I can draw a picture of death much scarier than you. You aren't perched on top of that mountain. You are hanging onto a balloon as the axes fly by to knock you to the waters.

It is fun watching the devil weave around and lose his power. Can I enjoy a ride to a demise? An unknown, a simple smug look into a blurry mirror.

Bio: David L O’Nan is a poet, short story writer, editor living in Newburgh,IN he has lived in Evansville, Indiana, Henderson, KY and New Orleans, LA. He is the editor along with his wife HilLesha 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 with original artwork by friend of Leonard’s Geoffrey Wren. 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). A compilation of 4 books “Bending Rivers” a micro poem collection “Lost Reflections” and new book “Before the Bridges Fell” under Cajun Mutt Press. He is a Best of the Net Nominee for his poem “I honored You in Pennyrile Forest” in Icefloe Press. David has had work published in Icefloe Press, Dark Marrow, Truly U, 3 Moon Magazine, Elephants Never, Royal Rose Magazine, Spillwords, Anti-Heroin Chic, Cajun Mutt Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Voices From the Fire, He has interviewed Comedian Paul Gilmartin from Mental Illness Happy Hour Podcast, Brett Siler head of Rebore Records, Ron Sexsmith, Anne Casey, Jessie Lynn McMains, Ron Whitehead, Austin Lucas and more. He has read in public for nearly 20 years in Southern Indiana, Illinois, Nashville, New Orleans & Kentucky. Including tribute nights to John Lennon, Bukowski, Feminist Poets, & Jeff Buckley. His website an be found at http://www.feversofthemind.com which details info on both upcoming projects & with Anthology submissions info. Twitter is @davidLONan1 and for the book @feversof Join Facebook Group: Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Arts Group . Facebook Author page DavidLONan1 and goodreads page is https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18366060.David_L_O_Nan *just released the book ‘His Poetic Last Whispers’ a combination book of “the Cartoon Diaries” (only available on kindle now) and a few selections from Our Fears in Tunnels and Taking Pictures in the Dark.

Wolfpack Contributor: Raegen Pietrucha

Bio: Raegen Pietrucha writes, edits, and consults creatively and professionally. Her chapbook, An Animal I Can’t Name, won the 2015 Two of Cups Press competition; her debut poetry collection, Head of a Gorgon, is forthcoming with Vegetarian Alcoholic Press in May; and she has a memoir in progress. She received her MFA from Bowling Green State University, where she was an assistant editor for Mid-American Review. Her work has been published in Cimarron Review, Puerto del Sol, and other journals. Connect with her at raegenmp.wordpress.com and on Twitter @freeradicalrp.

Blurbs for my (David L O’Nan) upcoming book “Before the Bridges Fell”(Cajun Mutt Press) from Ron Whitehead

“Enter the shadow realms of the creative imagination. Embrace the logic of surrealism, of waking dreams, of hallucination. Sing the poem songs of delusion, pain, struggle, suffering, desire, exultation. Turn back the cover, crawl into BEFORE THE BRIDGES FELL, and enjoy the brilliant poetry of David L O’Nan.” 

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