Poetry by David L O’Nan : Bleeding Money Polaroids

BLEEDING MONEY POLAROIDS

The prestigious hustling cupids
Slithering and horny in vinyl
Sending civility decades back.
Forgetting Steinem and MLK
While we drive in corvettes
And dress our jugulars in costumed jewelry
We’ll never have
These waterfalls,
They remain pixelated
It is like looking in from the threads of lingerie.
Look at our story,
The gamble
Sifting dirt from diamond prisons
If only we could die young,
Like artists
Wouldn’t have to pull the trigger to old-age pain,
When resting in fear –
Blue mime skinny bones in chairs of wheels.
With weathered pennies in pockets,
And 50-year old Polaroids scattered over grassy loom shag carpet.
Looking at pinpoint blur,
The visions of drunkened alcoholic uncles and other suspicious failed gods,
Making dirty carpet angels over coughed up fibers and oily hairs.
That stick to polyester like solvents of lint.
All the timelines read these pictures.
From all those bordellos and cathedrals.
Zoos with timid monkeys and barnyard elephants
Tigers on Quaaludes and broken neck giraffes
Limping to the tree with a few leaves to feed.
The mind brings back the Psychedelic Summers
To Winter bone blizzards.
Christmas presents in hands to appearing like mugshots,
Appearing like that guy suspicious to the murder of
Dorothy Stratten.
They always built clowns out of the macho,
In those times
Light will blemish us away
Our brains when teased become melting wax.
And we are nothing but the drippings from Pollock.

photo by David L O’Nan

River of Suffocation by David L O’Nan (from the Cartoon Diaries)

River of Suffocation

Ooh bending river come save me
I’m lifeless
Bending river is a cold beam, suffocating
Bending river throws me to the floor,
Peels my skin
Splits open my skull and picks out my brain
Cuffs me to the walls and calls me desire
Pretending I am pleasure
For evil
Winding, winding around my throat
Remember you’re safe,
what is your secret?
Why are you alive,
and why am I dead?
Floating,
water cripples like the flowing current
Across my dirty realm of life
They puncture the clouds
In which I see my death from above

They murder a sound before it becomes harmonious
They bleed unity,
and then flush it with raindrops

Flooding,
envelops my soul
Capturing good riddance
as power burns away into excellence
I’ve become a dark umbrage pasted to the ground
I’ve become floating evil kissing air through the halls
I’ve devoured the lust,
the heat with the banshee calls
Bending river you’re original
A choking brilliance
I caught dreaming as you tried to attack my
day to be saved,
to become clear
I swam in your arms,
hoping your hug was eternal
I’m leaping in
Your brooks seem refreshing,
but fire bounces in your eyeballs
The apparition,
I am lifeless looking up at the hope of the bridges
I’m a miniscule invisible dot,
no one knows of me
But you do…
don’t you bending river?

photo by Frank Williams (unsplash)

5 poems from the Cartoon Diaries by David L O’Nan

A NEW PERSPECTIVE TO GREENSLEEVES

He was the seasick Italian boy
We rummaged his mind and found broken crystals
And loose Ivory piano keys
He was a master pianist who stole the bread,
Tried to spread peace on the side
He exuded a mad mind which he took out on the corruptive soldiers
In the lands of taxidermy
He relaxed that mind when creating a masterpiece with his music
He played the piano in the nude
He felt music was pure, cleansing to the soul and felt only beauty
The beauty of only a cleansing of music and body
There he was like Psycho-bare Beethoven with a Beatles haircut
A nose ring and in a sweat
He was a physical whore to his music
Self-surrendering himself to the sound
He began as night and entered
The dawn bleeding gorgeous straight from the musical womb

TRAINING PHANTOMS

Laying down in my dying sheets
Amongst a crowd of maggots and fleas
I dream of her and I on our wedding day
In my coma dreams
You take my blood, you slow my heart
Tell me to breathe
How do I start?
Is this how you train your ghosts?

Mechanical Wheel

Mechanical wheel behind the trees
I’m blinded by yesterday’s stars
last night’s crescent moon
mid-morning’s hatred for late afternoon
that old woman…
is she still with you?
Living off dry bread and wet leaves…
sewing patches onto burning cotton sleeves

Is Miss August and her endless caper
still laying by the shore…
sipping margaritas…
sharing the slow tune of life’s infinite bore
Are you still stuck with the dreams,
of living in outer space? Collecting the stars …
putting them in your top hat
filled with the galaxy’s waste
Can I have a moment with you?
Now we are under a blood moon…
and feathers are floating in the night sky
Will they land on the surface of the Earth,
or will they continue falling until I die?
Mechanical wheel,
are you still real?
Is the rust forming
on your metal face…

covering your body with bumps
causing you to feel ill?
Are the black eyes of the sun
laughing at you?
becoming one with you,
empowering you….
is the malicious chaos
that surround motivation?
The blood burns like an inferno
feeling a little determination….
rejuvenation or just more relaxation…
go ahead and lay in the wind’s breeze
…feel shallow, helpless…urge your disease
Let the sea crest in your body…
feel the power of the ocean’s current
in your chest…
grab a wave or float on by…
your hand will either be empty
or touching the sky

Backyard Barbie Dolls

Ethereal poses by the backyard Barbie dolls
She wants to join them
They dream unlike her,
a shallow gel over a burning world
They live a different dream
But she,
she wants to join them
Walk with a healthy strut,
red lipstick smear to smut
Pretend you’re never old,
if you want to join them
Suppress your caustic old-fashioned smile
Too crooked you’ll poison your ideal
Inherit the smirk of a dying golden rain
If you want to join them
There is a shelter you dare to seek
A natural beauty left on the brink
Hold your head over a toilet or a sink
Flush your mind into the pipes
if you want to join them
Now,
Barbies they want to play
Sucking limousines across the way
They have bleached away another perfect day
Digesting the Cancer
that lives inside them
There is a price tag on the plastic nude
She lays there crippled and rude
Overflowing in suntan oil and booze
Waiting for the eyes to join her


THE DEMONS

One sheet to the floor
I swear it is freezing
Your love calls me dead,
Your populous says crazy
I can’t explain the fears,
the ghosts are persuasive
I am not alone when you think I am
New screams,
not for the living
Not a dream,
love asleep
But baby,
I feel the demons

photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash

Butterflies and Manifestations by David L O’Nan – poetry

BUTTERFLIES AND MANIFESTATIONS

There was a time
When I had an existence
We were the Roses
In fields with the butterflies
A Masterpiece
Manifestations followed by
The wilting, just weeds
Infestations
Butterflies spread across the crispness
Of the ground
Through it all sticks and the snakes
The moments of life
Beats your reflections
Upon one’s self
All the hugs in 20 quick seconds
All the kisses in a flash of cloud to ground lightning
The moments of the attempts play like a 4 hour movie
The pills, the Crashing to the floor
Revived, prayers you have to rip from the mud.
Just to see your reflection
After another infestation
See yourself in precious waters
Pulled petals and thorns scattered
In the forms of scrambled tombstone etchings
Battles in love, beauty in achievements
When you stabbed your self-doubts
And you felt fragrant, and you could attract a crowd of dandelions whom thought they were Hollywood.
Make the proud moment reflections last longer,
God please
When I’m holding my babies
Not accepting being one of the masses of Roses
I feel the drowning of my mind
Being held down into another ditch
Another infestation
Butterflies scurry to a truth
A Masterpiece in true waters
A welcoming warm stare of the Nymphaea Nelumbo
May I feel comfort resting in this blanket of grass
Resting under twilight
Stars of God
Lift me into light
I can fully encompass the reflections
The last days of diseases that withered me to bone and plastic skin
I can see that I like everyone had moments of being a Masterpiece
That flew with the butterflies
A crowding of love
Purging ideas that there were infestations at all, and what was claustrophobia
Was just blind tremors
And tricks of sin
That oozed out the poisons
And scooped up, in handfuls and drank in by your own soul
When scared and resistant

photo by Meg Jarrard on Unsplash

Monet’s Trees by David L O’Nan : Poetry from the Cartoon Diaries

MONET’S TREES

We speak as if death,
as a reflection of shade
As we navigate in the circles of sunlight
As miracles of breath
Miracles of Mother Nature
The trees of a Monet painting
Have become real
We become bearers of our sins
To discuss, to confess
Confessions to the caverns of bark
Eaten away at,
We lay in the comfort of cold ground and confess
To the lace ripped from the corner of an orange moon
The days of strange
By the riverfronts
Watching little devils form in the ripples of water
We met each other
As soldiers of war
Soldiers of mental scarring
We met each other
From dust to blood
Battle-wound confessions
Blood of the dawn
Paints the tears to my skin
One with my pores

Can you feel the burning?
All the reflexes in a burning

Tremor
Confessions
When we whisper lies to celebrate infamous moments
Celebration of ego
In radical boredom
The moments we walked on the bridges of bone
To climb the highest mountain to touch the hands of God
Superiority complex, confess
That you are lost in a possession of spirit
The caverns of bark, to climb through
And let the animals, tunnel through
Nibbling at the periderm
Confess more
Were you satisfied with the awakening of madness?
As it spread, fires across lakes of thought
Confess to the artist that sketches into your brain
Confess to the colors that swirl in your mind
Greens, browns, grays
What shall the Rhytidome be?
When confessing to the caverns of bark
In a blending of Monet’s Trees

photo is Claude Monet’s “Trees in Bloom”