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


Moonlight in a Gone Garden

you once were the moonlight

in a garden gone to seed

now a sweet opal of memory

friend no more distant than my heart

all those meteor nights we gazed

dreamily skyward long past

but our friendship still temperate

and passions mature with passing years

this is the real life

after fantasy fades

Kentucky Woman

it’s the joy of expression, and the joy
in your expression.     light of easy mirth
written in dimples and mischievous eyes.
the play of words,     yours roll on my tongue like
kisses,     some sweet others rough with passion.
the shape and pucker of your lips become
my dreamscape’s major constellation,     and I
travel cosmos rocketed by wings of light
to meet you within the moon’s secret orchard
where together we spread feasts of novelty,
delights of dawning familiarity
and stroll along the breathless shore,     springing
acrobatic in lunar dance beside
the sea of tranquility, pointing earthward.

David M Pitchford
30 Oct 2011

War Stories #79

without cindy here day in and day out,
I don’t know     .      .     .      but without the program, I
sure as hell wouldn’t be around to share
these stories of courage without strength, these
forlorn tales of those caught under the bus,
run over in life’s sideway paths lost be-
tween the cracks     .     .     .      without this hope, without
wisdom shared and bullets bitten within
fellowship, how could I hope to arti-
culate these dramas faced and unfaced drunk
sober and drunk again, now sober to
remain, twelve steps out of hell and walking
hand-in-hand with the unlikely love of my life,
my once and forever partner, cindy.

David M Pitchford
27 Oct 2011            *final of this project to be posted

War Stories #47

maybe two weeks after donna’s funeral,
julie looked me up, dragged me from a meeting
to share some bad news. she had contracted
h.i.v. from somewhere, unsure whether
from a john or from a dirty needle.
either way, it was not to worry me,
as I had never shared her or her spikes.
but then she had to tell me that somehow
that gang from saint louis had gotten our
names and were on the hunt for all of us.
a banger I knew from meetings confirmed
this, and said I could buy my way free of it
for the right price . . . that’s what got me downstate,
and, by God, somehow it’s all for the good.

David M Pitchford
24 Oct 2011

War Stories #19

god knows what georgy was doing on top
of absinthe that night. all jacked up he got
it in his head that he was a turnip
or some such shit, and took a wire brush to
himself. billy told him a paring knife
might work better, and then we all watched dazed
and mortified while georgy started cutting
chunks out of his own torso with a dull
hunk of steel from the kitchen. back then,
roxanne, a trauma nurse, was hanging out
with us and helping find us fixes—she
clocked him with the absinthe bottle, strapped him
down and stitched him up with fishing line well
enough to keep us from repercussions.

David M Pitchford
23 Oct 2011

Campfire Party

late that night someone called the cops, twenty
grown adults ran for the wood just behind
the house, ten yards from the bonfire, and I
was the one left to answer to deputy
don about the noise—ozzie was on his
crazy train when the cruiser cruised up, but
bon jovi had been the impetus for
the call—and all I could say was kegger!

once it was all sorted out, we turned down
kelly’s car stereo and I collected
all the clutter, though we were tapping beer—
mick ultra—into actual glasses
to be green and responsible, just a score
of adults past the bar scene having fun.

David M Pitchford
21 Oct 2011