Poetry: Praise Jesus and Rockwell by Tony Brewer and David L O’Nan

photo from Norman Rockwell Museum

from the series “The Empath Dies in the End”

Praise Jesus and Rockwell

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 below
https://amzn.to/3VQudCI  The History of Projectiles by Tony Brewer 

Paperback & Kindle version of Cursed Houses is now available from David L O’Nan on this link below

https://amzn.to/3gknC3r U.S. Link

https://amzn.to/3Tz0QTy U.K. link

https://amzn.to/3eNdUGi Australia link

https://amzn.to/3yW6ozv France link

https://amzn.to/3eKCozN Canada link (site is a bit wonky when I went though)

https://amzn.to/3yWJx6X India link

https://bit.ly/3s919ZN Poland link

please check for your link if not listed above.

read acknowledgment blurbs at link below:

Cursed Houses by David L O’Nan coming out next week!

Cavern by Clive Gresswell (dedicated to Andy Warhol)

original image from Andy Warhol Museum


We're dressed to the nine
inappropriate lives of our sex
dancing to the sounds of T-Rex
and striding out on the dance floor
androgynous models camped up what for
quick as a flash we're out of the door
with our mutual respect for the outcast & poor
while the others wonder what they came her for
we know it's between irony and sarcasm
caught between the encircling chasm
out of our grasp and the ailing spasm
down in the doldrums of the rising cavern.   

A Book Review of “Spaces” by Clive Gresswell reviewed by Spriha Kant 

Poetry Influenced by Bob Dylan & Tom Waits from Clive Gresswell  

Another poem by Clive Gresswell inspired by Leonard Cohen

An October 2022 Poetry Showcase Part 2 for Pasithea Chan

Masks Off

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.

inspired by: Theory of a Deadman’s Angel: https://youtu.be/thfpVOAC-y0

Tears of Sand

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!


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.

Author’s Note: Acrostic Couplet spelling Stonewalling.

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.

Poetry Inspired by Art from Alexander Bolotov (Mo Schoenfeld, James Penha, Ivor Daniel, Pasithea Chan)

(c)Alexander Bolotov

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 Schoenfeld

Promenade 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

We shall
We shall overcome
We shall overcome, some
We shall overcome, some day

A Poetry Showcase for Ivor Daniel *Updated 9/23/22* with Plath haiku

A Painter's Umbrella by Pasithea Chan

I 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.