Poem by David L O’Nan : “Cartoon”

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Cartoon


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

Wolfpack Contributor EIC Bios: David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan

Poem by David L O’Nan : “Clearly!” (2005) (Poetry, writings)

Clearly!

Kaleidoscopic rainbow men
scurrying through dumpsters
In search of their souls.
They carry the hands of fate
with matching bleeding fate
They succumb to territorialism,
they breathe in tantric manoeuvring
They slit the soldier’s wrist in the green air,
The war air
Bombshells, gun shells
filling up their stomachs with nuclear slime.
Digesting liquified bones
Dreaming in presidential monotone
Picking the hands off the clock
with many shades of plasma and blood
on their claws
Ripping the tock away,
making love to the ticking
Relishing and marinating
in each other’s sexual juices
Lighting a cloud on fire,
then inhaling the ashes
To take in the ultimate high
High as a cloud they exclaim!
As they continue
pulling their amulets and chains
out from under God’s lockbox.
Sepia coloured tombs
being spit at by these loose streetwalkers
These, living in monarchy
dressing in megalomania clothing
They peel whispers out of strangers,
secrets locked in silence
Chipping away at the stones of their mind statues
Beaming red flame cigars
in their quivering halitosis mouths
Gorgeous sun burning their breasts and legs
with Cancerous sores.
Glory written in black on their televisions,
on their windows
Glory burned in their mind
much like a hot iron pressed into their brain cells.
They are found by cold blooded killers
With gangrene gasses and poisonous sewage
Trapping them into a burden
Parading them with acid rain
and bulletproof tears
The sexy ladies are there
picking them the flowers
That crumble and die once they touch the palm
The murder geniuses
are salivating in their orange vests
Screaming with lungs crippled
and dangling from their smoke-filled chest.
Staring into and out of trees
with decrepit sinister eyes
Senile diseased chapped loins
being gazed at on busy sidewalks
throughout the city everyday
They walk in moderation
To picket the celebration
To riot against a freedom nation
They want to close minds
Drink the juice of the atrocious arsenic wine
And who is that in sheep’s clothing?
It’s a government,
a media darling
The sounds of hell’s wolves howling
CLEARLY!

Wolfpack Contributor EIC Bios: David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan

*From the book “the Cartoon Diaries”

follow @DavidLONan1 and @feversof on Twitter

photo by Scott Evans

Poems by David L O’Nan “Wild Hearts” “Taking Pictures in Dark Laundromats” “Miracle White” “A Centipede in a Blizzard” & “The War is Like Honey in Holiday Lights”

Wild Hearts


Finally, your wild heart has escaped
Dug out of the tombstones and pistols
Finally, breathing
Lost your flannel scars
Anxious
Overly cautious needletail flight
into a coal burnt sun
Finally, your wild heart has escaped
Fireflies surrounding us
In smithereens we are now static
The last prayer to a Bonnie and Clyde tragedy
We are puffing cigarettes like a royal snob.
Invisible now
A parade for the burning winds
He, the jealous king
Makes love fraudulent
Finally, your wild heart has escaped
Dynamite sticks replace a brain
He, lives as the artist wrapped in heartbeats
Ideally, he pretends his golden crown was light
Foggy to everyone else
Your wild daring heart escaped
From razors to scissors
From cuts to blisters
I have never felt the chills like that
in your shaking hand
Your love, facade
But you sleep well in the lilies
Looking at deformed clouds
Destructing the milky way


Taking-pictures in-Dark LAUNDROMATS

He’s always spinning, spinning in dim lights
Eyes follow the floor
The circling of the karmic wheel teeters
A window shaking, the peering out
Foreshadows laughter
Winking eyes and love we’re after
Doubt licks through
the mind is juice and fragments
Comical ears hear nothing but sadness
And Winter months are cold and bent
The wind will blow under the clutching arms of snow
And still the comfort is broken into bits of matter
What is this filth we’re bathing in?
Lint, heat, wet claustrophobic skin
Smiles that look over the ocean’s shores
Where another smile emits from nothing before
Then we rumble, crumbled into aisles of dust
Those who try to save,
their need for lust
Praying hands unite in burning churches
They hope, they grieve, they live for the spin
All the while predicting the evolution of God
Then there are the moments
in which love was spit out of you;
the adoring one
-has been shot with the thoughts of the heart
The heart is left bruised, beaten,
no longer caressing the bleeding
As coarse as sackcloth
As those eyes lift a little
Another light bulb fades
Exit signs flicker
As you remember those rented sighs
Whispers crying “don’t pay for lust”
Then midnight’s bonfire became this morning’s generic toil, dribbled flame
And you’re exhausted, no patience
Cycles ending
You’re a tired feather for the unconscious
And that once bright hammer over your skull,
is now fading
A true carbon copy of the mundane, ill sunlight
Once you step outside, cheers can now erupt
You can be the hero for today
But you still have one sock left missing
Until the next person walks in
and discovers your ghost

Miracle White


Gloves warming,
melting away the little ice crystals
My bones also warming,
beginning to feel my skin again
The doves, the loving birds
Frozen together on bending trees
Electrical wires connected by icicles,
energy trapped
I’m walking over my thoughts,
barefoot and bruised
I grab at the invisible dream that linger in the air
I need that feeling to be real
I need dreams
to feel like an emotional human,
instead I’m this brick connecting to other bricks.
Bricks that want to fall away from me
You swore me a raging river
That my eyes were your jewels
Somehow, becoming solid like concrete
Your heart pumping poison throughout
All the leaves have collapsed
into a pile of wet mucus
underneath the shadow snow
They are no longer the headliner
that they were just a few short weeks before.
Winter arrived so quickly this year
Seems like moments ago
I was warm in your arms
from the last Winter’s death
The unhinging of eyelids across a paste of light
Sleeping inside your mind, tight and coiled
Our bruising hands
holding together the pinching nerves,
daring the bones to unlock them.
Bones that morphed
into plastic through years of loneliness
The heart can breathe hidden,
I can love like an army tank

Our pores ingesting each other,
convulsing, we shiver
Warming each other with a nuclear climax
Succumbing to the wind,
insert dynamite
The black clouds
are injected the liquid of white light
The sunshine broke away into tiny fireflies
Doesn’t need a morning to cradle into sleep
The miracles are never explained
A new day vanished, becoming dusty
Nocturnally brushed into natural.

Popping with the same germs,
hiding oxygen in your panic room.
Crushing muscles that do not hurt, but fading
Will I touch you inside that cloud again,
or just wilt inside it?
My eyes are a miracle white,
and a mind full of toxins
The gonging toll of the blizzard signals,
the chariots buzzing by bleeding
The Winter’s fusion lays
inside my cold purging soul
I can wail into the tunnels,
knife at the feelings that drink like the mud.
I can become a pipe bomb,
I can spin around madly
‘Til beauty spins back into my bait
So, the twinkles of fusion
have torn apart, receded
Blossomed like a duckling,
then flew off with grace
Turning the flies into sunshine panorama,
and swine into star.

A Centipede in a Blizzard

Paralyzing tracks in the stacks of snow
A centipede in a blizzard
Dragging broken legs, frozen and falling off
As the wind is full of laughter
These shadows have sucked up the kill,
my venom
Now, the picnics are a funeral
My dreamscape is now a graveyard
In which you stare to the heavens
Sitting by my tombstone
You watched me wither like melting butter
I am not a saint, but I was washed into purity
Yet, you sit as an eternal witch
Can you take the falling of the black rubies?
Can you drink the toxins from the fruit?
Do you feel the long breaths begin to putt… putt…putter?
Are friends beginning to suspect you of all these fires, baby?
You wake up to a crawling, cold spider dragging to the floor
The phone keeps ringing
like a haunting stain of air
In ways I have always been your skeleton
A Strong, calcified soul
that you could always see thru
Forget your infamous night
The prayer for a rebirth
A limping leg and a heartbreak of whistling wind
The clearing is nearby
Forgiveness to pale fires
Is rebirth the cure?
Evict the liars bell-toll
No soul, a rebirth of a savage
Watch for the tumbleweed


The War is like Honey in Holiday Lights

In this Christmas,
we are in these smoking lights
In our poverty,
In our never-ending wars
Like every Christmas it seems,
Ever since I became a young man
They forced me into these hate battles
Fighting “enemies ” whose faces –
Are in family photos,
Just like mine.
The government has tried to white-out my mind
Many years ago,
Blank me out,
a dot to be eaten by the machine
Replaced me into the sticky,
Fill in the wounds with the honey,
In stitches
Cohesive, bare boned and breathing in
Last heartbeats.
There are the memories,
Pretty voices humming
In hope,
I pray to a sky
That I cannot fathom all the angels
The angels,
That supposed to be cradling us all.

As these nightmares burn in our skin,
Layer me in towers upon towers of fears.
I try to imagine,
A boyhood love of bells ringing,
Instead of missile sirens purging –
the pure from the air.

I will always have my mother’s voice
She will sing to me from the haunts
Sing to me,
In hope
As more of my brother’s fall.
I cradle in this sticky dirt in my cuts,
And hold it up,
So my angels can cradle me

Wolfpack Contributor EIC Bios: David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan

3 poems by David L O’Nan : “Come Possess Me in the Rain” “Sleight of Hand” “In the Palms of Schizophrenia”

Come Possess Me in the Rain

The conduits all say that I invented myth
And magic all in one breath.
There is a mist in the cold air
On a Greenwich Village Halloween night
I can not feel the electricity
Only the forceful druids, and the chanting wish of death

They hold me up and say
Come Possess me in the rain
Licks the cold steel to my skull
Possess me, with me
Real and muted by the shame
In an execution style parade
What is the impression of a concrete stain?

They are practicing Shakespeare
They are faux Warholas and Bohemians in sunglasses
Without a notion of care

And I’m in this shadow that you feel at the River
Cold to the touch, blood like paste
The arrows kill the stars in the nuclear waste
In the air, decaying the ground

Now I’m expected to love all
As I’m pierced to these skyscrapers
Bound and bullied
My hands shaking off frost
It takes every breath in my lungs to
Release all my cowardice and all the vapors

Like this militant view of my skewering
They drop me off like unused flesh
Love was only the invention
Off the roots of an untimely reptilian dream
And hate grew in the garden
And shook the city lights to the seas
There isn’t a Picasso left

Digging up from the cracks
I crawl up through Cherry Lane
And I watch all the faints
And my nerves constantly dance an alarm
I am rushed in my steps
I am hushed in the slivers of my brain

In my mind that never sleeps
In my possession they fed off for years
I can only find truth and humanity
And live like I’m the Palomino
Dodging in and out of the hustling of fear

Sleight of Hand

My blood is an old soul
That should be pumping through a robotic poet from classic times
If I’m breathing, you will hear me
When I’m not, you may hear me more
How else can you see these supposed fast-moving clouds dream –
As slow motion tantras through a heartless sky?
This current world is too loud for me,
Yet it isn’t nearly loud enough
The art is secluded
The arteries are clogged,
Filled with supernovas and suffering
And they call this a sleight of hand


In The Palms of Schizophrenia

(first published in 3 Moon Publishing)

I’m a runaway from
The colours of my aura
Slithering like worms across the cracks of sidewalks

My palms have lines that are geometrically wrong,
Where do the nails go?
When they capture me
To evict me, to a death.

When they mark me like all of Christianity,
Rising above the rest.
I live with nature, everchanging repetition.
No one else hears,
My cries in the night
Like wolves, like all of my fears

How are screams so fluent?
In an echo, a breath
In Convulsion, still so fluent?
Everyone has deep eyes
Congruent to my ruin.

I remember love
And the mystery of bells
The ringing of heartaches
And the burning of hell

Inside my palms
I always know my passions
Only I, and my ghosts of mind can imagine.
And in this world

Even levitation leads to a drowning.

feature photo by Janine Robinson (unsplash)

Wolfpack Contributor EIC Bios: David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan

Poem by David L O’Nan : Psalm 46 Haze

Psalm 46 Haze

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.

Wolfpack Contributor EIC Bios: David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan