5 poems from David L O’Nan from the Cartoon Diaries book of poetry

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

Twitter @davidlonan1 @feversof

Facebook: DavidLONan1

books on Amazon: the Cartoon Diaries, New Disease Streets, Lost Reflections, Taking Pictures in the Dark, the Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers, Our Fears in Tunnels

Anthologies on Amazon: Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Digest Vol 1 June 2019, Fevers of the Mind Poetry Digest In Memoriam August 2019, Fevers of the Mind Poetry Digest Issue 3 the Darkness & the Light, Avalanches in Poetry: Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen, Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020

Poetry from the Cartoon Diaries : An Artist Weeps by David L O’Nan

Canvas, canvas
Where are her eyes,
what did you do to her features?
All beauty has fallen, fallen to the creaky floor
Muffling breath,
you can tell she has fallen from the Earth
Into an abstract abyss
Petula, she is shady,
so grey, and shaded so wrong
She is being mistreated,
undressed, and becoming a sad song
Her slime for a smile
is melting her cover girl face
Designing her curves so crooked,
the lie is her mis-shape
Her eyes are wandering dots
allocated to only a certain few
They were left bleeding and burning
Her scent of rotten perfume

Causing the slug sounds of dry heaves,
dry leaves, dry wind, dry thoughts
That is not all that became the rotten
And brought under her guidance
She lays a dark blue underneath the canvas
Choking on spirits
Dust of undeveloped talent itches her throat
She limps to the door, grabs onto her scarf
Pulls down the rack
Her sacred seizures
brought on by the progression of panic attacks
Limping across the room, she’s a banshee
She screams
GOD HELP ME NOW! GOD HELP ME PLEASE!
You’ve never helped me then
My injured mind a sin
When will God help me?
Will I be able to sexualize my name again?
My legend again
My glamourous bent laughter
like the wicked wind
Will it return, or will my aching heart –
Keep this soaking in hot wax
and melt into a dry bore
Stuck on the side of a candlestick
that has held all her sores
This is the cuts that have left an infinite pause
The freezing of her soul,
leaving an infinite thought
It will not form a solid again
Canvas, Canvas
The world is your ears, if it is life that we fear
We will need the art and beauty to be fulfilled
Let the sanctum be near

Feature photo by Thom Masat

follow me at @davidLONan1 and @feversof for this blog’s twitter.

Poetry inspired by Ginsberg: Clearly! by David L O’Nan (2005)


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!

*From the book “the Cartoon Diaries”

follow @DavidLONan1 and @feversof on Twitter

A Hallelujah for a Midnight War by David L O’Nan from Avalanches in Poetry Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen

I can feel your skin breathing in orbs

Kisses that feel like surgeries

And the money dies off when you are greedy

And step right into a Midnight War

Millions of Judases in the wilderness

The sick and the crimson

In torment

So Petrified

One breath, chokes

Hallelujah

 

In chaos

The hammer smashes in the glass

We, are hidden behind these walls

Combustion in bones

And all to become vapors

In this Midnight War

Where glitter turns to ashes

Break from the chains, a howl

Hallelujah

The spectres and the stars

Looking as one

Like in a mirror of night

Forsaken of riches

They loot the diamonds from the heart

And the robbery is simplicity

We feel translucent watching the seas

The Midnight War cripples

And the waves clash together in an

Everlasting

Hallelujah

 

The virgins spin down

With chapped lips

And breeding, hungry eyes

And you are numb to touch

A revolver, an allergy

The flaming of whips to erase your mind

The pearls they fall to the fire

The path is a torrent from fibrous roots –

To the vines of cherries

Angelic songs

Obliterations to my auditory invisibility

In grief, in pain

Praying in puns

Hallelujah

 

So, Midnight Passes

And we are back to 1 a.m.

Time for the blossoms and the honey

Woven into the fabrics of Earth

Tip toes the demons away

White horses begin to gallop

Wildly around the curves

And suddenly your eyelids open

Back to the reds, blues, orange sunlight

And hearses begin to putter

And the gas kills off the energy

Hallelujah

 

@DavidLONan1  on Twitter   @feversof on Twitter   

 

And the Wolf Shakes by David L O’Nan from Avalanches in Poetry: Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen

In a camera’s view

I am the tortoise

When hidden I am the hare

With whistles, kisses, dangerous fixes

I can be the crushed worm

I feel the hierarchy changes

The tornado rips these castles to rubble

And you dream of the vicious

And you dream of the gentle shelters

To keep you warm when the wolf shakes

Eventually, the Winter will slip through

The cracks

And eternally

We feel the peasant’s meal

The bears begin knocking and

We hide like the scared child

In the storms of war

The bullets, the bombs

Parades of hell

A demon

Tight and abusive

Drinks the rain

And leaves us thirsty

With endless clouds

Still bleeding

Even the devil can be chivalrous

When reflecting from the bottom of a wineglass

Even God can be frightening

When tasting of the bread

And the Holy Bible as a straitjacket

To whisper you back to sanity

These wars were made for men

Certainly not made for love

The damages are painting a death,

For the wash

The Washing away

As the floods finally come

Wipe away our hoax in these torrents

Rebuild our trenches

We can desire living again

When the wolf leaves

The sheep can play

Find me on twitter @davidLONan1 @feversof

feature photo of wolf by Jeroen Bosch on Unsplash.com

rsz_1elo4pnhxsaa-kkx (artwork by Geoffrey Wren for Avalanches in Poetry)