The return & revised version of “New Disease Streets” by David L O’Nan Poetry and stories

The poems & stories in this collection is a representation of the hovering stain of the year 2020. A year filled with disease, greed, hate, depression, moments of unity that only feel empty being overseen by a world of dictators. The sadness, the lies, the deprived. That is the New Disease Streets Collection.

Bio: David L O’Nan is a poet, short story writer, editor living in Southern Indiana. He is the editor 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 and an upcoming one inspired by Bob Dylan. 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” (look under books tab in Amazon) under Cajun Mutt Press & “His Poetic Last Whispers” (2022) 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. 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

Pandemic Poetry Showcase by John Dorsey

water ripple with maple leaves

photo by Mitchell McCleary (unsplash)

Hanging by a Thread

after almost 2 years of winter
the clocks have stopped
seasonal depression no longer passes
with the falling leaves
a squeaky wheel on a grocery cart
where we quickly get what we need
& rush home to safety 
provides little comfort

where an ugly christmas sweater
from a dead aunt
feels like a treasure

the only thing 
that hasn’t completely 
come apart.

The Order of Things Now

this isn’t a fireside chat
the war of the worlds on the radio
when the end comes 
we will be invisible
the hands we touched as children
will be kept in perfect working order
& put away in a hall closet 
stuffed with memories
a teddy bear
a rumpled bed
paper scattered around 
our messy hearts
their work left undone
next to a flower pot

invading every room.  

March, 2020

we joked about it then
today we are what we don’t do
& thank god that david bowie 
doesn’t have to be here for this
because dancing in a paper mask 
just seems silly
while listening 
to a song from 1974

we wonder about our children
how they will express everything 
they have to hold in
we wonder will their love 
become a silent dance
behind a closed bathroom door?

The Death Toll is Great Cinema

you can hear a pin drop
everyone is afraid 
to walk into the theater

in 1918
they had charlie chaplin 
in baggy pants 
to help them through 
the spanish flu 

this is different
this is musical chairs
without the music.

Bio: John Dorsey lived for several years in Toledo, Ohio. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Teaching the Dead to Sing: The Outlaw's Prayer (Rose of Sharon Press, 2006), Sodomy is a City in New Jersey (American Mettle Books, 2010), Tombstone Factory, (Epic Rites Press, 2013), Appalachian Frankenstein (GTK Press, 2015) Being the Fire (Tangerine Press, 2016) and Shoot the Messenger (Red Flag Poetry, 2017),Your Daughter's Country (Blue Horse Press, 2019), Which Way to the River: Selected Poems 2016-2020 (OAC Books, 2020), Afterlife Karaoke (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2021) and Sundown at the Redneck Carnival, (Spartan Press, 2022).. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and the Stanley Hanks Memorial Poetry Prize. He was the winner of the 2019 Terri Award given out at the Poetry Rendezvous. He may be reached at

3 poems by Kushal Poddar in memory of fallen friends through the Pandemic

The Art of Escape

The smoke and mirrors, spare cloak
in the hanger, every room – you say,
a green room because we have been
preparing for a grand show no one will see –
and every empty chair observe silence,
and if you step outside, the standee displays
‘Magician is dead; long live the magic!’
in front of the city hall. The tips of the trees
celebrate some pyromaniac’s wet dream.
Do they bet on the fate of an escape artist?
Rain pasees the panes. The sidewalks turn green.
Waiting plays a trick, and I let it think that
it picks up the wrong card.

The Vanishing Act, Magician

(In memory of the magician Uday Shankar Saha)

The white mice from his handkerchief
shiver with the freedom, as if
they remember being nonexistent.

The flash, smoke and mirrors,
sorcerer obliterated,
the stage waits for the trick,
and we think we know the punchlines
beforehand. One little father
holds the hand of his big son,
ready to leave the proceedings.

The son looks at one mice near his feet.
The faint noise is a sight now. A sleight of fate,
a magic rolls on, the magician, gone, exists
as the stage, audience waiting and leaving,
boxes and handkerchiefs, saw and mice.

Thirteen Cuts

I close the door, say, “Enjoy.”
to the killer returned to the x;
downstairs, I descend,
a housekeeper of death.
Downstairs, it rains, or so I hear;
the killer lies where his last victim fell.
In the jail of his socks his toes wiggle.
In my empty room, I pick up the phone,
but dial all the wrong ones.
The dead girl stands near my window,
“Uncle, I am behind my rents, I know.”
She says. I nod. The killer knocks on
the door.

2 poems about the Pandemic in India by Kushal Poddar

Wolfpack Contributor: Kushal Poddar

A Poetry Series by Kushal Poddar “Hiraeth Series”

Bio: An author and a father, Kushal Poddar, edited a magazine – ‘Words Surfacing’, authored seven volumes including ‘The Circus Came To My Island’, ‘A Place For Your Ghost Animals’, ‘Eternity Restoration Project- Selected and New Poems’ and ‘Herding My Thoughts To The Slaughterhouse-A Prequel’. His works have been translated in ten languages. Find and follow him at

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