Category: poet
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Toybox
My mind is a wrecked toy I don’t know where to go with that Trembling hands cupped around it We rock forth and back Singing and sighing Wordless admonitions Begging reparations From parents absent as the gods davidmpitchford 12/16/2025
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Song for Her Majesty the Ex
We were legendary, dear, doubt it never King and queen of fourteen-liners and verse Time moves on, yet in the reflection of that moment Printed in books with our names . . . we were great How was it we lost admiration for each other? Competition? No. Complication. Life Got in our way of living.…
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But is it a Poem?
Do they call it a poem? It’s a poem. Does it look like a poem? It’s a poem. Read it. Relish it. Savor it in your mouth Savor it in your ear and in your heart. Does it feel like something real? More than Real? Does it drug you with its puissance? If you cried…
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Spring Apotheosis
another morning you awaken from dreamsand drop into the flow of life’s sluggishriver (trapped on a sandbar of late) andsome wonder about the white waters’ rush,hoping you’ve not seen the last of this inour present life; Some want to run againbefore the race is over, want to huntagain the big game and find love beforethe…
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Deep Dark: a Walk Among the Ghosts
Moonless night. Perhaps New Moon?I hold no calendar to confirm.Out without my smartphone, disconnectedto a reason, thank you.Clover and wild onion spongysoftbeneath my steel-toed work shoes —after shift in the deep night, shallow morning.Only the sounds of distant traffic:a train a mile away sounds of electric whale;a bustle in a hedgerow ten meters north.Last thing…
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An Altar for Julianne
we have no candlesneither an altar in our homeour sacred spaces all lie withinnot so much by choiceas by accidental embarrassmentof riches – a house too fullof banality to house the holy . . . yet how many hours we sendprayers into our hearts, upunto the heavens, out tomanifest the universe . . . tonight,…
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#86: Lost in the Stacks
surrounded by thirty-eight volumes of poetrydiverse as the centuries of art historyI prime my mind, heart, fingers, tonguefor this final lap around the verse-arenaBorges, Natalie Goldberg, and Leonard Cohencheer me on in echoes from beyond;Samuel Taylor Coleridge has broughthis ministry of frost, sailing a Dover thrift edition;Kit Stokes helps me navigate broken musicwhile my fingers…
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New Year
Prophet of Midnighthe was torn asunderat the Solstice, dismembered and disemboweledby seven sisters dancing to Orpheusand the Muses – then sewn back togetherby one-hundred paradisal virginsdawn of that next day . . . but the parts – more than one sacrificewas disarticulated on the altar of their ire –his left arm black, rightmongoloid; left leg…
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81
the internet keeps warning usbut common sense demandswe remain skeptical – and yet . . .strange to think, in light of current events –Russians in Ukraine, Zion in Gaza,the rest of the world posturing in protest . . .somehow the world goneberserk . . . war any moment, evenhere, might break out. perhaps littletremors, perhaps…
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New Year Eve: Challenge Poem #80
New Years EveI decide to go upto CincinnatiHard Rock Cafégamble up some lootfor twenty-twenty-four but my prostate hates meso I am forced to divert to Newporton the way – so close to the riverthe Ohio river, but still in Kentucky;so once I’d finished not finishingat the convenience mart, buyinga pack of Chesterfield cigarettesto pay for…
Fringemonkey Scribbles 