Bouncing
up and down
like the old station wagon
the night my cousin
Lily was conceived. 9 months later, my Aunt Pam would have her in the parking lot
at the disco where Uncle Buck would
try to make a point to her that he still got it. High from hillbilly coke and the euphoria from the ladies swirling around him, he swirled for one last time and pointed up at the fading disco ball at the tavern. Disco reached its peak, but you couldn’t tell this to Buck Williams. He was the Disco king of the Appalachian mountains! He made a swift exit to take a puff on a Pall Mall. When he opened up the door to the station wagon, he was in for a surprise. There was Aunt Pam holding baby Lily in her arms.
Bouncing
up and down
5 years later
Lily was spry as a creek in spring. With her gutter mouth and venomous tongue, her words could slap the taste out of your mouth and shoot any ‘old man down - just like her daddy. No one ever dared to mess with Lily Williams. Where was Aunt Pam? No one knew except for Uncle Buck. He’d always say that she was sleeping underneath a blanket of stars. Whatever that meant! There was always a twinkle in his eyes whenever he said it. No one ever dared to ask for further details. They could find her if they wanted to - at an abandoned junk yard in a 1974 Ford Country Squire.
Bio:HilLesha O’Nan is a blogger, writer, photographer & marketer. She is co-editor/founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art. She runs the blog tothemotherhood.com for over 15 years
A Fevers of the Mind Poetry Showcase with HilLesha O’NanPoem/lyrics by HilLesha O’Nan: “The Preacher’s Wife”
The Rose Garden
I was the rose garden
that you left unattended.
I still bloomed despite the weeds
Wild and free,
I had to find my way through -
the wilderness
Every now and then, a passerby
would stop to admire my beauty.
It was the thorns that
kept others from getting too close-
even to give me water, I thirsted for.
I suppose I don't mind wailing for the rain
as I have weathered plenty of life's storms.
The Rose Garden II
My dear,
desolated rose
You can't understand this world -
without pain,
but just know
that not everyone abandoned you.
You often let the thorns stand in your way. I tried
reaching out, but I got so tired of standing there -
hoping that you'd see your beauty.
You always said Father Time waited for no one, but I'm not
going to either. Don't let irony get the best of you.
You were always wild and free
So why are you here
Weeping
in your rose garden?
lollipop Dream
It was a lollipop dream. There
were monsters in their tiny
castles made of sand and
rattlesnakes with diamond eyes.
The paper tigers chased playfully
while the bears frolicked in the
daisy fields. It was a lollipop
dream. Where the sour hid behind a
sweet facade.
The Funeral Man
No one knows his real name,
but they called him the Funeral Man.
Tall and slender,
with a dead stare, he'd appear
in dreams out of nowhere, in a hearse.
His skin was
almost shadow-like
Was he a shadow of his former self?
He kidnapped unsuspecting victims
and then would disappear,
as fast as he had appeared,
leaving a trail of smokey fog -
that didn't lead anywhere.
Who was this creepy -
strange dream drifter
While those who dreamed of
him didn't know who he was,
it was said that his
arrival meant trouble
was to come.
Unknown #1
Take me back
to that night
on a cold October
I would have held your hand
I would have listened
I would have loved you
I would have danced
with you under the moonlight
and the blanket of stars
would have kept us warm
The Rotten Apple
She had an ugliness
about her
yet many
couldn't see it right away -
like a slowly rotting apple.
Bright and wholesome
on the surface -
you didn't know what was
lurking
underneath her facade
Until it broke down
and she had wormed her way -
to your core.
Unknown # 2
I drank
the delirium
danced with the moon
and slept
with the wolves.
Unknown # 3
She stares at her reflection in the mirror
Barely recognizing the woman staring back at her.
Thinning hair
Time worn skin
Her beauty has faded gradually over the years
like a faded rose petal
dried and pressed -
in the pages of a book long forgotten.
Her memories are no different
Shattered fragments
sharp and dull
Scattered like broken glass
She then hears music playing at a distance.
"On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
Warm small of colitas
Rising up through the air"
A faint smile crosses her lips
To a memory that croons inside her soul
She sways to the music
and drifts to a time lost
Yet, not completely forgotten.
Young, naive, and in love with love
and a childish notion that time was limitless.
The Drunken Ballerina of the Night
The pine trees swayed
and danced
Whispering a song
to the night
A chorus of animals
sung along
as I drunkenly walked
deeper into the forst
with the moonlight
being my only guide.
I swayed
I danced
like a drunk ballerina
Singing my own song
and the crickets
chirped along.
Past Parades Fade Through All Your Egos
You marched up and down
the Kentucky roads in your own narcissistic
parade. You waved the red flags,
but no one seemed to notice as they
caught up your broken boy charm.
No matter how many times I tried
to save you from drowning in your
thought, I always ended up being
the one to blame. You let your folks
talk about me as I was nothing.
Every time there was a problem,
You'd waltz right to your mom's apron
strings. My feeling was invalid when I
tried to turn to you. You turned the
cards around and I was the crazy one.
I always stood alone whenever I stood up
for myself. You let me drown in despair,
and the one that ended saving me was myself.
2 new poems/writings by HilLesha O’Nan : “In Patagonia” & “These Walls”Poem/lyrics by HilLesha O’Nan: “The Preacher’s Wife”Poetry by HilLesha O’Nan : “Small Town Hearts” “Two Wolves” & “Living with the Mirrors”
Bio:HilLesha O’Nan is a blogger, writer, photographer & marketer. She is co-editor/founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art. She runs the blog tothemotherhood.com for over 15 years
He was a silvery eyed devil
in the guise of a postal worker
that begrudgingly delivered your mail
like he was Henry Charles Bukowski. In
his mind, he was a laureate and he had
paid his dues long enough.
He thought of himself as a small town
lothario,
that was making women feverishly
swoon when he wasn't murdering them
in his poems
that he claimed that was better
than anything Hemingway could have ever
written.
He once wrote about the women of the
night, calling them brazen whores
that danced with strange men before
disappearing before dawn. Was it true
crime? Either way, the older artists were
his ever faithful lap dog, calling him the
next Jack Kerouac.
Bio: HilLesha O’Nan is a blogger, writer, photographer & marketer. She is co-editor/founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art. She runs the blog tothemotherhood.com for over 15 years
There's the preacher's wife
She isn't clean as many may think
Her pretty white dress
doesn't show
the dirt.
that lurks within her heart.
Behind closed doors, she's waging wars
with her own demons
that she'll have to confront
every Sunday.
She has built a facade
brick by brick
Sealed with sin, but
you wouldn't know! as she
shouts out "Hallelujah!"
While dancing merrily with
that fake smile plastered on her face.
But, who is to have any say?
She's the Preacher's wife
And she'll say you're the one that is unholy
and "that you're paving
the road to hell"if you don't change your ways"
little does she know
that it will not be before long.
When her hypocrisies
will be revealed
on the day the true angels
will sing.
Bio:HilLesha O’Nan is a blogger, writer, photographer & marketer. She is co-editor/founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art. She runs the blog tothemotherhood.com for over 15 years
Poetry by HilLesha O’Nan : “Small Town Hearts” “Two Wolves” & “Living with the Mirrors”
We have tonight and it is ours Savor it for it’s only one night i’m yours We laugh We reminisce As “Don’t Stop Believin” Plays on the radio this song is a joke and the rhythm is all wrong but our small town hearts collide in this lonely world But don’t worry We have each other for tonight I turn my head and a single tear drop rolls down I wish I could love you the way I love him I wish you could love me the way you love her that’s the funny thing why do we love those who don’t want us When we can have each other Tomorrow, we’ll adore those who ignore us What a joke! And like the song We’ve got the rhythm all wrong At least the melody is beautiful but complicated like us
Two Wolves
Two wolves came to me
in a dream One good One bad Who shall I feed today?
Living with the Mirrors
She stares at her reflection in the mirror Barely recognizing the woman staring back at her. Thinning hair Time worn skin Her beauty has faded gradually over the years like a faded rose petal dried and pressed in the pages of a book long forgotten. Her memories are no different Shattered fragments Sharp and dull Scattered like broken glass. She then hears music playing in the distance “On a dark desert highway Cool wind in my hair Warm smell of colitas, Rising up through the air” A faint smile crosses her lips To a memory that croons inside her soul She sways to the music and drifts to a time lost, yet not completely forgotten Young, naive, and in love with love and a childish notion that time was limitless.
Bio:HilLesha O’Nan is a blogger, writer, photographer & marketer. She is co-editor/founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art. She runs the blog tothemotherhood.com for over 15 years
Fevers of the Mind 