Tag: davidmpitchford
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Roadtrip
it was time for a change of scenery;too long we’d danced in stagnant rain on prairiesand wanted for some elevation, orperhaps bigger sky or broader blue scapes.undecided, we headed west in the carplaying novels on CD as the milesslipped by, the asphalt river racing pastbeneath worn tires and we watching roadsidesfor occasional animals, hawks byday,…
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Antemeridian Monday
eyes too fatigued from letter and allergeneven to dream, bloodshot and weeping airwhere no tears will form for sloth and ailment,even the brain is hazed, dazed, sluggish toform, frame, interpret image . . . here the worldmelts away into pools of abstraction,not only meaning but the compulsiontoward meaning slips away, absents, escapes. here, in the…
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This, Too, Shall Pass
There!Did you notice?Did you hear it?The worldChangedin a heartbeat Sssshhhhlisten It did it againFocus:It happensAround usDespite usEvery heartbeatContinuously This worldIs not the sameAs when this poem began. dmpitchford
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Cafe
a conversation you’ve wandered into;that’s what this is all about, he said. It’ssitting back in your booth in Ed Hopper’sdiner and listening in to the three orfour conversations around you and graftingthe disparate threads into a cogentconceit; there may not be a natural thingabout it, but, seriously, art andnature certainly have their separation.god loves diversity.…
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Our Lady of Needless Tears
she weeps night after night into cupped handsbecause she never learned how to pray, hersadness and misery have an authorwhose name she refuses to think or speakswearing “I’ve moved on” or “I’m in a new,a different, chapter of my life now.” Thismorning she swore to her well-meaning sistershe would start mass next week, but she’s…
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Edward and Lisel
today I’m stealing poems from LiselMueller’s Alive Together. my copyriddled with small book marks: six neon greensticky flags and one hunter orange, onereceipt dated 2004 from Barnes& Noble, and two rogue Yahtzee score sheets,completed without dates. Thirteen pagesare dog-eared. Rare as it is, I have scrawledmarginalia alongside several poems.I recall now that it was Lisel…
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Of Death She Stays Aloof
she always was an odd child, fascinatedwith death and dying despite her shelteredlife early on and into adulthood;never lost a friend or close familymember to it, not even so much, orlittle, as a pet goldfish; she had nouse for dead things, things she said were merelydiscarded clothes, the truth of life beingsomething merely disguised by…
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Satori Zhatahz
got this livin-in-the-now thing goingon now, he says, though the haunt in his eyesbelies the now; somewhere on the road tosatori we met at a bright crossroadsof seeking, which is really something forparallel paths. we sat to center andfollow our breath — he his way, and me mine. my breath moving outward, I trail behindto…
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Assets
in a boat along the shallows of a drunkenmoonless night and you call to me from beneaththe lamplight, trollop in a ragged dress low-cut to showcase healthy plentitudesof cleavage, a bosom for all to relish—for a price, and as it should be. The worldwas always about commerce. Life is theeconomy of heartbeats, breaths, meals, trysts,and…
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Aubade
We all want to be beautiful, Liza beneath some argent moon in her fullness, at daybreak with its pink-lined clouds and sky pure as mountain springs, bright as topaz and us waking from dreams of golden streets . . . Liza, paradise is deep within, resides here within the placid soul, the restful mind. Each…
Fringemonkey Scribbles 