Poetry from David L O’Nan : Tumbleweed Corner

Tumbleweed Corner

from books "The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers" and "Bending Rivers"

Buried hearts at Tumbleweed Corner.
The thistles split apart bad men as they choke.

Santa Fe, on a hot New Mexico morning.
The jury decided to hang the man.
The creeps,
They follow with chisels, with rope.

 A chilling smile,
Their creepy walk.
Like a dictator marching from their tomb.
Cuff marks leaving my hands raw and sore.

Dry air sucked in,
That dust,
That failure.
On the septic trails,
My dusty boots enriched in blood.
From a man that found his soul.
He was lost forever from his native Ohio.

He met his demise here in New Mexico when -
The sunrise began to drop dead heat on the wagons -
during our horses first meal of the morning.
The lonely man,
He was enamel
bare to the shaking,
the menacing inevitable.
Once he saw my hatchet teeth,
My bull rope eyes
He was just collecting horseshoes off dirty roads.
Those cloudy roads named in honor of befallen heroes.

As I sat there, judgment awaiting.
The judge sweats the sun's breath.
Moving his body into a boring inertial state.

He's a rock
And will not change.
His mind is predetermined
My lifeforce begins to drip.
To image itself as melting metal.
The toughness,
I become a shy child.
The people look at me with evil intentions.
Purity no more in their Christian hearts.

They wait to see my remorse.
My sunburnt face with the boils,
The leather chapped cheeks
The flaming sticks for a nose,
The ears that are dark and hidden like a tunnel.
The face that can't find the guilt.
I've been ripped away from my internal being.

I can only hiccup memories to the brain
The crying mornings,
Under this town's smoldering bridge.
Almost every morning.

They grab me by the stale leaf hair.
Pull my hungered body to the bird-shit ground.
The smell is now of old crusts and ashes.
That hot New Mexico sun has been burning -
my skeleton chest through my flannel shirt,
My bank robber legs through my tattered jeans
The sun poisoned my mind to obscenity.

I'm clinging to you,
Clinging to your thistles, Lord
I've eaten from all the ratty coffee cans too long.
I spit out all the ashes
Of all the dreamers.
Just rake away.

Tired of the spirits of those
I've killed for green greed, awakening me
Kissing the blade of the machete
A sorrow of laughter,
And then disappearances into -
The nocturnal rib of the air

Tumbleweed Corner is now heartless.

Those that were buried are now walking
They become the zombie vision,
Thieves that stole back their dignity.

My soul is left for scavengers.
Drag me away like rags.
Empty with the scars
To bury me in the gut of stars.

Eternally trying not to fall to the fires below.

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 https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18366060.David_L_O_Nan

The Bible Belt Bachelor Beat, The Prison Speech (2005) Poetry by David L O’Nan

versions of this are in my books and also published in slightly altered versions on the Cajun Mutt Press site during a Saturday Feature. These came from a book I was working on in 2005 in which I didn’t finish and threw together poems as a result.

The Bible Belt Bachelor Beat

So now the beat was out on the streets again,
Darkness hears the soul’s tears burning within.
Finding home wearing the sadness coat.
Fighting a love affair with a knife wielding holy ghost.
My beautiful girl is at rest, wasting away
She is staring into the darkness – Of this evening’s shade
The horror calls from across the halls,
They were deafening, my silence proved too late
So now I know, how the death bell tolls
I seek revenge, I fuel myself with scorn and hate
To take apart, the crooked heart
Who severed my soul, magician of greed and loath?
Reincarnate myself into the heroin, the addiction
The power rose, the mighty lion, the sorcerer,
The dictator, the cult king
The need to be disillusioned
The creation was to be crazy,
To break apart with newly found powerful hands,
That used to be so gentle.
So fragile and weak,
When I used to touch her cheek
The morning like a celestial daydream,

The haze of fog
Sipped her tears,
When she began to cry
The dryness,
Like a desert for sad brown eyes
This germ will not run, cannot hide
Cannot mutate, I know that I can design
The perfect plan, the perfect kill
Alas, I may become dirt on the way
Dear God, knowing however
His bones are already chilled
Spirits have cried, they dry, they fly
They live in my heart, for my love
That was taken by the evil in a wild heart.

The Bible Belt Bachelor Prison Speech

Hello,

To all that have been captured
We are breathing the same chipped paint walls,
Yellow urine stained floors, pneumonia air.

The air of a criminal
Locked up, prison guards whistling our death tune.
Death will be coming soon.

We’re already dead in a sense.
Nature is outside, designed for the free man

On a warm sun-lit sand.
The touch of lovers, the natural consumption of lust.
In my cell asleep with the poetry –
I felt when I was one with the free
When I wasn’t practicing bullets
Setting fire to Mother Nature and to faith.
When blizzard walks exuded freedom.
Through the snow chills devouring my feet
With numbing, cutting skin
The pain of past freedom
My name is Dante Moricelli
Her name was Nadine Angelis
You might have read about me
In your wrinkled newspapers, Slippery
phlegm gazettes

The glossy excitement of a Time Magazine.
The mortality sonnet depicting the surrealism in a slippery dream.
Nadine Angelis was my love as the tender years began to fade.
Young, careless, we were the storybook tale of the unsaved.
I will tell you more about my love,
If your ears are tuned to listen “Must
we have a heart, we never listened
before?” “Must we have ears,
To be attentive to your listless self-loathing?” “Must our
maniacal spirit be all and sundry To your hopeless
prophecy?”
“Are we peasants to your pulpit?”
“You, bleeding your cold love propaganda in our troglodytic tomb”
“Interrupting the carving of our minds with a fever
That comes from watching roaches scurry down prison floors, Spiders climbing up our
shirts, flies and decay consuming our food”
“Marking x’s on our calendars with our life force fluid,
The countdown to our demise: the foregone conclusion”
But I am a human heartbeat
I was a 5-year bachelor that fell on hard times,
The loss of reasonable thinking,
And a self-confessed stalker of love
So, if what I’m about to tell you –
Were the opening of a movie
The song “Let There Be More Light” Would be
resonant, magnetic to the ears
Illuminating, flashing of lights from psychedelic trips of torture
The horrified manic looks,
As we drive erratically down a desert road.
Passing cacti and breathing in dry arid air
The sun setting down to a dark orange/bright red hell.

The flashes of a nearly perfect capture lay –
In the trunk of a Pontiac Sunbird.
The music, the music like soundwaves to our mind.
We can see the sound
We have become the sound
We have become the light
Passing by leather skinned lizards with masochistic claws,

Wanting to give you one more bite in the jugular before – The eternal
damnation of our soul’s ease.
The serpents black flickering tongue – Spreads
over the heavens
With a Hallelujah Chrysalis of poisoned tears.
We, looking for an escape to find peace again
But, knowing the only written word of our future is that of a Eulogy.
A eulogy given by family members who didn’t know us well enough
to care before.

All because of espionage and jealousy.
And the loss of love that wasn’t understood quickly enough.
The burning of a desert,
The scarring on the face of Mona Lisa
The victim that lay in his own bloodletting on torn towels – and
shredded t-shirts.
With the rips, that remind us
The struggle it was
The determination in us that caused our perfect lunacy to this near
perfect kill.
His false hopes of spiritual happiness
And wellbeing exposed
by his crooked cross on a cut chest.

Even though I’m terrified by the outcome.
As sheriffs, detectives, specialists all pace faster and faster behind our car
of forlorn sin.

The electricity already beginning to pop in our veins! The multiple
trips are scary, long, and all indicative
That we had almost masterminded the perfect crime.

So, now the collapsing rollercoaster ride has ended.
The song has ended.
Let me tell you how we came to this plunge into ridicule and reverie.
I’m Dante Moricelli “the Bible Belt Bachelor”
The name they stamped on me,
I’ve lost all identity and dignity now
I’m just a title, less of a man.
Because I erased a man from existence
Who deserved to die.
He took away the root to my soul,
My dear Nadine Angelis
She made my heart feel, She
made my blood pump
And he twisted my mind into only one way of thinking,
Left me with the confusion

Much like after an aneurysm
The pounding, splitting shards of glass as well
shakes to the wild howls of coyotes.

Releasing small increments of mania.

“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!

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 https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18366060.David_L_O_Nan

Honey-Texas by David L O’Nan (short story/poetry)

brown and white wooden star print board

photo by Glen Carrie (Unsplash)

Honey-Texas

Honey is
Dreaming the life of a millionaire
Born to a trailer park
She always felt lonely in her painted golden lawn chair.
Never to be a thief in her dreams.
Torn apart each night by the ghosts that lived inside her mind,
That cut away the demons living inside the skin of her meat.
Morons whistling by the windows each night,
While prowling through town
The personification of the creeps.

Will she ever feel like a princess?
Or even a woman again?
Honey, you’ll have to forget that you didn’t follow him down to Texas
He is just a memory to a gurgling beating heart.
As you cry into stale factory air pollution,
You are still stalking him,
With a poisonous tipped dart
The voodoo of the Spring Equinox.
And the clouds were pissing,
She awoke inside the tickling of the alarms
And then the whisper of a twister
Bound her to her sleep paralysis bed.
The clouds began laughing within her
It became that demonic orange-lit room.
Night sweats have deformed her bed into a fevered lake.
Bubbling up infestations of banshees.
Moments of lost lusting opportunities.
“Honey, you should have followed him down to Texas”
They say your energy fights your soul.
You are beginning to miss the medicine that he fed into your arms.

Your tall drink of water,
He’s bent over crippling with you and the junk clouding in your veins.
The tunnels of a morphine maze,
So, you decided to stay.
Stay to try and help your mother.
Texas couldn’t wait, for a renegade hobo.
Help your mother ignore your father for now.
Watch the bastard come home from the bars.
After factory work, he would bitch.
And throw his fists like a prairie boxer.
Cursing out your mother and threatening the whole Earth.
He’d attempt to fistfight his own shadow
Then collapse into the yellow curtain drapes.
And finally, spend another night crying from jail.
Watching him crumble into the arms of a toilet shadow.
So you put your family on pause.
When you met your own cowboy chewing jerky on the tracks.
Near the greasy pizza shack in the corner of Jefferson and Main.
He was surrounded by his drugstore starlets.
When you first looked into his eyes.
And you saw a burning heaven.
And you felt his naked touch.
He tipped his cowboy hat and offered you exotic sweat.
And you fell in love with all that came with the hissing snake.

“But honey, you didn’t follow him down to Texas”
On Repeat,
Robotic in your mind.
You believed you were his cure.
To saving all his ravaged purity.
You’re stuck in the harbors of crashing nerves.
Like the gunfire of a thunderclap.
On another night, paralyzed to your bed.
Enter the orange-lit room demons,
It felt like you were shooting –
A Colt Mustang into the eyes of a fading sunset.
Try to escape the holy spirit,
You thought you saw the Trinity in a funnel cloud.
So, why do you continue to follow him in circles,
Around the spinning rodeo in your head?
You don’t want to lose your Cult King Cowboy with –
The smile of a dust bowl grim reaper.
“Honey, you didn’t follow him down to Texas”
He packed his ropes in his muddy jeep.
With his cocaine concubines down in Denton,
Sucking the high off his lips.

In your mind he’s still a stolen kiss away.
Those burping heartbeats that you carve in the heartbreaker woods.
Little hearts into stumps
A breath and a fading sigh, until fainting from the power from his eyes.
A cigarette,
Quivering cool around your slender face.
Another night, another nightmare
Awakened by the sickle to your throat.
A shadow man begins fading into walls,
Leaving a caricature in the image of his face.
You lost your breath,
You begin to cough.
The cigarette smoke burns out from the blankets.
The windows begin to peel.
Paint chips to the heads of yesterday’s energetic cockroaches.
You shake out, convulse out all your pain.
Just grab a new blanket.
Wipe the sweaty make-up from your face.
The house glows like a green light on a busy street.
Then the tornado hit the Ohio Riverfront.
You barely faked a tear,
Then the river becomes a wall over your inflammation –
To the damns built in the corners of your eyes.
The river scars like lassos hitting skin.
The mosquitoes die off into the air.
They left nibbling tiny bites,
Over the swamp that is left on your thighs.
A whole body became one with the twister.
A whole inclination surrounded by the blisters.
Left by a violent whip in the shape of Texas.
The wind smashing in doublewides down like an anvil.
Honey, you didn’t follow him down to Texas.
Could you feel this gravely illness in your blood?
Don’t slice away your beauty,
That percolates in the cracks of the clouds

“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!

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 https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18366060.David_L_O_Nan

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