Sunday, November 19, 2017



Doors eh? Portals
to another place you say?
I like them, ‘specially
the backsides of ‘em.
Once passed through I see no point in
going again to the same room.
Had I liked it ‘nuff,
all the literature, portraiture,
and other grand stuff,
I’d a stayed.
Flimsy ones, solid ones,
new, or weathered gray.
Facing the sun or shutting out the moon
(we mostly sleep at night-
some of us but not all, not quite)
a door denotes a room,
a place one can get stuck or trapped in,
a door can be an opening to ruin or a sure sentry
if one has not the wisdom to hold tight the key.

© M Durfee

I generally have not done prompted poetry since I left Miss Brooks class in what seems a long time gone but then I saw this one and decided what the hell why not? I see some blogosphere folks I know who participate at the this Imaginary Garden With Real Toads so i felt --why not? So here is my offering to that and a link back to the prompt and the reasoning behind it.

Friday, November 17, 2017



So many people
want complete freedom
from their horrid past.
They allow no room for that freedom.

Freedom is sitting alone,
drinking bourbon,
smoking cigarettes,
waiting for death.


I am white
and male
and silent.

Age seven.
I was fucked in the ass.
Repeat lines five through nine.

© M Durfee

First guess what it’s Friday again and that means it’s time for 55 words of poetry, prose or 49,945 words short of a completed NaNoWriMo. If you do decide that you want to complete an arc, beginning, middle, and end—join the movement so to speak, then feel free. When you do though link to Verse Escape so others can see your effort and wish you well in our own coded language.

Instead of reminding everyone of G-Man this week let me go into a bit of detail on this piece. I never talk about what happened to me 56 years ago, never was much point. I get that sexual abuse is a life altering event. It is the reason I have first been a very shy person and once I got over that have kept all of my relationships at arm’s length. What brings this up is all of the times in the past 6 months the White Male Privilege tag has been thrown at me; especially by people who know nothing about me, where I have been what I have done; the underlying thinking everything applies to all men, that I must have touched some women or girls inappropriately at some time because I am white and male. I have never. Bourbon was my bitch, now she is gone the wait is a bit lonelier.

I recognize that I tend to drive people away from me. Shit my siblings and my own kids and grand kid want nothing much to do with me, which is OK as well. I think I set the terms of the relationships without knowing it & now that they have been in place for so long—it is what it is. I am not all broken hearted about any of it, but I do recognize that one life altering, defining event is the one thing I have never been able to completely forget or forgive. So yes, I get it. I understand women now wanting to be heard about molestation and abuse no matter how long ago the events occurred.

Society must do a better job across the globe of properly instructing male children about the way females are too be treated; as equals, peers, wonderfully human creations, and worth every ounce of respect & fairness men give to men.

Be Well


Friday, November 10, 2017



The Godfather had been hit. All the Capo’s were sitting around his living room talking of the blood revenge target, old ways, and where they could find Luca Brazzi. A package was delivered. A fish wrapped in brown paper and newsprint. “What’s that mean?” Michael asked. “Luca’s fishing, son of a bitch sent us dinner.”

© M Durfee

This 55 word piece of sacrilege is offered for the Friday 55.  We do this to remember an old friend who went fishing a few years back. I wonder how G-Man got his Harley to float? Anyway if you woiuld like to participate then write a complete arc in prose or poetry and link it to Verse Escape so Joy over there can know you need to have a good ass kicking week end.