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Go to Amazon and look for the Fevers of the Mind Poetry Digest Volumes 1-3 available on paperback and kindle. Also there is a Poetry Only combination book of Volumes 1 & 2:  Avalanches in Poetry: Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen available on Paperback & Kindle.   Buy “the Cartoon Diaries” Chapbook for only 6.99 paperback 2.99 kindle.  https://amzn.to/2MwufxL for my Amazon Author Page (may not have all listed at first)  I have had work published in Royal Rose Magazine, Truly U, Dark Marrow an offshoot of Rhythm & Bones Lit, Ghost City,  3 Moon Publishing, Elephants Never,Nymphs Publishing. Edited 3 editions & have poetry, prose, short stories, photography in Fevers of the Mind Poetry (&Art) Digest. A Best of the Net nominee, and am a frequent contributor to Headline Poetry & Press http://www.headlinepoetryandpress.com




Wicked Witch Fossils (c) David L O’Nan


It was the night on the fairytale beach

The sick little seahorses collected

By the fiends

And through our walks,

Like a thunderclap over the zoo

We become a frightened twig

Floating in a scurry,

Our minds can be abandoned

And try not to evaporate

Like the shine off of the wicked witch fossils

In the cavern’s tongue.


The dirt and the fizz

On celestial grounds

Are now just a sleeping beauty hospital

Apple cores

Smashed to ruins

And little ants are never loyal

They just go from one sugar to the next

Even when it is poison disguised.


Photo by Melissa Van Gogh on Unsplash.com

Blackout (c) Hillesha

*this poem/writing was based on a dream my wife Hillesha had around October last year and was published in Fevers of the Mind Poetry Digest Issue 3 in November 2019*

*She feels that this dream could have been metaphors based on what we are all currently dealing or about to deal with around the world fighting this virus & the fight for your family during this hard time*


We head towards the East…

To escape the chaos

The sky


Is thickened with darkness

With no cars passing through

Dare any light shine?

No longer human





To pounce any innocent passerby

Flesh for flesh

There’s nowhere to turn or hide

This is the blackout

Regret that 1st Cigarette (c) David L O’Nan

Regret that 1st Cigarette


After coughing out chains of lung,

I believe I regret that 1st cigarette.

How naïve can you be after watching the suffering of your mother

Paralyzed chest entwined with Emphysema.


You can no longer cover up the pretty

The ugliness is now in control

The rendezvous in smog

Watching the film in your eyes ingest in red

Nestled in the intoxication

The crackling radio becomes my mind


With each new day feeling even more scared than the last

The millions have murdered me in my prison

Since I was birthed into their secrets

And damn it all,

Even the seashore looks like grainy, gritty wasteland.


The vibrant sunshine can’t even tap dance like it used to.

The taps now feel like fire,

Burning me inside

I desire to wash the loose skin from my lips

So now let me roam with the storm

It is much cooler to run with the pack


I know already that we will inevitably be clashing,

And severing the sky with our impact

Love is a flame scrubbed from the fires

You had to scrape the ashes off to see,

If it was ever really that mystic.


Regret the zoo that I’ve become

A sideshow to the streets

The poor even laugh at my city slicker decay

When the religion has wiped away the rich.

Photo by Andrew

Desperation Tornadoes (c) David L O’Nan

I’ve built up my gods through these tiny specks of sharp wind gusts,

That have eaten the goosebumps from my skin,

And purged into your direction as little heartless desperation tornadoes.


With shrapnel of thorns that careens through circular air,

In the vortex we are empty babies,

And haven’t much thought anymore


I can sit here in this empty car

Dark nights pulsating in my depression

Only bright lights to drive with

I can watch the nothingness of a 2:23 a.m. grocery store,

And wish to live out this nervous breakdown


Little desperation tornadoes

Full of energy, destruction

Blowing down cabins,

The bones around my central thoughts


Photo by Nikolas Noonan on unsplash.com

Redbirds on the Bridge (c) David L O’Nan

I have felt the murder to my skin from

The burning coils of the sun

Watching the redbirds line up

on the folding oxidized bridge

I feel the last exhalation of Summer steam

Images of our ghosts onto the aqueduct

We wait for the comfort of a deluge from a fervent cloud


photo by Ashkan Forouzani  on unsplash.com

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