Stuck We lived like stuck ants in a wine glass In the red wine remnants That was sifted impure We lived like the homeless man, Whose skin and jacket Has become one with the epidermis Who can believe our past truths, or fears? We must be symphonia, forever To a deaf vain psyche. Predators and Monsters Do you believe in monsters? They speed past me every day Then creep slowly by the staircases, or a window This essay to be an urban folk legend A paradigm of masking behaviors Pockets with fading hands Can we get away? A freedom that makes predators out of choirboys. TB Jailbirds In white lines, broken coughs It fills my chest with an extinct disease in the distance I can hear harmonicas From a desert In a 1950's jail Only the demons listen in To the blues that die Like the TB Jailbirds. Through Faith In the frame of heaven, I became dust Interceding with the sunlight of a narrow hallway Dividing into millions of tiny poisons A quotient of one malevolence Why the hiding? As the piling of sales papers and bills accumulate Teases to aneurysms Can I be more like Paul in Malta, Impervious through faith? Willowy Barn That Winter weather smiles like A goldfish in a swill water tank Snow cresting inside the chambers of an 1800's willowy barn Breaking steadily into cracks I bathe inside the warmth of ash And I remember you, When you were royalty in a laugh And in a cry, we were united..then This willowy barn will eventually Fly away or burn to the ground We have to be able to comfort each other then Can we? As Dolls They opened the door to hatred hundreds of years ago Every time we get that door to budge Racist, sexist, bigotry, homophobic, narcissistic dictators put more magnets to our metal minds To fail us til we only become tunnels Dark as night As dolls we can only blink. Value Menu He left home faster than a manslaughter A family, Like the taxi drivers in the morning with an unknown name A drunken father yells Can no longer behest him, To rolling cigarettes, Neglecting your own appetite Always eating from the value menu He sold you to the power of his slurs He reminds you he wished you were never born As wheelchairs push against the broken tiles of a linoleum floor Another broken bottle Move away to the comfort of being a lunatic And a farewell to the crowding hatred. Jersey Cowboy Drunkard In an immortal memory You, a growing lily Intercepted by the pushers Whose medicines scream magic Soon, they were the entrapment And soon you were a wife Married to an impulsive amphetamine With devils dancing in whispering lullabies Your Jersey cowboy drunkard Un Viaje Sin Una Casa Yesterday's Sky Removed me from the healing of saints Drowned a colony of us, like ants Infernal flames Remove me I can't feel the power You keep painting over my smile My laughter lost in the fabric of miles You are the manic artist With an evil eye Paint me back to yesterday's sky Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog. Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan Anthology available today! Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren Bare Bones Writings Issue 1 is out on Paperback and Kindle Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now!
Valen, Mocky, Georgie, Johnny Happy We remember back to years we knew them all, Valen, Mocky, Georgie, Johnny Happy and the paper dolls. The misfits from the hills. The hicks from the razor-sharp streets, The change from Brown to Green, once the storm bleached out the heat. Taking in all the sensations of the awakening. They were prisoners, weak to death Strong in mind, yet always quaking in a shiver. In the cold house of steel, Those who danced, those who'd construct, Deconstruct, shatter, and then wilt. We knew all that was beginning to change. They will be colored in fevers They will have burning coals in their chests They will battle their wars tight in a jar They can die in silence, or as the night becomes berserk. They will continue to find the distance, from their wives and children. Oh, we are all getting older White hairs crawling from each of us - like wild mice to cheese Those that'll chew holes through our shoes. The boys and the mannequin stares, the Danny O'Day doll's eyes, a novelty we all are. Living in the nightmares of grapevines, barbwire for the butchers. Friends from childhood to distant shadows - absorbed into delusions. We used to be tender, family, unbound, and free. Asleep allowed to leave the trenches. Gifted, wrapped as a holiday present - Away from all the borders. They choked us from power. One by one a new demise. Thwarted in the dust. Fighting the skeleton inside. And the memory pops like bubble wrap. Little green wings of fire now tipsy and burst. Drunk and tiresome. Woozy, scared as they remove our food. The heart lives on like a patch. How long will you feel my love? All of this bleeding becomes breezy Like an infinite painting of crimson wind, still framed and lost is our revolution. They will carry us out like stuffed animals taking too much room. Evict the mites, so what is left can breathe. The riots yell sounds soft in a madman's dream. Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog. Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan Anthology available today! Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren Bare Bones Writings Issue 1 is out on Paperback and Kindle
The Hills Have Blindsides
also published in IceFloe Press
A flock of hideous birds float through the wind. I feel these crows in shriveled fur,
Their flight, an old man’s crippled slur.
They congregate together
Cross-eyed and angry
To yell from the diaphragm,
Your rebellion is based on ignorance!
These were feathers from the same war. All brewed up and steamed together, Before peace became a relevant idea.
In caskets, they lay
All purpled – in art
Waiting for someone to dance and sing –
With the bells ringing from the heart
After all the diseases sink in their talons Then gnashing and biting begins.
When the prettiest star waves you in
To meet God or the jealousies of all sins, They roll up those hills to see clarity.
The problem in all the darkness
Is not within your peripheral understanding. The hills have blindsides,
When you’re looking for Jesus
When you’re looking for Jesus