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

Foolish Poet

he said he wanted an angel to love
him and give him reason to live,   some sweet
muse to inspire his art and drive him forward
toward aspirations of immortality
in paint and ink.        love after love affair
he searched for her and begged the heavens,   gods,
to send him the one,   the only,   his true
angel.     he bargained and blustered endlessly.

fleeing from his own strange sodom,   he gazed
back over his shoulder to see heaven
and his angel waving goodbye in his
rearview mirror,    rented truck turning to
salt and his vows blazing before him,   hell
his own creation of denial and grief.

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

As Warm Front Meets Cold Front

thunder rolls distant as conversation
turns from lighter subjects to future cares
and what about us and what is this thing
and where are we going?     is this love,   love,
or just a minute’s romance overtime
a spring fling perhaps merely seasonal?
what is it you want to want or want me
to want and what do I want and what will
keep us together if we decide to be
together longterm?          but these kisses too
sweet to carry on heavy,   lighten lips
and hearts and words and the thunder ceases
as rain begins to fall and we laughing
frolic and dance between april raindrops.

Liza’s Butterflies

she giggles at butterflies and gapes wildly
as the bluebirds fly by   —   a child’s wonder
still alive and celestial bright though
well into her third decade,   her laughter
open as this cloudless kentucky sky
she asks what the big buzzards eat,   scrunches
her nose at the thought of carrion and
runs to a cluster of dandelions
plucks a handful and beckons down the path
along the something-elkhorn river,   though
here it is more a stream even after
last night’s storms.        at the fallen nest,    three eggs
victim to storm winds,   she sheds a tear for
each before spying another butterfly   .  .  .

morning after

I drank your beauty into my eyes,   your
kindness I drank like wine into my heart
my soul swallowed your tender lies and truths
sated and intoxicated my mind   .  .  .
your song flowed into my ears,   calmed spirit
and body alike;    your kisses poured out
all over me I gulped into memory
so that never again would I feel alone.

so drunk on you I can’t move,   barely breathing
I stagger through the night calling your name
into dreams dreamt under a hostile moon;
where were you when I awoke, love?     alone
under frightful skies, head and heart aching,
all I taste is the ache of wanting you more.