to make you feel my love, she said, I would
walk a hundred miles of broken highway
over glass and burning coals barefoot;
to the ends of the earth to borrow wings
from icarus and daedalus, don them
and fly to sister moon or brother mars.
to make you feel my love, she sang, I would
sail frozen seas and fast in burning sands . . .
to feel your love, I reply, I need you
only to walk over here and hold me
this moment, this hour, this evening, this night.
to feel your love, I reply, I want you
to accept me as I am, as I do
you, and overlook faults we all surely show.
so we’re sitting at the bar down at erl’s
tavern on sixth street south, and I comment
on this tat she has—some strange symbol just
above the low cut of her blouse—something
left over from a misspent youth, or just
something vaguely threatening to spike guys’
interest? I’m more into girls with fairies
and angels, never was much into goth. . .
egyptian, she says, not goth. a cartouche
symbolizing isis, goddess of nature
and magic . . . she goes on speaking of it,
but I’m caught up in the idea ofisis
married to her brother osiris, and
suddenly I’ve lost all my appetites.
David M Pitchford
13 Oct 2011
Apology of the Flowers
I wrote you, Liza, to apologize
for the flowers: Rose lost its ruddy blush
from envy of you. Lily was not so
pale as the cream-soft flesh of your belly;
those violets ran off to panhandle,
beggared by your nobility. I heard
you unbent Narcissus—I had to toss
him aside. Daisies spoke a name not yours,
their voice an assault . . . I tried to save you
a blue gentian1, but Persephone used
it as a torch in some poem not written by me . . .
not written for you. The hyacinth I
plucked overpowered your perfume; flowers
pale, unsymbolic between us, Liza.
David M Pitchford, 14Jun2011
1: See “Bavarian Gentians” by D.H. Lawrence
Hero's Final Vigil
The distance between you-and-me is less
than the ens and ems between these letters,
yet in the minds’ eye, Planck’s scale grows too vast
a chasm; illusion clouds thought, thought clouds
heart and head alike. We part never to
touch again—Hero losing Leander,
whose delusion of drowning blinds him to
her lamp evermore. The drowned cannot swim
nor circumnavigate the Hellespont . . .
I am no Leander, she no Hero,
and yet we play the drama, live their myth
as though that were real to this world. Love dies
a million deaths in such tragedies—Oh!
But love births itself a billion times in Life!
©David M Pitchford
10 April 2009
This is the second story featuring my latest favorite character, Ezekiel Tanner. Zeke is an evangelist, running around the early Colonies on a mission illuminated by a presence he is convinced is his Lord. Lots of fun. Watch him, though: he tends to misquote a passage here and there . . .
Anyone else a fan of Albrecht Durer? I saved some copies of his b/w sketches (woodcuts?) years ago from wga, and then later colored them in as an exercise in learning Photoshop. I especially like this one – the detail is unbelieveable! I’ll have to search my files and post my colorized “St. Michael” later.
Don’t you just love that little lizard!!!!!!!!!!!!!!