1 (Tony Brewer)
The gunshot of autumn walnuts
blasting a barn tin roof
shatters the quiet riverine scene
Blinded by watery glare
yet intent on staring down the sun
Certain of seeing something there
where wind whips up rapids
- but it’s water doing its thing
2 (David L O'Nan)
I live like a retro bum
I feel like the ancient young
Praise Jesus and Rockwell
Something left dangling like flashbacks from the last century
I dream in flashbacks. Very rarely moving forward.
To face reality like a robot. As we are all supposed to be these days.
So maybe I’m not a bully
Do I push and shove you?
Shake you and break you?
The glamour of reflections in mirrors never appealed to me.
I could perhaps just cut my whiskers dangerously. Not to care anymore
How I’d look in your convenient stores, Maybe I just want to dance to “Born to Run”
Instead of “Nowhere to Run”
So if itch a little too long, maybe you’ve figured out the bite
Have I become that malaria embedding itself inside the bite?
Left my imprint into your heart’s delight, not that blonde looker.
Not that Adonis that you call your hammer. No, that regurgitated hooker.
The one hanging out by fat-whistled daddies with meth promises.
Now the local suited up weatherman says rain and storms are coming.
Maybe to cuddle in your psychotic brain.
The wind begins to gust, the walnuts scatter the yard. Crunch after crunch.
The squirrels look at us with disrespect.
Doesn’t feel like Jesus here. Doesn’t even feel like Rockwell.
Doesn’t feel like the dustbowl, Doesn’t even feel like a sexual revolution.
Doesn’t feel like love, It just feels like morbid hate.
It feels like crickets chirping like lasso whips to warn the martyrs down from the trees.
And break us into powdered ashes as we watch that American Flag barn burn to the ground.
Suddenly I see Jesus and I see Rockwell. What good does it do me now?
Do they baptize us in renamed ponds? Do they dress us up like obsolete Americana?
Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog.Poetry by Tony Brewer : “You and I are Human Beings” “the Seashell & the Clergyman”Paperback & Kindle version of Cursed Houses is now available from David L O’Nan on this link belowhttps://amzn.to/3VQudCI The History of Projectiles by Tony Brewer
She stood there, huddled in the center a sun stripped naked amidst clouds. Her make up had melted like cares that faded into a wound facing crowds. Suddenly hurt was someone right there with the loudest sounds and fastest hounds.
It chased her down the hills with quills spilling bills like fair jills coming from mills. And as all things began to settle, reality cooled its kettle like all the mettle had left its warriors in a battle.
She was a knight in shining armor a soul with great ardor a feat for those who seek valor and a treat for those who savor love above all things one should favor.
To many she was just a player with too many strings. And so she drowned in lies from loved ones who knew better. Little did she knew they came for her to make her pay for things she’d done to put fear in those eyes of hers for thinking she was someone.
And so she fell to her knees muttering oh please but those bees had nothing but honey on their minds. No money no honey, no maybes. First they took away her armor then they stripped her of her dignity And finally stabbed her heart with her soul to remind her no one can be your all.
Loyalty is a sun for those who endeavor to uphold love and trust, with fervor Yet it dies when lies pull the trigger in the name of gain, a bitter grain sheathed in pride’s splendor to crush souls with trust’s clamor and kick gratitude like a meek vole leaving those who stole victorious and glorious.
There is no one who can be someone when hurt is everyone and love is no one. There is no one who can be your one when loyalty is dead because of someone. The masks are off but there’s no one behind those masks just everyone else.
Author’s Notes:
In a world where betrayal and treachery are the banners of the winners while loyalty is the coat of arms of losers; the need to drop masks or unmask people is so urgent. We can live for years giving our backs to so called loved ones and friends, until the time comes and their interests no longer intersect with ours and that’s the time we see where we truly stand and who they truly are. This piece is a saga about loyalty’s sad martyrdom. Thank you for reading.
Extremes & Balance
From a distance, we hover over life’s water zigzagging between dark & light lanes traced in laughs & complaints.
We bathe in closeness’ lights and play with no cares until time runs out as our laughs do, so we switch lanes and lurk in shadows where only our eyes glisten with tears as our silhouettes fumble the dark like tumbling dice.
Finding one’s path shows closeness’ fading light but makes loneliness’ darkness a real fight. Both paths’ blocks vary in gradation & grain but ingrain choice like a viral strain overcoming a body’s immune system.
In the end choice is a graduation from light & darkness’ gradation to forsake extremes for balance to stream one’s path for a chance in life across blues, hues, and cues.
When you have nothing at hand you have no home or land. You lose your stand in life to time’s sand.
Peace leaves you in pieces worry gives you creases. Your self worth decreases as your sorrow increases.
When you have nothing at hand loved ones disband failing to understand that you need their helping hand.
Destiny spits in your face leaving you to wipe your disgrace. Dignity rests its case as chance looses its place.
When you have nothing at hand dreams hang from hope’s strand crushing everything grand as trouble makes its first demand.
Happiness is a game of catch and release where catch is a lease that makes you please and release is a pain that takes away peace.
When you have nothing at hand you cry tears of sand as you are panned with life’s brutal hand to obey circumstances’ command.
Raging Bees
Right and wrong are two queens dividing a hive upon a spring of lies. They send swarms of raging bees out of their hives to build new lives.
Filled with rage, these bees sting in spite until each bee dies. Rage is a wild flame that burns lives with hurtful words to break hearts.
No smoke can ward these angry bees for their rage burns with lies and maybes. Instead of flying away from the flames they fall into them burning with lies.
Pride makes them fall without cries for presumed rights in wrong ways. Alas now there are two beehives but there are no bees just goodbyes.
Rage easily starts wars with maybes but ends such wars in real tragedies. Rage knows no age or sage just blame’s mage taking the stage.
Moving Forward
You have two choices they said: read one page at a time or put the book down. I tried both and found each hurt differently.
Take a chance they said; Give yourself time Everyone is a clown when they hit the ground. So I waited patiently.
I waited to see what I read fade away like every dime I’ve spent and only found fear roaming around haunting me eternally.
I tried writing instead of moping, a crime that made my family a crowd that was too loud; I guess am used to being lonely.
Take the journey they said it won’t buy you back the time you’ve lost but you wont be bound to the past but don’t stay down cause only you understands you fully.
So I laid pages I’ve read on my bed hoping to mine hope from sorrow like a cloud masking the sun like a shroud. And so I roam aimlessly.
Hurt is a book that can’t be closed in time because it’s just a dime that hits the ground so hard when you are down that moving forward is costly.
When Daffodils Crash Lily Weddings
When daffodils act silly defying a member of their family living in the valley under the name lily; nature shakes its belly with hybrids for glory! That’s when lilies put on their scaly bulby slippers to show off their dainty stems for feet sporting twenty two jolly skirts in colors fit for a spring baby wedding his betrothed Lily beauty!
They rock designer brands like a galley swerving over waters in a windy valley. There you will see Reverend Lily of the Valley lead the prayer in the valley as Tiger Lily holds hands with stargazer lily and Backhouse Lily walks down the aisle showing off Casablanca Lily his lovely bride, followed by Tinybee Lily and Lollipop Lily their flower girls and Easter Lily with Regal Lily as ring bearers ushered by Acapulco Lily and Elodie Lily as bride’s maids walking next to Robert Swanson Lily and Luxor Lily as best men chosen by the Lily couple while Tiny Double You Lily, Matrix Lily, Candidum Lily, Madonna Lily Sunray Lily, Dreamland Lily, sing in a choir lead by Turk Cap Lily while Symphony Lily, Orange Pixie, Nellie White Lily, dance for the young couple lead by Panther Lily.
All is well as every single Lily takes a seat on one side of the valley. Just then the daffodils clan arrives with their big mama sporting her singular stem bulb surrounded by her twenty seven Narcissus sons along with her Plumeria daughters in law To crash her Lily cousin’s kids’ wedding
Jetfire walked in holding hands with Aztec Gold followed by Sentinel smiling at Candy Stripe. Thaleo was still kissing Celadine when Narcissus Quail whistled at Pudica. Hungry as always, Sorbet dripped some ice cream on Singapore Obtusa who lost her cool left his arm and stood next to Barret Browning who was starry eyed with Dwarf Pink Obtusa. Jack Snipe wore a smokey suit to impress Vera Cruze Rose who had eyes for Narcissus Tahiti who was with Vishanu Gold then. Sovereign was head over heels for Intense Rainbow who seemed to favor Narcissus Romance over him who was sadly seeing Riviera Rainbow. Canaliculatus felt proud walking illustrious Kaneohe Sunburst. Petit Four found balance with Rubra Confetti whose little sister Duvauchelle Special tiptoed gracefully next to Cheerfulness who was right behind Hawera & his partner Penang Peach. Merlin on the other hand had an issue showing up with Daisy Wilcox, he called her condescending but that was because she wanted to make White Lion jealous but the lad had eyes only for Thailand Red. Meanwhile February Gold found warmth in the arms of Toba’s Fire and Large cup found his fill of wine with Lucky Star! Trumpet was always loud and being deaf, Stenopetala had no issues listening to him all day, after all, she’s safe from the noise pollution! Jonquilla saw in Mele Pa Bowman his world and that’s why he got his younger brother Poeticus to go out with her younger sister Barbados Showgirl! Miniature on the other hand found his other half with Dwarf Watermelon who was so grateful. Narcissus Tazetta however was still not over B052 Rubra who accepted to give them a second chance. Split Corona was calm and was at home with poise Makaha Sunn just as Triandrus found meaning with Elizabeth Thornton. Cyclamineus thought Stenophylla was phenomenal in her duet with her sister Carcasana who was seeing Bulbocodium.
You could feel the tension rise in the winds as the daffodil, Narcissus boys & Plumeria girls waltzed into the valley, but luckily both families had two wise boys and a generous hostess. Within a split of a second, Narcissus Einstein began to do an entertaining Futterwacken followed by his male cousin Black Lily who was serving the guests Rice Root pudding while his generous hostess sister Grape Lily poured the finest wine grown in that valley.
At last the wedding went on, Lily Bride & groom were made to bloom in a kiss watched by both daffodil and lily in colors brought down from shrubs with Plumerian girls bearing hybrid babies that will forever offer shade to their daffodil beaus and Lily foes, and the story goes that everyone is still on their toes!
Author’s Notes: I love Lilies, Daffodils & Plumerias and not many people can tell the difference between both or have heard about Plumerias, so I thought to myself I will write a tale that will showcase their types and I hope I succeeded. thanks for reading!
StoneWalling
Submerged in doubt one floats carefree in aimless waters without hope of touching land.
Tethered with guilt and regrets one tows his/her soul to a destiny of penance.
Overt or clandestine, pain is no one’s gain if one can grasp what it means to be humane.
Nipped with the present’s pressing matters leave one to drown in what one can’t take back.
Encroached with advances to redress damage only to be rejected, leaves one distraught.
Wailing hearts are as silent as wailing babies in the womb only heard with the right probe.
Amadou from souls yearning for forgiveness is the best torch one ignites in tragedy’s darkness.
Leveling up in the hurt game for victims or doers is the first step to total destruction.
Lauding indifference and isolation instead of forgiveness is pure malice.
Ignoring a wailing heart happens when one allocates blame in the name of being fair.
Neverland is a place where sorrow is the fairy dust by which lost souls take a flight into oblivion.
Gone are the days when to err was humane and to forgive is divine.. such is our sad world.
Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology. Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction. To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello @ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.
art photo sent by Pasithea Chan for writing prompt
Untitled by Mo Schoenfeld
memory, dry, cracked.
silent shivering, slick streets,
puddles like mirage.
Twitter @MoSchoenfeld
A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Mo SchoenfeldPromenade by James Penha
The rain drizzles like paint on a canvas
but I am safe under cover of night when
lamplit colors melt this great city I own
on my way.
Expat New Yorker James Penha (he/him🌈) has lived for the past three decades in Indonesia. Nominated for Pushcart Prizes in fiction and poetry, his work is widely published in journals and anthologies. His newest chapbook of poems, American Daguerreotypes, is available for Kindle. His essays have appeared in The New York Daily News and The New York Times. Penha edits The New Verse News, an online journal of current-events poetry. Twitter: @JamesPenha
Light by Ivor Daniel
(And then the lighting of the lamps. T S Eliot - Prelude).
We shall overcome. (Pete Seeger et al)And then the lighting of the lamps
And then the lighting of the
And then the lighting
And then the
And then
AndWe
We shall
We shall overcome
We shall overcome, some
We shall overcome, some day
WE SHALL OVERCOME, SOME DAY
WE SHALL OVERCOME, SOME DAY
WE SHALL OVERCOME, SOME DAY
#SLAVA UKRAINIA Poetry Showcase for Ivor Daniel *Updated 9/23/22* with Plath haikuA Painter's Umbrella by Pasithea ChanI set my canvas in swirly wrinkles
hoping my brush makes ripples
in my lover's heart for all onlookers
etching my pain in colorful grain
to relieve longing's strain & stay sane.
I'm neither a cane for her to lean on nor a window pane
to entertain an agonized soul sedating his pain.
I am an umbrella held for shelter from weather.
Never a stage for soulful blues under red hues.
To me you are both the same:
hiding your agony in a canvas colorfully
as she hides under me indifferently.
All I have is a love story that's now a memory
captured in a silhouette of her figure.
Blue is all the affection left behind love's rapture.
I am a picture hanging on by a fixture
trying to mend my heart's fracture.
Like rain's pitter patter hearts often scatter
taking apart lives that were once together.
Take it from me, there's no warmth in being of use.
Sometimes the end can be your muse
even when your hues become forgotten clues.
Pain is my eye and hope my sky
Blue is my welcome made to qualm
A broken heart looking for a fresh start
Raindrops my fingertips turning colorful drips
into benches to sit through a goodbye.
Author's Notes:
The piece is inspired by Alexander Bolotov's painting of a girl walking holding an umbrella under the rain fading into the blue evening sky and red street lamps. The poem is an imaginary conversation between a painter and an umbrella he painted.
Fevers of the Mind 