Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan Anthology available today!

Kindle & Paperback Links:

U.S. : https://tinyurl.com/2p938cy8

Canada: https://tinyurl.com/2p9cnc2c

India: https://tinyurl.com/5ebda55a kindle only for now. Paperback should be there soon

U.K. : https://tinyurl.com/yc7sk3n8

France: https://tinyurl.com/2kahcd9v

Germany (Deutschland): https://tinyurl.com/fj24ed4s

Japan: https://tinyurl.com/33unzy8y Kindle only for now. Hopefully paperback sometime soon

Australia: https://tinyurl.com/3c6kdhxe Kindle only for now. Not sure on paperback here

Brazil: https://tinyurl.com/2p98w62w Kindle only for now. Not sure on paperback status

Italy: https://tinyurl.com/mryn59us

Netherlands: https://tinyurl.com/yrvzekh8

Mexico: https://tinyurl.com/6pf5jnc6

Poland: https://tinyurl.com/2p8h5b5p possibly kindle only so far

Sweden: https://tinyurl.com/yckjd7jn possibly kindle only so far

Spain: https://tinyurl.com/4pe777f2

United Arab Emirates: https://tinyurl.com/ne6m3j73 Paperback

Featuring the following:

Art/photos by Tony Aiken, Geoffrey Wren, David L O’Nan

Featured Poetry from Elizabeth Cusack
several pieces from me David L O'Nan (including debut poetry)
Ron Whitehead  (U.S. Beat Poet Laureate)
John Guzlowski
Ivor Daniel
Lynn White
James Schwartz
Robert Frede Kenter
Thasia Anne Lunger
Christian Garduno
R.M. Engelhardt
Peter Hague
Spriha Kant
Beth Mulcahy
Matthew Freeman
Kushal Poddar
Carrie Anne Golden
Joe Kidd
Troy Jackson
Mark Andrew Heathcote
w v sutra
Owen Bullock
F.E. Clark
Ethan McGuire
Ian Richardson
Doreen Stock
Peter Lilly
Dan Carpenter
Jude Neale
Clive Gresswell
Derek Smith
Tim Troglen
Billy Watson
Maid Corbic
Brenda E. Nwafor
Kathryn Sadakierski
Sadie Maskery
Jeremy Limn

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 and Hard Rain Poetry inspired by Bob Dylan. 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” (look under books tab in Amazon) under Cajun Mutt Press & “His Poetic Last Whispers” (2022) 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. 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

Keywords: Bob Dylan, Anthologies, Red Hen Press, Fevers of the Mind Press, Graywolf Press, Music, Folk Rock, 60’s, 70’s, Suze Rotolo, Joan Baez, The Band, The Byrds, Minnesota, Greenwich Village, Newport Folk Festival, Autumn House Press, Mansfield Press, Tupelo Press, David L O’Nan, Geoffrey Wren, Leonard Cohen, Edie Sedgwick, Woody Guthrie, Against the Grain Press, Bad Betty Press, Simon & Schuster, New York Times, Broken Sleep Books, Los Angeles, New York City, erbacce Press, Fly on the Wall Press, Indigo Dreams, Hesterglock, Leon Literary, Lapwing Publications, Nine Arches Press, Black Swan Press, Penguin Books, Random House, Penteract Press, IceFloe Press, Sundress Publications, Salmon Poetry, Two Rivers Press, Hedgehog Press, Plan B Press, Tinhouse, Mansfield Press, Black Mountain Press, New Orleans, Evansville, Bloomington, Louisville, Nashville, Coach House Books, Platypus Press, Copper Canyon Press

conact me at feversofthemind@gmail.com if interested in my style of writing Twitter: @DavidLONan1 and for @feversof for the Anthologies and website.

4 poems by Sarra Culleno: “Grave Soak” “Periapt” “Beacon” & “Black Out”

Photo by David L O’Nan

Grave Soak

The scald pulls out aches, a
poultice of burn.
Pores dilate and glands purge
drawing poisons.
Steam's balm relieves throat
into lungs by turn.

Oils and lathers mask outside
redolence, 
stilled and subdued in
submerged weightless pass,
concealed underside, defying
buoyance.

Beneath like sediment replacing
mass,
held down by seductive
oblivion,
doused into netherside of
looking glass.

Nadir rush, deaf like amphibian.
Resurface sharp up to abrupt
summit
of asphyxiation's meridian.

Subito spasmodic. Frenzy ambit
reflexive gasps from betraying
gullet.

Periapt

When silver is worn over a 
throat
    it's buffed by the pulse, so
shines up sheen.

So long as the two
contact, keep close,
     amulet tarnishes vanish; rust
           melts at skin's touch, so
                 clavicle's radiance is
            enhanced.

Conducting flows, when they're
near enough
      magnets recharge their
Norths and their Souths
        if they're in each other's
     reach. Scuffs smooth flat
              under a loving body
                    weighty as precious
               metal.

Beacon

I tap a texting torch
which flattens batteries
down to broken Morse Code.
Outside, the car tank's empty.
We are staying right here.

We dulled low the lights. It
hides, soft-tempers the mess.
Yet, as moths dash their brains
out against the dimmed bulbs
the blackened corners creep.

Blind-folded, we plug ears.
You press the volume off
for the news. I'm listening,
through headphones.
Expletives
mute, as my charger drains.

I switch the torch off now,
so when disaster strikes,
there still may be enough
for one last surrender
or desperate SOS.

Black Out

The sun came up in the East. It peeped, above
the water like a wistful proposition.
It began as a sliver of future, an
entre, of all the day's potential reached in an 
excited flirt.

Midday prime was a fine trophy to behold.
It rose, full and round and complete. Once whole, too
beautiful to even look on. Dreams realised
themselves in gold against a velvet of azure
and sapphire.

Where did the black out start?
Too late in the day, anyway.
The first splatters so fleetingly tiny,
only quantum flickers of grain on a single frame
of cinematic reel.

By mid afternoon, patches of vibrant horizons
were already erased blot by sooty blot.
The fiery reds and oranges of a promised sunset
were flubbed in dark blotches like drops of ink
bungled into an evening bath.

The dampened day, let go, to empty dusk. 

 Wolfpack Contributor: Sarra Culleno

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Sarra Culleno

A Poetry Showcase from Sarra Culleno

Bio: Sarra Culleno is a British BAME poet, mother and English teacher who performs her writing at
events across the UK. She writes about children’s rights, motherhood, identity, gender, age,
technology, the environment, politics, modern monogamy and education. Sarra is widely
published. She has written fiction and poetry for publication, performance, print, audiodramas,
podcasts and radio. Sarra was longlisted for the Cinnamon Press Pamphlet Prize, for Nightingale
and Sparrow’s Full Collections 2020, and nominated for Best of the Net 2020 by iambapoet.
Sarra co-hosts Write Out Loud at Waterside Arts, and performs as guest and featured poet at
numerous literary festivals.
Youtube.com/user/sarra1978 – YouTube
@sarracullenopoetry – Instagram
@sarra1978 – Twitter
Sarra1978@hotmail.com – Email
facebook.com/sarracullenopoetry – FaceBook

Poetry: Narcissism Taxi Cab Parades by David L O’Nan

Narcissism Taxi Cab Parades

photo by David L O’Nan

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 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 and an upcoming one inspired by Bob Dylan. 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” (look under books tab in Amazon) under Cajun Mutt Press & “His Poetic Last Whispers” (2022) 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. 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

*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!

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 and an upcoming one inspired by Bob Dylan. 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” (look under books tab in Amazon) under Cajun Mutt Press & “His Poetic Last Whispers” (2022) 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. 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

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
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