5 poems from the Cartoon Diaries by David L O’Nan

A NEW PERSPECTIVE TO GREENSLEEVES

He was the seasick Italian boy
We rummaged his mind and found broken crystals
And loose Ivory piano keys
He was a master pianist who stole the bread,
Tried to spread peace on the side
He exuded a mad mind which he took out on the corruptive soldiers
In the lands of taxidermy
He relaxed that mind when creating a masterpiece with his music
He played the piano in the nude
He felt music was pure, cleansing to the soul and felt only beauty
The beauty of only a cleansing of music and body
There he was like Psycho-bare Beethoven with a Beatles haircut
A nose ring and in a sweat
He was a physical whore to his music
Self-surrendering himself to the sound
He began as night and entered
The dawn bleeding gorgeous straight from the musical womb

TRAINING PHANTOMS

Laying down in my dying sheets
Amongst a crowd of maggots and fleas
I dream of her and I on our wedding day
In my coma dreams
You take my blood, you slow my heart
Tell me to breathe
How do I start?
Is this how you train your ghosts?

Mechanical Wheel

Mechanical wheel behind the trees
I’m blinded by yesterday’s stars
last night’s crescent moon
mid-morning’s hatred for late afternoon
that old woman…
is she still with you?
Living off dry bread and wet leaves…
sewing patches onto burning cotton sleeves

Is Miss August and her endless caper
still laying by the shore…
sipping margaritas…
sharing the slow tune of life’s infinite bore
Are you still stuck with the dreams,
of living in outer space? Collecting the stars …
putting them in your top hat
filled with the galaxy’s waste
Can I have a moment with you?
Now we are under a blood moon…
and feathers are floating in the night sky
Will they land on the surface of the Earth,
or will they continue falling until I die?
Mechanical wheel,
are you still real?
Is the rust forming
on your metal face…

covering your body with bumps
causing you to feel ill?
Are the black eyes of the sun
laughing at you?
becoming one with you,
empowering you….
is the malicious chaos
that surround motivation?
The blood burns like an inferno
feeling a little determination….
rejuvenation or just more relaxation…
go ahead and lay in the wind’s breeze
…feel shallow, helpless…urge your disease
Let the sea crest in your body…
feel the power of the ocean’s current
in your chest…
grab a wave or float on by…
your hand will either be empty
or touching the sky

Backyard Barbie Dolls

Ethereal poses by the backyard Barbie dolls
She wants to join them
They dream unlike her,
a shallow gel over a burning world
They live a different dream
But she,
she wants to join them
Walk with a healthy strut,
red lipstick smear to smut
Pretend you’re never old,
if you want to join them
Suppress your caustic old-fashioned smile
Too crooked you’ll poison your ideal
Inherit the smirk of a dying golden rain
If you want to join them
There is a shelter you dare to seek
A natural beauty left on the brink
Hold your head over a toilet or a sink
Flush your mind into the pipes
if you want to join them
Now,
Barbies they want to play
Sucking limousines across the way
They have bleached away another perfect day
Digesting the Cancer
that lives inside them
There is a price tag on the plastic nude
She lays there crippled and rude
Overflowing in suntan oil and booze
Waiting for the eyes to join her


THE DEMONS

One sheet to the floor
I swear it is freezing
Your love calls me dead,
Your populous says crazy
I can’t explain the fears,
the ghosts are persuasive
I am not alone when you think I am
New screams,
not for the living
Not a dream,
love asleep
But baby,
I feel the demons

photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash

Monet’s Trees by David L O’Nan : Poetry from the Cartoon Diaries

MONET’S TREES

We speak as if death,
as a reflection of shade
As we navigate in the circles of sunlight
As miracles of breath
Miracles of Mother Nature
The trees of a Monet painting
Have become real
We become bearers of our sins
To discuss, to confess
Confessions to the caverns of bark
Eaten away at,
We lay in the comfort of cold ground and confess
To the lace ripped from the corner of an orange moon
The days of strange
By the riverfronts
Watching little devils form in the ripples of water
We met each other
As soldiers of war
Soldiers of mental scarring
We met each other
From dust to blood
Battle-wound confessions
Blood of the dawn
Paints the tears to my skin
One with my pores

Can you feel the burning?
All the reflexes in a burning

Tremor
Confessions
When we whisper lies to celebrate infamous moments
Celebration of ego
In radical boredom
The moments we walked on the bridges of bone
To climb the highest mountain to touch the hands of God
Superiority complex, confess
That you are lost in a possession of spirit
The caverns of bark, to climb through
And let the animals, tunnel through
Nibbling at the periderm
Confess more
Were you satisfied with the awakening of madness?
As it spread, fires across lakes of thought
Confess to the artist that sketches into your brain
Confess to the colors that swirl in your mind
Greens, browns, grays
What shall the Rhytidome be?
When confessing to the caverns of bark
In a blending of Monet’s Trees

photo is Claude Monet’s “Trees in Bloom”

6 Short Poems from David L O’Nan in the Cartoon Diaries

COUNTRY LIVING BACK WHEN

We came from fields of rotten smells.
Dreamt up the 1950’s ideal man.
Then he threw us around.
Hid in his hideaway smirks.
Drank by the pond
and sung Hank Williams to the catfish.
We called him grandpa
as he called us losers and tramps.
He was built by the machines.
We must live our lives
like a cartoon idea
from the daily paper.

We are neglected,
accomplishing only how to grease our hair
and become misogynists.
You know what the devils would see,
and report to the newsies.
How you are not truly ideal at all
when you sit there
on a hill of sunsets
…peeling the flesh off the rose petals.

A TICKET TO THE RODEO

Eyes across the blind rodeo
Red handkerchief bandanas
Clash into a pastel fade of dirty air
Wrestling this old dream
Bull ropes suffocating clarity
Whipping me with consistency
Lashes to my skin
Burns in sips of breath
Take my hand, from this grave
Now silent and indolent

A SCANDAL FOR VULTURES

Combing through the dirt for the symbols we lost
Meet me in the middle
At the Equatorial line
It is midnight with wheels flying
With the spreading of chaotic stars
Busting windows with their falling bodies of light

SUPERMOON

A bowing to my cello
On a night of the Supermoon
A dream escaped
And infected the stars
A galaxy dripping the melt of night
Onto the mellow moon
The creating of purging tides
Rupture to the staring eyes of the elliptic orbit
The cello strings wither
The bridge shatters

ON THE RUN FROM THE DELUGE

After thousands of jailbreaks
Masking all those millions of mental suicides
Quickly young gamblers
Collect your winnings
The chips spill to the oily cement floor
Blanketing a scrambled moonlight
Wherever you run
Act as though your body has disappeared
Whistle a schemer’s tune
A pretender
An atheist living in Art Deco stained glass window

BURNING MAZES

Again tonight
Slumping against the tub
Tears mingling to the floor
Thinking about the old home
The family I knew from long ago
Everything had to change so suddenly
When my father left this plane
Leave in the clogging of internal pain
I won’t find my way home
These burning mazes won’t lead me there

photo feature by Jesse Gardner (unsplash)

5 poems from David L O’Nan from the Cartoon Diaries book of poetry

Wild Hearts


Finally, your wild heart has escaped
Dug out of the tombstones and pistols
Finally, breathing
Lost your flannel scars
Anxious
Overly cautious needletail flight
into a coal burnt sun
Finally, your wild heart has escaped
Fireflies surrounding us
In smithereens we are now static
The last prayer to a Bonnie and Clyde tragedy
We are puffing cigarettes like a royal snob.
Invisible now
A parade for the burning winds
He, the jealous king
Makes love fraudulent
Finally, your wild heart has escaped
Dynamite sticks replace a brain
He, lives as the artist wrapped in heartbeats
Ideally, he pretends his golden crown was light
Foggy to everyone else
Your wild daring heart escaped
From razors to scissors
From cuts to blisters
I have never felt the chills like that
in your shaking hand
Your love, facade
But you sleep well in the lilies
Looking at deformed clouds
Destructing the milky way


Taking-pictures in-Dark LAUNDROMATS

He’s always spinning, spinning in dim lights
Eyes follow the floor
The circling of the karmic wheel teeters
A window shaking, the peering out
Foreshadows laughter
Winking eyes and love we’re after
Doubt licks through
the mind is juice and fragments
Comical ears hear nothing but sadness
And Winter months are cold and bent
The wind will blow under the clutching arms of snow
And still the comfort is broken into bits of matter
What is this filth we’re bathing in?
Lint, heat, wet claustrophobic skin
Smiles that look over the ocean’s shores
Where another smile emits from nothing before
Then we rumble, crumbled into aisles of dust
Those who try to save,
their need for lust
Praying hands unite in burning churches
They hope, they grieve, they live for the spin
All the while predicting the evolution of God
Then there are the moments
in which love was spit out of you;
the adoring one
-has been shot with the thoughts of the heart
The heart is left bruised, beaten,
no longer caressing the bleeding
As coarse as sackcloth
As those eyes lift a little
Another light bulb fades
Exit signs flicker
As you remember those rented sighs
Whispers crying “don’t pay for lust”
Then midnight’s bonfire became this morning’s generic toil, dribbled flame
And you’re exhausted, no patience
Cycles ending
You’re a tired feather for the unconscious
And that once bright hammer over your skull,
is now fading
A true carbon copy of the mundane, ill sunlight
Once you step outside, cheers can now erupt
You can be the hero for today
But you still have one sock left missing
Until the next person walks in
and discovers your ghost

Miracle White


Gloves warming,
melting away the little ice crystals
My bones also warming,
beginning to feel my skin again
The doves, the loving birds
Frozen together on bending trees
Electrical wires connected by icicles,
energy trapped
I’m walking over my thoughts,
barefoot and bruised
I grab at the invisible dream that linger in the air
I need that feeling to be real
I need dreams
to feel like an emotional human,
instead I’m this brick connecting to other bricks.
Bricks that want to fall away from me
You swore me a raging river
That my eyes were your jewels
Somehow, becoming solid like concrete
Your heart pumping poison throughout
All the leaves have collapsed
into a pile of wet mucus
underneath the shadow snow
They are no longer the headliner
that they were just a few short weeks before.
Winter arrived so quickly this year
Seems like moments ago
I was warm in your arms
from the last Winter’s death
The unhinging of eyelids across a paste of light
Sleeping inside your mind, tight and coiled
Our bruising hands
holding together the pinching nerves,
daring the bones to unlock them.
Bones that morphed
into plastic through years of loneliness
The heart can breathe hidden,
I can love like an army tank

Our pores ingesting each other,
convulsing, we shiver
Warming each other with a nuclear climax
Succumbing to the wind,
insert dynamite
The black clouds
are injected the liquid of white light
The sunshine broke away into tiny fireflies
Doesn’t need a morning to cradle into sleep
The miracles are never explained
A new day vanished, becoming dusty
Nocturnally brushed into natural.

Popping with the same germs,
hiding oxygen in your panic room.
Crushing muscles that do not hurt, but fading
Will I touch you inside that cloud again,
or just wilt inside it?
My eyes are a miracle white,
and a mind full of toxins
The gonging toll of the blizzard signals,
the chariots buzzing by bleeding
The Winter’s fusion lays
inside my cold purging soul
I can wail into the tunnels,
knife at the feelings that drink like the mud.
I can become a pipe bomb,
I can spin around madly
‘Til beauty spins back into my bait
So, the twinkles of fusion
have torn apart, receded
Blossomed like a duckling,
then flew off with grace
Turning the flies into sunshine panorama,
and swine into star.

A Centipede in a Blizzard

Paralyzing tracks in the stacks of snow
A centipede in a blizzard
Dragging broken legs, frozen and falling off
As the wind is full of laughter
These shadows have sucked up the kill,
my venom
Now, the picnics are a funeral
My dreamscape is now a graveyard
In which you stare to the heavens
Sitting by my tombstone
You watched me wither like melting butter
I am not a saint, but I was washed into purity
Yet, you sit as an eternal witch
Can you take the falling of the black rubies?
Can you drink the toxins from the fruit?
Do you feel the long breaths begin to putt… putt…putter?
Are friends beginning to suspect you of all these fires, baby?
You wake up to a crawling, cold spider dragging to the floor
The phone keeps ringing
like a haunting stain of air
In ways I have always been your skeleton
A Strong, calcified soul
that you could always see thru
Forget your infamous night
The prayer for a rebirth
A limping leg and a heartbreak of whistling wind
The clearing is nearby
Forgiveness to pale fires
Is rebirth the cure?
Evict the liars bell-toll
No soul, a rebirth of a savage
Watch for the tumbleweed


The War is like Honey in Holiday Lights

In this Christmas,
we are in these smoking lights
In our poverty,
In our never-ending wars
Like every Christmas it seems,
Ever since I became a young man
They forced me into these hate battles
Fighting “enemies ” whose faces –
Are in family photos,
Just like mine.
The government has tried to white-out my mind
Many years ago,
Blank me out,
a dot to be eaten by the machine
Replaced me into the sticky,
Fill in the wounds with the honey,
In stitches
Cohesive, bare boned and breathing in
Last heartbeats.
There are the memories,
Pretty voices humming
In hope,
I pray to a sky
That I cannot fathom all the angels
The angels,
That supposed to be cradling us all.

As these nightmares burn in our skin,
Layer me in towers upon towers of fears.
I try to imagine,
A boyhood love of bells ringing,
Instead of missile sirens purging –
the pure from the air.

I will always have my mother’s voice
She will sing to me from the haunts
Sing to me,
In hope
As more of my brother’s fall.
I cradle in this sticky dirt in my cuts,
And hold it up,
So my angels can cradle me

Twitter @davidlonan1 @feversof

Facebook: DavidLONan1

books on Amazon: the Cartoon Diaries, New Disease Streets, Lost Reflections, Taking Pictures in the Dark, the Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers, Our Fears in Tunnels

Anthologies on Amazon: Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Digest Vol 1 June 2019, Fevers of the Mind Poetry Digest In Memoriam August 2019, Fevers of the Mind Poetry Digest Issue 3 the Darkness & the Light, Avalanches in Poetry: Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen, Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020

3 poems by David L O’Nan from the Cartoon Diaries

Come Possess Me in the Rain

The conduits all say that I invented myth
And magic all in one breath.
There is a mist in the cold air
On a Greenwich Village Halloween night
I can not feel the electricity
Only the forceful druids, and the chanting wish of death

They hold me up and say
Come Possess me in the rain
Licks the cold steel to my skull
Possess me, with me
Real and muted by the shame
In an execution style parade
What is the impression of a concrete stain?

They are practicing Shakespeare
They are faux Warholas and Bohemians in sunglasses
Without a notion of care

And I’m in this shadow that you feel at the River
Cold to the touch, blood like paste
The arrows kill the stars in the nuclear waste
In the air, decaying the ground

Now I’m expected to love all
As I’m pierced to these skyscrapers
Bound and bullied
My hands shaking off frost
It takes every breath in my lungs to
Release all my cowardice and all the vapors

Like this militant view of my skewering
They drop me off like unused flesh
Love was only the invention
Off the roots of an untimely reptilian dream
And hate grew in the garden
And shook the city lights to the seas
There isn’t a Picasso left

Digging up from the cracks
I crawl up through Cherry Lane
And I watch all the faints
And my nerves constantly dance an alarm
I am rushed in my steps
I am hushed in the slivers of my brain

In my mind that never sleeps
In my possession they fed off for years
I can only find truth and humanity
And live like I’m the Palomino
Dodging in and out of the hustling of fear

Sleight of Hand

My blood is an old soul
That should be pumping through a robotic poet from classic times
If I’m breathing, you will hear me
When I’m not, you may hear me more
How else can you see these supposed fast-moving clouds dream –
As slow motion tantras through a heartless sky?
This current world is too loud for me,
Yet it isn’t nearly loud enough
The art is secluded
The arteries are clogged,
Filled with supernovas and suffering
And they call this a sleight of hand


In The Palms of Schizophrenia

(first published in 3 Moon Publishing)

I’m a runaway from
The colours of my aura
Slithering like worms across the cracks of sidewalks

My palms have lines that are geometrically wrong,
Where do the nails go?
When they capture me
To evict me, to a death.

When they mark me like all of Christianity,
Rising above the rest.
I live with nature, everchanging repetition.
No one else hears,
My cries in the night
Like wolves, like all of my fears

How are screams so fluent?
In an echo, a breath
In Convulsion, still so fluent?
Everyone has deep eyes
Congruent to my ruin.

I remember love
And the mystery of bells
The ringing of heartaches
And the burning of hell

Inside my palms
I always know my passions
Only I, and my ghosts of mind can imagine.
And in this world

Even levitation leads to a drowning.

feature photo by Janine Robinson (unsplash)