Image by by HilLesha O’Nan, David’s wife while she was visiting West Virginia.
-(he/him) David L O’Nan
is a writer/founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art. He has several self-published books and curator of 5 Anthologies. His work can be found on www.feversofthemind.com . You can see his work on Anti-Heroin Chic, Icefloe Press, Cajun Mutt Press, Royal Rose Mag, Dark Marrow, Ghost City Review, Nymphs Publishing,
Spillwords, Punk Noir Mag and more. And has been a Best of the Net Nominee in 2019.
Q1: When and why did you start writing poetry?
A: In my writing infancy I learned by listening to song lyrics & my brother always wrote poetry when a teenager. I would listen to their stuff and attempt to write myself
Starting around 12. I loved the Beatles and was often influenced by John Lennon at the time. I have always been slightly rebellious in my viewpoints. I’ve always been anti-war,
Anti-bullying, anxious, and at times my favorite way to write was a dark humor or silly style. I rarely re-visit that style, but it appears periodically in my work. I became serious about writing
in my early twenties, heartbreak after heartbreak, falling in love easily (mostly with women that were not available it seemed) would lead more writing with angst. I began listening to
Songwriters such as Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave, Nick Drake, Jeff Buckley, Tom Waits, Bruce Springsteen, Marvin Gaye, Townes Van Zandt, Bob Dylan, Phil Ochs, Joni Mitchell,
Tori Amos. Read more Plath, Sexton and always am adapting my influences.
- Where did the idea of for the book come from?
To collect those particular style of short poems. They mostly were adapted from word prompts on Twitter.
2. Why is the imagery usually through the eyes of another?
A lot of times I will write as a character. So I can form the thought of how I think a certain person would react. So you get a mix of me in with different characters I guess. You’ll see. It is like any of my writings. Just shorter. I try to cause reaction to my poems by the imagery since I am not always structurally sound.
We lived like stuck ants in a wine glass
In the red wine remnants
That was sifted impure
We lived like the homeless man,
Whose skin and jacket
Has become one with the epidermis
Who can believe our past truths, or fears?
We must be symphonia, forever
To a deaf vain psyche
PREDATORS AND MONSTERS
Do you believe in monsters?
They speed past me every day
Then creep slowly by the staircases, or a window
This essay to be an urban folk legend
A paradigm of masking behaviors
Pockets with fading hands
Can we get away?
A freedom that makes predators out of choirboys
In white lines, broken coughs
It fills my chest with an extinct disease
In the distance I can hear harmonicas
From a desert
In a 1950’s jail
Only the demons listen in
To the blues that die
Like the TB Jailbirds
In the frame of heaven,
I became dust
Interceding with the sunlight of a narrow hallway
Dividing into millions of tiny poisons
A quotient of one malevolence
Why the hiding?
As the piling of sales papers and bills accumulate
Teases to aneurysms
Can I be more like Paul in Malta,
Impervious through faith ?
They opened the door to hatred hundreds of years ago
Every time we get that door to budge
Racist, sexist, bigotry, homophobic, narcissistic dictators
Put more magnets to our metal minds
To fail us til we become only tunnels
Dark as night
As dolls we can only blink.
As cold as always, a Nova Scotian night
A trail of colognes from Cape Breton Island
Led me to your ghost house
Surrounded by biblical figures stuck in a liar’s breath
Intermingling with the cold ectoplasm
They were war heroes
Soldiers that slept on sidewalks
Spirits had risen
And teasing us back to days of war
To the winds of napalm
That followed your mind back home
Hiding in shakes up North now
You feel like a fugitive, a forgery,
But the ghosts will never leave.
Twin masks the Milky Way Galaxy
We have been immortal in multiple moons
Through the crust,
The magnets pulled us under
Into the winds of Neptune
We are trapped in the blue
So, all we have is love
In the silence
Put the seashells over our ears to cloud the alarms
Removed me from the healing of saints
Drowned a colony of us, like ants
I can’t feel the power
You keep painting over my smile
My laughter lost in the fabric of miles
You are the manic artist
With an evil eye
Paint me back to yesterday’s sky
I always feel like when the leaves change colors,
Inevitably, I will crumble
As the skies open up
Into a stinging
An oily downpour on my freckled
Crackling slip of skin
The rain trickles down into my heartbeats
BACK TO MY RIVER
Where has my time gone?
Driving home in this madness hour
A midnight moon overlooks your eyes
I see it swim through the clouds
From freeways to dirt roads
Crashing through the gravel
And you are timeless,
Through it all
Back to my river
Hooks to the heart.