To Send Poetry, Prose, Short Stories, Photography, art to Fevers of the Mind Press for Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Blog.

*WARNING: Blogposts are only going to be on here for a limited time* Anywhere from a few weeks to a year. So, if you have new pieces that you want posted, please be aware of this. Thanks.  – David L O’Nan*

If you’d like to send poetry, prose, short stories, photography, art. Send to feversofthemind@gmail.com  follow me on twitter @DavidLONan1 and @feversof  and on Facebook: DavidLONan1   There are no guarantees of features from submissions. Space is limited for now. Featured, links, tweets, fb posts for a few weeks to a month.  Also, please send in word doc format, or just within the body of an e-mail.



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 (www.lineriderpress.com)




About Leonard’s Inspiration to Lennon Stravato (c) from Avalanches in Poetry Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen


I remember the moment as if it happened today. I remember it as if it was the moment which precedes every moment. At 10 years old I rode my bicycle to the South Huntington Library, in Long Island, New York. This library of the neighboring town had a superior selection, compared to our local Harborfields Public library. I walked in, found the poetry section, pulled a book off the shelf, and opened up to a random page. The book was “Selected Poems 1955-1968” and the author was Leonard Cohen, a “singer” whose music I had heard countless times, along with that of Bob Dylan, as a passenger in my father’s car. It was on page 233 that my life changed. It was a simple poem, entitled “A Person Who Eats Meat.” I read: “A person who eats meat wants to get his teeth into something. A person who does not eat meat, wants to get his teeth into something else.” The deep 10 year old that I thought I was, paused for a moment, reflected, found it fascinating. I returned to the final lines: “If these thoughts interest you, even for a moment, you are lost.” The cosmos had gently slapped me in the face, and it used Leonard Cohen’s hand. The message was very simple: dig deeper, little boy. When the cosmos speaks that clearly to you, only a fool would ignore it. I, who aspire not to be a fool, had no choice but to comply. I have not stopped digging.


In the nearly three decades since that time I not only hung on Leonard’s every word, but I also delved deep into world religions, theology, existentialism, and my own, at times rather tumultuous, life. His early work, which often contained suggestive and darker allusions, reflected his era, and was well suited to my teens and early 20s. His later work, which I have enjoyed as something of an adult, spoke to the ages. Leonard masterfully used the voice of God, and man in ecstasy and terror, in the face of the divine. He balanced delicately and piercingly the interplay between the sacred and the mundane, the holy and the demonic, the essential and the existential, meaning and meaninglessness. His lyrics: “a million candles burning for the love that never came,” “behold the gates of mercy, in arbitrary space, and none of us deserving, the cruelty or the grace,” “He wants to write a love song, an anthem of forgiving, a manual for living with defeat” are eternal and timeless descriptions of the human condition. They have also become the core themes of my own interior landscape. It is no wonder that as Leonard described poetry as “the constitution of the inner country” that his work has had such an enduring impact on me personally, and my writing, which attempts to communicate in what I called, in a poem published in the Bards Annual 2019 Anthology, “the inner dialect.”


For many years, writing has been a passion of mine. In early 2019 I penned a screenplay which has just completed production. I also previously published dense political articles for The Hill newspaper in Washington, D.C., though I no longer standby those opinions. It wasn’t until 2018, however, two years after Leonard’s passing, that I began to find my own poetic voice. Sitting on my patio, I lamented that I might not hear a new Leonard Cohen song ever again, I wrote the following, as one of my first poems, entitled “The Master”



Because his death was something, my heart could not withstand,
I asked the master for a final poem, and offered up my hand
I said “for many years, I’ve been a student of the word,

And if you speak to me, I’ll help your voice be heard”


Then the master softly spoke “did you think those words were mine to tell?

You must know that I procured them, from deep within that great communal well.

And there, young man, you may go fishing, but if anything retrieved,

I’m afraid you’ve got that burden, from which I’ve been relieved.”
And then the master did retreat, back into that great abyss

From which all beings spring, and into which we are dismissed.

Yet in departing, he did leave a final remnant, a tiny piece of dust

As if to say, that’s all a man can give, the beauty’s not from us


So, I sat there for a moment, and then found some fresh new pages,

Knowing that is all a pilgrim has, when he goes to meet the ages

And dutifully I will wait here, with that paper and my pen

And my little promise, that when the spirit speaks, I’ll transcribe all I can




Midway through 2019, in response to a text message in which a friend mistakenly thought Bob Dylan had passed away, I went into a deep reflection about the loss of Cohen and the inevitable loss of Dylan. Early that day I dwelled for a period of time on Cohen’s suggestion that there are both a divine and a human will in each of us, and between the two exists the religious enterprise. I penned the following:


If the prophets all go home,

with no heir to hold their torch

may the oceans be reduced to foam

and we build museums with remorse


For if the will that burns in each of us

is not the one we choose to serve

to life itself we have become treasonous

And we get the hollowness we deserve


I heard Dylan and Cohen speak and sing

the voice of god was in their tunes

but the bells of freedom that did ring

belong to each and every moon


And while the spirit still blows where it will

and we cannot command it as our own

it may yet select our hearts to fill

and in our art make temporary home




And that is why I sit here with my pen and pad

Knee-deep in that finest meditation

indifferent to claims that I’ve gone mad

or that poetry is an unsuitable vocation


I never bought that brand of sanity

where culture was confused with marketplace

products are preferred above humanity

and unlived dreams are commonplace


But if that will which burns in each of us

becomes the only one we serve

self-doubt shall not bind the holy impetus

and that torch’s flame will be preserved



Finally, in response to my own lines above, I decided it was time to dedicate myself to poetry. In a poem that is in part the inverse of Cohen’s famous hymn “Hallelujah,” where unlike David, I do not please the Lord, and with allusions to “If It Be Your Will” and “Joan of Arc,” I wrote, what at the time of this writing, is my most recent poem.




I once reached into the ether

for sublime words that I could share

But each one did fall beneath her

to whom my best would not compare


She said: you are drenched in varnish

but all my people have no glare

Hear me, for I birthed the prophets

and you, young man, are not their heir


Well, I trembled at this trumpet

it shook me to my soul

but I was not made to crumble

and instead I raised my goal


So, I gathered all my kindling

then I trekked up old Mount Sinai

and said, if you be so willing

have this fire as our alibi



She said earth is temporary

just as those who seek its favor

they that seemed extraordinary

were forsaken like that savior


I said I know the truthsayers

and though unfit to walk their path

Indeed, I’ve come for this affair

as all, but you, to me is wrath



She said then join me in this fire

but know that varnish won’t survive

there is no room for false attire

if you wish in Truth to be alive


I pledged myself to love, not pride

to live and die in just your name

So here, right now, I’ll climb inside

I won’t resist this perfect flame



From Lennon Stravato

For anyone interested in my writing, I am currently working on my first book of poetry, which I hope to have ready by Spring 2020. I can be found in attendance and occasionally as a feature at the many great poetry events in Long Island, Queens, Brooklyn, and Manhattan. Also please feel free to find me on Facebook.

Army of One – The Father I Never Had (c)Mary Jones from Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Digest Issue 1

Stand at attention, hold your fire.

Army of one in soldier attire.

First up then down,

crawling all on the ground,

staying loyal to desecrated soil


The Fred Lee I knew became the father I never had.

Death is never really over.

You’ll always feel a little sad.

But my sad is more than mourning,

I always wanted to make him proud.

Now I can barely even step out into a crowd.


Outstanding is it?

I think not.

I’m forever seeking what cannot be sought.

Where we I be when this all comes to an end?

Will I finally see him and completely mend?

Jesus, I know you understand,

How back and forth I continually bend.


Once more I profess the tragedy of this.

I send you my love, Fred Lee, Sr.,

And blow you a kiss


Mary is an Ohio native. She graduated from Full Sail University with a Bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing for Entertainment. She’s worked as a reporter for a local newspaper and is currently a part-time freelance writer. Mary enjoys writing poetry, scripts, and short stories.  Twitter @mrsjoneswriter 

1970’s Rock Stars (c) David L O’Nan with artwork by Rockshow Gimmicks (c) from Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Digest Issue 1

1970’s rock stars

My brother, I and two sisters

Lived in the heart of Mountain boys

Who praised the Lord and Merle Haggard

My brother and I were a little more on the rebellious side

Idolizing the 1970’s Rock Stars

I’d listen to Zeppelin, Bowie, Neil Young, and Thin Lizzy

While my sisters tried to mimic Dolly Parton songs into their hairbrushes

Momma didn’t really care to hear about music in Grays Arch

She’d rather drink and sew with Aunt Dottie and my Cousin Tonya

Dad, while he loved the Outlaw Country,

He reserved most of his days drinking Bourbon and drag racing

Random bar cussing tyrants, and illegally gambling over baseball games

I’d often turn on the A.M. Radio in hopes of hearing Glam Rock anthems.

Hiding in the valleys, in the woods to practice losing my southern accent to that of David Bowie,

Or can you imagine?

Imagine John Denver trying to sing Instant Karma like John Lennon

I’m sure I was a joke, if anyone would have heard the squeals of imitations.

But, in my head, and in the times that my brother would join me

(When not fighting school bullies in the park) we would become the Who,

And our audiences were a family of squirrels scurrying up dying Oak Trees



David L O’Nan has been writing for nearly 20 years.  He writes poetry, prose & short stories. He is the Editor of the Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Blog at www.feversofthemind.wordpress.com & an Anthology book “Avalanches in Poetry” Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen in November 2019.  His most recent book is a new chapter in his style of work: ‘The Cartoon Diaries’ chapbook is available on Amazon paperback & kindle. These poems deal with how it feels to be out of place in today’s society. 

He contributes a weekly column for Headline Poetry & Press at http://www.lineriderpress.com

Rockshow Gimmicks: Music/Pop Culture inspired visual products. Several music genres represented.  Follow on facebook @Rockshowgimmicks

Honey Lines (c) John Everex from Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Digest Issue 1

Honey Lines

Your verdict remains,

a guarded honeyed refrain,

or perhaps a sweetened lie?

The taste strips me bare,

steals my uncommon sense,

brushes the tips of my hopes

with rose tints,

magenta and madder lake.

A painted subterfuge.



But there’s more.


John started inventing stories as a child and haven’t stopped. John writes on Twitter (@EverexJohn) and publish work regularly on his blog (http://johneverex.blog ) as well as through chanillo.com His writing comes in various forms and lengths, including microfiction, flash fiction and short stories. John also write poetry, being especially fond of haiku. Currently, he is rsz_dustin-scarpitti-rdf3apsexr0-unsplashworking on a new novel, which will be published in 2020. In addition to writing, I am a father, husband and teacher and currently live in the south of England

Photo by Dustin Scarpitti on Unsplash


An Artist Weeps (c) David L O’Nan from new book “the Cartoon Diaries” available on Amazon kindle & Paperback. written in 2004

An Artist Weeps


Canvas, canvas

Where are her eyes,

what did you do to her features?

All beauty has fallen, fallen to the creaky floor

Muffling breath,

you can tell she has fallen from the Earth

Into an abstract abyss

Petula, she is shady,

so grey, and shaded so wrong

She is being mistreated,

undressed, and becoming a sad song

Her slime for a smile

is melting her cover girl face

Designing her curves so crooked,

the lie is her mis-shape

Her eyes are wandering dots

allocated to only a certain few

They were left bleeding and burning

Her scent of rotten perfume


Causing the slug sounds of dry heaves,

dry leaves, dry wind, dry thoughts

That is not all that became the rotten

And brought under her guidance

She lays a dark blue underneath the canvas

Choking on spirits

Dust of undeveloped talent itches her throat

She limps to the door, grabs onto her scarf

Pulls down the rack

Her sacred seizures

brought on by the progression of panic attacks

Limping across the room, she’s a banshee

She screams


You’ve never helped me then

My injured mind a sin

When will God help me?

Will I be able to sexualize my name again?

My legend again

My glamourous bent laughter

like the wicked wind

Will it return, or will my aching heart –

Keep this soaking in hot wax

and melt into a dry bore

Stuck on the side of a candlestick

that has held all her sores

This is the cuts that have left an infinite pause

The freezing of her soul,

leaving an infinite thought

It will not form a solid again

Canvas, Canvas

The world is your ears, if it is life that we fear

We will need the art and beauty to be fulfilled

Let the sanctum be near


David L O’Nan has been writing for nearly 20 years.  He writes poetry, prose & short stories. He is the Editor of the Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Blog at www.feversofthemind.wordpress.com & an Anthology book “Avalanches in Poetry” Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen in November 2019.  His most recent book is a new chapter in his style of work: ‘The Cartoon Diaries’ chapbook is available on Amazon paperback & kindle. These poems deal with how it feels to be out of place in today’s society.

He contributes a weekly column for Headline Poetry & Press at http://www.lineriderpress.com


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