Waking to Monday

farther and awayer she seemed within
the dream, running away teasingly, gone
too far and not realizing she had
lost what she had chased for running. sad truth
too often realized, and I jar awake
stretching out toward her fleeing figure . . .

sometimes the wolf refrains from the chase, love,
and in any case, no wolf am I. life
overcame, overwhelmed, us. we failed each
other. so it goes. desertion for desertion.
nothing fair about it, love, but there it is.
and what defines us is not how we fall,
but rather how we rise again from ashes
to rejoin our heavenly star-bound brothers.

David M Pitchford
26 Dec 2011

Long Ago August

hey, remember that night in a long ago
august? I was working as a bar-back
down at chantilly’s and you came in
making eyes at me the whole night, watching
as I bustled around slinging cases
of beer, bottles of liquor, bags of ice.
you were so hot in abbreviated
red dress, stockings and garters just hinted
and spiked heels made for a pick up. some guy
offering drinks and curious why your eyes
seemed to never roam far from this sweaty
jerk errand boy . . . and I tossing smiles
your way all night in that knowing manner—
envy a tide we surfed home to passion . . .

David M Pitchford
18 Nov 2011

Twenty Years

her high school reunion,     all that past stuff
catching up to her  slams her to her knees—
she’s drunk on cheap wine,     and her second husband
with her wraps her in his arms,          but there’s no
comfort in the world for a little girl lost
in memory and desperation.          she
likes to put on her brave face against the world
and can usually manage through hell and high
water . . . but the losses in life, not just friends
but the possibilities as much as
realities drive grief like spikes through her
heart,  her life,  and she’s swept up in maelstroms
of emotion.          her life is good these days,
but there’s always that threat of it going wrong . . .

David M Pitchford
16 Nov 2011

Burning Time

cut the thread,     my ghost advises,      be kind
to one deserving kindness, and all deserve
kindness.          shut up, ghost,     I softly say.     what
strength have I for closing doors of metaphor,
or deconstruct again bridges I’ve burned
but replaced with ferries  .  .  .  just walk away,
she whispers.     walk away?     such a simple
concept, yes, but simple and easy not

equate.          putting my mind to other tings,
I write of eagles and fish skipping across
river waters, reprieved from the eagle’s
talons—for the moment.     upon the sunset
my ode in wisps of smoke, old letters, old
poems burning in the autumn twilight . . .

David M Pitchford
11/11/11

Doctor, am I a Stalker?

you see, doctor, I couldn’t help myself,
I was moved by something deep within, yet
this force seemed . . . not of me . . . alien
somehow and yet not. like a stray command
from a program running in the background:
you know, doc, like your virus protection
on your laptop. just like that. it took over
and forced me to drive to my ex-wife’s house.

I see. is this normal for you? do you often
find yourself spellbound by compulsions? obsessive?

no, doc, that’s why I had to talk to you:
consciously, I just want to leave her be,
let her move on, turn the page, all that jazz;
but I can’t help myself going back there.

David M Pitchford
9 Oct 2011

Love, an Owner’s Manual

ah, but you could strike my eyes with lightning
and no greater wonder than your beauty
would have entered my heart through those windows;
strike my ears with thunder, and no greater
song than your voice would grace my attention;
strike my heart with your kindness and you slave
my lips to your praise solely forever;
say the word, and I’m faithfully yours, love.

But dazzle not my eyes, and my gaze may
wander; sweeten not my ear with your dear
words, and some other strain may catch my ear;
mistreat my heart, love, and my loyalty
might find its way to market; kiss me not,
and my heart may wither, love die, faith fail.

David M Pitchford
2 Oct 2011

Moonlight on the Beach

entombed where I am, I recall those nights
we talked till daylight, reading and writing
poems to and for and by each other . . .
now nothing much remains of what mattered
to us then, not for us together, you
are farther away from me than heaven
is from hell. and yet, I hear your voice here
and there, see your bottles litter beaches
I roam to smell the rimed ocean, to feel
cool tropical breezes exotic damp
of well-traveled mists in worldly surf, and
to stand beneath the same moon I know shines
down on you where you live with your new love—
recalling those nights, here I am, entombed.

David M Pitchford
2 Oct 2011

The Road to Faithless

I am not a sin, I am a woman,
she said to me, of bone and blood and flesh;
the needs of a woman beat here in this breast,
she told me. touch me, she said. love me, she plead.
hold me from the darkness, protect me from
the light, she admonished. come to me, love,
she whispered, kiss my mouth, kiss with passion
my every part; entwine your limbs with mine.

long years I watched her grow, watched her mature,
witnessed her age and stood beside her, heart
faithful every breath . . . yet in her heart shadows
held her back from giving all, her finger
pointing at me: betrayer, you are, you will;
and trust’s dearth, I learned falsehood in the end.

David M Pitchford
29 Sept 2011