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

In the Place Where You Are

sometimes the hardest part of this human
experiment is just being,     within
the moment such a challenge not to go
on with psychobabble   —   conversations
with self about psychoanalyzing
everything from the pretty girl at the
checkout inadvertently touching hands
to the idiocy of drivers and their
idiosyncrasies compared to one’s own
and the constant motion from moment to
moment usually,   customarily,
projecting into future what-to-do
or gazing into rearview at the path
so recently or distantly behind  . . .

Geek Guru Speaks of Cosmic Love

love,   she says,   lasts forever.     I wonder
about it always,   often   —   usually
haunted by a hundred vows,   promises
time has washed away (or seemed to catch up
in tides).         but how are we to know,   trapped here
in this moment?         so much come and gone,     gone
and forgotten until something reminds
the heart of seeds blown to yesterday winds.

relationship,     she amends,     may soon end
when weakness and worry overcome us,
but that is not love   —   that is circumstance
and the changeable wind of existence;

love is the neutrino journey of two
strange particles unstoppable in space  . . .

Psalms, Donne, and a Sunday Devotional

in the hall this morning I heard again
soft strains of Gregorian chants against
a backdrop of hissing traffic and water
rushing through the pipes,     the monks’ voices rose
like a soundtrack to life recalling conscience.
my mind teases thoughts of righteousness,   deep
in my heart the Lord’s prayer rehearses itself
as echoes of beatitudes remind
me to refrain from judgement     —     lest this sinner
be judged and found wanting   .  .  .   but under grace
is it not our inalienable right
even our responsibility     to live
hope against fear and the loathsome penchant
of the self-righteous toward punitive judgement?

David M Pitchford
2 September 2012

What She Said Last Time I Left Her

when you leave,     she said,     take god with you; take
hell with you as you go and leave it somewhere
where no one will ever find it.          hell’s something
nobody ever needed,     but it’s fun
to control kids with it   —    swamp of fire burning
bright absent light and lorded over by
that most infamous of all despots,     horned
and spade-tailed with pitchfork          what other kind
would old pitch have but a fork of pitch?          she
never spoke of heaven,     never of angels
or saints.          her last words to me in parting:
life is no mystery,     bobby,     it’s just life;
there’s no great bearded man in the sky, only
life and what you accomplish with it yourself.

David M Pitchford
20 March 2012

Pondering Pondering

today I wonder about this     —     as with
everything: I wonder     —     what real purpose
is there in wonder or curiosity
if there be no god, no soul, but merely
genetic progressions evolved over
billennia since the bang, since singu-
larity went plural in a new paradigm
vogue of physical reality  .  .  .  know,
know. know? what does it mean to know? what truth
but a construct of chemical impulse
serving its own organic need     —     sometimes
seemingly altruistic in support
of others, and yet always with payoff  .  .  .
perhaps it’s all evolving into God at last.

David M Pitchford
12 Jan 12