Poetry: Narcissism Taxi Cab Parades by David L O’Nan

Narcissism Taxi Cab Parades

photo by David L O’Nan

While listening to Tango Whiskeyman by Can

I was picked up during the middle of a Buffalo Trace Wild Turkey run, on a windy day going across our bending bridges. They're oblivious  are not talked about. How our world could end when they shall fall. Most of this hideous breath former wunderkinds want to live young, rich & dangerous. Driving erratically and uncaring of a permanent damage. They haven't a thought of salvation, salvaging, or empathy. Oh, they want freedom to ring only in their ears.

Picked up by the slick backed balding haired man. Is he a stranger? "You, alcoholic and worshiping yourself" I'm mute yet screaming. I've been loved, but my love now is mute when you're in control. The parade, oh it is a happening! Bubblegum, candy, rusting, raining, popping bullets into the windshields, and watching us frighten into skeletons.

The drive continues as clouds clash fucking harder! Thunder so angered its bleeding crimson all over our minds. The weaving concrete seashores. Are we in for a flight or a swim? All I see is a saint to himself, cigarettes don't take away your whole anxiety. Have another drink. You were anyways.

Your yolk, eases and oozes, blood with madmen living inside. My broken stems, well are your broken stems. The same blood circulates, the greed we share in dire moments. Mine in desperation and yours permanently scarred into your soul. Yours covered in liver spots. Mine are just imagining the cars dodge from your metal dances off the cliffs.

The drive is me, a mummy. In stitches. Your chains rattle the trunk and I feel your hoarse voice bubbling fire. I don't know your impulses, and you, definitely don't know mine. I can draw a picture of death much scarier than you. You aren't perched on top of that mountain. You are hanging onto a balloon as the axes fly by to knock you to the waters.

It is fun watching the devil weave around and lose his power. Can I enjoy a ride to a demise? An unknown, a simple smug look into a blurry mirror.

Bio: David L O’Nan is a poet, short story writer, editor living in Newburgh,IN he has lived in Evansville, Indiana, Henderson, KY and New Orleans, LA. He is the editor along with his wife HilLesha for the Poetry & Art Anthologies “Fevers of the Mind Poetry and Art. and has also edited & curated other Anthologies including 2 inspired by Leonard Cohen with original artwork by friend of Leonard’s Geoffrey Wren. He has self-published works under the Fevers of the Mind Press “The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers” “The Cartoon Diaries” & “New Disease Streets” (2020). A compilation of 4 books “Bending Rivers” a micro poem collection “Lost Reflections” and new book “Before the Bridges Fell” under Cajun Mutt Press. He is a Best of the Net Nominee for his poem “I honored You in Pennyrile Forest” in Icefloe Press. David has had work published in Icefloe Press, Dark Marrow, Truly U, 3 Moon Magazine, Elephants Never, Royal Rose Magazine, Spillwords, Anti-Heroin Chic, Cajun Mutt Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Voices From the Fire, He has interviewed Comedian Paul Gilmartin from Mental Illness Happy Hour Podcast, Brett Siler head of Rebore Records, Ron Sexsmith, Anne Casey, Jessie Lynn McMains, Ron Whitehead, Austin Lucas and more. He has read in public for nearly 20 years in Southern Indiana, Illinois, Nashville, New Orleans & Kentucky. Including tribute nights to John Lennon, Bukowski, Feminist Poets, & Jeff Buckley. His website an be found at http://www.feversofthemind.com which details info on both upcoming projects & with Anthology submissions info. Twitter is @davidLONan1 and for the book @feversof Join Facebook Group: Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Arts Group . Facebook Author page DavidLONan1 and goodreads page is https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18366060.David_L_O_Nan *just released the book ‘His Poetic Last Whispers’ a combination book of “the Cartoon Diaries” (only available on kindle now) and a few selections from Our Fears in Tunnels and Taking Pictures in the Dark.

Poetry: Those Hazels They Slice by David L O’Nan

photo of Sharon Tate re-imagined through Pop Art

first published in IceFloe Press & currently in “Before the Bridges Fell” from Cajun Mutt Press

Those Hazels, They Slice

Remembering, those memories
Before the seclusion
To memories of you,
Somehow you made it from Limerick to Lane Fork
A creek full of snakes
They intrigued you to say
More snakes than angels here
Then you laughed
Níos mó nathracha ná aingil anseo
In our early twenties with hazels that wondered

Remembering, for many months
Trying to catch the butterfly
To dance with before the thunder bled on us
I had you within sight,
You were a millennial hippy in bellbottoms on Thursdays
By Friday you were vintage chic in a La Mendola dress
I’d long for you while hearing Sarah’s song playing in my head
Sharon from the Vampire Killers,
Your passion was to be Sharon from the Valley of the Dolls
And you, you drifted with hazels that sliced

Now we are children of 27.
You the Irish starlet searching for the dream
Stuck with a follower in love, a boy created in the dirt of the Midwest
Gravel chaffing your boho chick boots
We have to keep moving to keep your mind still
From Nashville to Kansas City to Yokohama for a week
We bled money from mud caves to gold mines
Until we shelved ourselves and began to pity as rats –
On the skim of the raising floods of New Orleans
The comedy of fools we entered drunk for many years
And your hazels lined with red in the castle of your soul

Twenties to Thirties,
Drinking and falling deeper to the sins
In passions you ran away,
I lay dire as the lone wolf
And still give you chance after chance
Dreaming of our rainjackets clashing on Toulouse
Wasting away in the downpours,
Our shoes getting stuck in sewer grates
Where are you now?
To new protectors, to new thieves
To talent scouts on Magazine Street
Your hazels looked to me and you say
sorry, no more kisses. I have to say goodbye
brón orm, gan póga níos mó. Caithfidh mé slán a fhágáil
What a tease as I fall to a prayer

Memories aren’t easy in the Big Easy in a lockdown
Coltrane’s “Blue Train” is growing more static and hisses
I just see those hazels, slice and say goodbye
Like your dizzy wake-ups before you drink your first drink
This song plays me like a straitjacket
And I dream of escaping on a ferry boat and hiding away
To one day escape your eyes and fall into the waters that’ll sway –
Sway me back to my youth and the worries I did not have.
The memories are my seizures
To my madman bones melted into your old Mahogany chair

Are you in your destiny,
Are you in love
Are you protected from the diseases,
Have the diseases took your identity
Has your fashion turned to rags
Have your men gone from Polanski to a black & white photo of our past
Are you enfolded to someone to cling to in the dying days of sunsets?

I’m not sure I can move past those hazels that sliced
Not knowing is just as bad as ever having you around.
The ashes spit down from the attic. The dust settles down my feet
It all becomes a haven for the depression to circulate within me.
And I whisper to myself, as if I were talking to the memory of you like a ghost.
to live alone, I don’t really know if I can. Without you, can I?
le maireachtáil liom féin, níl a fhios agam an féidir liom. Gan tú, an féidir liom?

For a copy of “Before the Bridges Fell” by David L O’Nan https://tinyurl.com/yckj66hk

David L O’ Nan’s dreamscapes in Before the Bridges Fell begin and end with a wild incantatory mythic tone: the book opens w/a hitchhiker, an internal monologist-Cassandra, a prophet journeying thru small town America. We enter w/them into a shotgun ride through Hell. With a visionary sensibility that never lets up, whether it’s broken nostalgia, the neon memories of punk or mid-west beats & NYC dreamers, this book is a responsive mix, its pop-inflected ballads, flash-surreal gorgeously stimulating epics pummeling the frontal cortex and the rear-view mirror of the reader’s brain.

O’Nan perfects a highly personal image-repertoire, including the balladic, to entertain dark, indie-infused jagged tales of ecstatic & failed love. Poet & short story writer, publisher, photographer, O’Nan’s work emits a howling phosphorescent, Dylanesque rock-n-roll bardic presence, taking us a step or three further along saturated highways with poetic raconteurs soaked in their pharma-dystopic imaginations.

Vast, jagged, oracular, these are stories-as-song, of a nightmarish-Americana, cold, yet somehow hopeful, the propulsive experiments asking, how is it that a vengeance of truths can capture what it means today to live beyond salvation’s increasing twisted reach.

 –  Robert Frede Kenter, author of EDEN (Floodlight Editions), publisher & EIC  Ice Floe Press, http://www.icefloepress.net.

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor)

David L O’Nan is a poet, short story writer, editor living in Newburgh,IN he has lived in Evansville, Indiana, Henderson, KY and New Orleans, LA. He is the editor along with his wife HilLesha for the Poetry & Art Anthologies “Fevers of the Mind Poetry and Art. and has also edited & curated other Anthologies including 2 inspired by Leonard Cohen with original artwork by friend of Leonard’s Geoffrey Wren. He has self-published works under the Fevers of the Mind Press “The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers” “The Cartoon Diaries” & “New Disease Streets” (2020). A compilation of 4 books “Bending Rivers” a micro poem collection “Lost Reflections” and new book “Before the Bridges Fell” under Cajun Mutt Press. He is a Best of the Net Nominee for his poem “I honored You in Pennyrile Forest” in Icefloe Press. David has had work published in Icefloe Press, Dark Marrow, Truly U, 3 Moon Magazine, Elephants Never, Royal Rose Magazine, Spillwords, Anti-Heroin Chic, Cajun Mutt Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Voices From the Fire, He has interviewed Comedian Paul Gilmartin from Mental Illness Happy Hour Podcast, Brett Siler head of Rebore Records, Ron Sexsmith, Anne Casey, Jessie Lynn McMains, Ron Whitehead, Austin Lucas and more. He has read in public for nearly 20 years in Southern Indiana, Illinois, Nashville, New Orleans & Kentucky. Including tribute nights to John Lennon, Bukowski, Feminist Poets, & Jeff Buckley. His website an be found at www.feversofthemind.com which details info on both upcoming projects & with Anthology submissions info. Twitter is @davidLONan1 and for the book @feversof  Join Facebook Group: Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Arts Group . Facebook Author page DavidLONan1 and goodreads page is https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18366060.David_L_O_Nan

*just released the book ‘His Poetic Last Whispers’ a combination book of “the Cartoon Diaries” (only available on kindle now) and a few selections from Our Fears in Tunnels and Taking Pictures in the Dark.

National Poetry Month: David L O’Nan reading “They Had Sadness In Their Eyes (Like In Littleton) from new book Before the Bridges Fell – poetry

https://tinyurl.com/yckj66hk for your copy of “Before the Bridges Fell”

Poem: By the Almond Tree by David L O’Nan

Picture

Robin Kuusela CC

(first published in Anti-Heroin Chic Magazine August 2021)

By the Almond Tree

By the almond tree
There lays a skull under leaves,
Under many brown almonds

Decayed in taste
Rain-weathered leaves milked-in
Chipped stones like clipped fingernails –
Scattered by the wind.

The bleeding wings.
In love with the heat of this sidewalk
That cooks the dinner,
That severs the wedding bells.

The almond mush, but hard like bone.
Broken bones wave in like spinning glass –
From the impact of a car wreck.

Our weather,
Feel the snow’s breath nearby
By confused thunderhead
Create the flakes from God’s palms
Over the wires of sticks,
Bent like arms at a 90-degree angle.

To sprinkle little wet blankets over almonds
Forgetting our soldiers burial or,
Our fallen that breathes out the last loves.
When the stars dysmorphia ripped the sky –
Like millions of popped balloons.

The flags wave in –
The sounds of the funeral.
The electricity dimming from our failing feet,
Leaves our fire to puddles of water.

Puddles of water for dirty almonds,
To sprout new life
When picked up
By infant hands and given to –
A new universe,
Or Jesus returning from impermanence.

To reshape the bones back to – 
Mechanical grenades that walk
That run.
That live.

New breathing hearts
Cooked out of sunshine
Birthed in heaven,
And fed to the giants
Under the almond tree.

The world is nude in red wash
The blue behind the flowing curtains of cosmos
Watch the cities become countryside.

And watch humanity float
Off these infertile grounds.

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with EIC of Fevers of the Mind David L O’Nan

“Whispers” by David L O’Nan poem from new/revised book “The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers”

5 published Poems by David L O’Nan : A Scramble in the Darkness, The Romance to the Rapture, etc.

 “Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press 

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now! 

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor) 

Poem from David L O’Nan : ‘Miles Away from the Las Vegas Eyeball (Before the Bridges Fell)

Miles Away from the Las Vegas Eyeball

Two hundred miles walked
5 more miles I must walk
I will crawl if I need to
To touch the lips of the sunshine
To burn with every tear
I'll collect my thoughts
Hands catching falling stars that leap out of my head -
and spin around in the air
I have kept a secret for far too long
Is it the burn of her skin? (the touch that emits 1,000 songs)
She was ripe
She was flesh
She was beauty
Then was death
She was blinded by the cold winter's chill
She never had the Spring,
but sipped the bitter kill

All the birds sing her name into my ear
They tell me she was the one
The one in which all angels thrust in vocal rendezvous

Now all alone with curses across my heart
There is a hole
They will argue, they will bite
They will hurt, they will spite
They will kick each other down
And give into the fears
They will be a mushroom cloud hanging over the swans

And the miles have yet to be walked
To reach my conclusion
While the blackjack wizards sway the tourists in at midnight
and prostitutes and the gremlin pimps melt in the neon light.

Vegas, your eyeballs are bloodshot
Your aura is criminal while the dice are thrown into debt after debt.
I am a rundown bus riding drifter
Time to hide in my secrets
I never walked one more mile.
and couldn't crawl even when I needed to.

Live in the shame like a crying baby
As a prosecutor sends me to flames.


 “Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press 

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now! 

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor) 




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