Monday, June 27, 2016

NO METAPHOR WANTED



LOOKING DAY AND NIGHT
Northern lights illuminate
far more than the aurora borealis ever could.
Same with the whirly birds
not raining death and destruction down on us.
Lightening bugs and maple seeds
are a wonder to behold in their usual display.

One trying to mate as the other
is trying to find soil to propagate in their way.
The lights go out after a season,
the seeds don’t take, raked, bagged, and burnt.
This is not a metaphor for or against abortion.
Simply nature working in front of me.

© M Durfee
6.27.2016

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

NUMB? NO. OLD? YES.



HAVE AT IT

I don’t get overly concerned about much.
There is no point in sweating such,
not my pleasures, pain, contentment, nor grief.
I have constructed a life by touch,
adapting towards the current problems relief.

No one ever asked me
what I wanted to be
if I ever, by chance, grew up.
Never set a course on the sea,
simply got on the boat and put the sail up.

I know there were eras where I circled round,
lost for a while, needing to lay my anchor down.
Had to stop for a bit to catch my breath and chart the sun.
Soon enough the breeze rose, slowly I began to move on.
Here I stand now knowing soon enough my day will be done.

What sense is there in fear or great joy?
I passed well beyond those charted bouys.
Now a man old enough to see that I had released
my youth through being both troubled and poised.
I have come to that distant horizon a vagrant at peace.

Except of course for the anger that keeps my heart beating.
Most mankind it seems spends life not thinking, yet ever eating
everything in sight. Goodness, kindness, air, forests, body, and soul,
wonton consumption of everything that could be swiped by cheating.
I don’t get overly concerned about much, your life is yours to control.

© M Durfee
6/21/16

Monday, June 13, 2016

NAKED NOW THE CURTAINS GONE AND ROOFLESS



THE SLOW DEATH EXECUTED

Daily we see the huge maw
of the deconstruction,
destruction of Detroit.
Annihilation for profit by individuals,
Swift to reap the roof of a homeland,
spitting its tasteless plundered portion aside.
The pile grows with the dual plights of poverty
and pillage as the gaping hole expands
in the name of economy.
Three hundred years of history
reduced to a few worthy square miles.
Miles made manageable
with intentional disregard
of the larger, by far, wings of the home.

All chewed up in the name of urban cleanliness,
exposed now is the door level,
where many a resident
with teeming numbers of temporary guests,
a place in the palace where all had been welcomed
to drink from the now dried up well of wealth.
Until the friends and families finally stopped coming,
forcing the mewling men of officialdom
to go to them afar off now, forever gone,
begging forgiveness of everything evil for the sake
of the memory of yesterday’s prosperity.
Now food for monsters of destruction
who will profit from disdain and indifference.
To hell for them yet trying to live
in a new urban wilderness of helpless laws and conscience.

“Make way, make way” they cry.
We need habitat for displaced animals, feral and wild.
A dumping ground for a murdered society.
Without so much as a belch 
the tools of our destruction
move on, next door,
down the street,
block after block,
neighborhood by neighborhood
all deemed unworthy of a savior 
by the gods of prosperity.
More always more to tear and rend apart,
faster now the piles of loss grow into political points
for the hypocrites who say this demise is salvation.
They lie. They lie, they lie 
and they do it with a smile.

© M Durfee
6.13.2016