4 Poems by David L O’Nan

Punk Noir Magazine

The Bell Chimes Three Times

When the bell chimes three times,

And the band stops playing funeral tunes.

There’s a burning running through the veins,

When the whistles penetrate through the trackless trains.

There is no polish to the clanging.

There are dark nights under the stars singing.

The curves of my brain still stinging.

Looking at the paths of sunsets reflecting over our bleeding.

The bell chimes three times,

Watching the ugly and the beautiful break

Walking emotionless down lonely dead flower valleys

Emotions just deadened, just deadened.

Awakened, just to find the ornaments of bones banging.

The bell chimes three times,

For the chains of forbidden fruits

Washing away in the heart of our drink.

The chills on this brightened night

Leaves me falling in the broken ocean.

Pull my body out of this drowning,

And pull the plug from the flaking moon.

Washing the green from my eyes turning to brick grey.

The bell chimes three times

You’re still stuck on the second chime.

While the city displays us to be vulgar and taboo

You’re watching all the legs and your forehead is all sweaty.

You’re saddled by temptations,

And you leak insecurities.

The bell doesn’t bite for flesh, 

And your fevered swims that lead to only powdered ashes.

The bell chimes three times

A new morning kicks the highway’s dirt into the sun’s breath.

Winding in the wind that beat the hills into dusty coffins,

Feel all those nervous blades leaving your stomach.

A thousand minutes wrapped into one.

Lost in the square without a compass.

Tripping our cords, still attached and wanting,

Wanting a sense of belonging during all this needing reality.

You live for the women and the sugar.

The bell chimes three times

I’m thinking of a new sky.

I’ve been hearing that there is a rumbling in the beast’s eye.

I feel the nerves eating through this bone like steel.

Remembering all the alarms and disease.

The bells convulsing, and foghorns stitching.

You want to be home, sleeping over the gun.

You want to bag the buttons of the sun,

To leave a little light inside to begin threading in.

The bell chimes three times,

Crashing through the quiet beams

The church floats on the water

The blood, the bibles, and the babies of war.

The battle of the Adam and Eve shores.

We’ve been drunk in the belching deserts.

And the bell, the bell

She chimes three times.

David L O’Nan is a poet/writer/editor living in Western Kentucky. He is the founder and editor of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Digest. And running Fevers of the Mind Blog www.feversofthemind.com. He has curated 5 anthologies under the Fevers of the Mind banner including Avalanches in Poetry Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen. He has several self-published books found on Amazon. You can find him on twitter @DavidLONan1 and for Fevers of the Mind @feversof