denial of mortality ceases at undeniable news

we screamed against the coming of the night
our howls blending into a chorus of life
righteous beauty rained on and sparkling bright
in the failing light of waning afternoon
and then the gloaming the sunset the song
sung sad of day dead at night’s glorious
hand . . . sudden came the darkness though only
perhaps seeming sudden from the dying light

agog we stared as the distant stars took up
our song to sing night alive. fear assuaged
we took up the halting dance of one seeing
only vaguely and vaguely understanding
until jubilant faith replaced fear and we
came to accept transition as a gift.

david m pitchford
26 feb 2014

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For the Love

in the basement of a colorado bungalow
in drywall plaster sculpted
with a cheapass trowel from home depot
my honorific oblige to van Gough
*starry night* in relief
not simply to his opus
but to the life the man the mania
art for art and beauties’ sake
because life is light flung against
dark nothing and the light will out
it finds a way through leonard cohen cracks
through pinholes and brush strokes
through seams dissected by poets
sculptors architects composers
fueled ever by love
love of the art, of the self, of light and life
love of a woman all women
love of a man all men
love of humanity and being
human . . . .

David M Pitchford
11 Feb 2014

Thin Lines and High Roads

it’s all candlelight against infinite
darkness           deadfall into oblivion   .  .  .
a kiss in gethsemane’s back alley
one betrayal on the way to martyrdom
roman lash across the shoulders     salted
venom rubbed to wound the wounded     insult
to injury all in the name of wasted
passion sinking like blood into time’s sands.

yet who can refuse the next breath of life
given its mysterious alternative
terrifying in the face of aspirations
dreams and longings and gloried ambitions
even the love of the moment of sunshine
or the joy of drenching in a soft spring rain   .  .  .

god: a Fibonacci Sonnet

god
maybe
agnostic
what is knowable
in dimensions beyond senses
it’s all speculation this side of immortality

infinity suggests all gods
as real as imagination

reality perhaps merely a single framed portrait
in our museum of senses
storing knowable
the gnostic
may be
god

Steampunk Angst

let’s take a zeppelin to the moon,   baby,
that cool clean landscape of the lunaphile
sweet virgin muse to myriad poets;
let’s take a steamship to the stars and sail
around the nebulae among the stars,
let’s map the great unknowable expanse
and make love on every beach under moons
we ourselves will name;   let’s take a rocket
to the gods and ask them why they fled our
fair blue world,   left their children to mayhem
and to victimize themselves in their own
sick immaturity   —   atom bomb tantrums
and greed-mongering mania polluting
the whole human race out of house and home   .  .  .

Serenity: a Fibonacci Sonnet

cosmos

peace
lingers
soft captive
held light deep inside
heart,   mind,   spirit held in center
meditation calls the mantra from within to still

heart an open lotus lives out
cosmic by living,   breathing in

meditation calls from within to still the mantra
centered in spirit,   mind,   heart,   still
held deep inside light
soft glowing
captive
peace

Paradise Dwells

for decades    I sought
Paradise   —   in beauty
         in bottles         in women’s hearts
                                                             between their legs   .  .  .

a few years back
            in a rock-bottom
                                drunkard’s dream
I found the most open secret   —

now     I carry Paradise
                                               with me
                              worn as a smile
everywhere
                           I go

David M Pitchford
10 Aug 2012