Tuesday, May 9, 2017

NOT NOTE WORTHY

It could be right that everything feels wrong and not particularly alive. It may be that this climate is not for the tired. I am tired.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

GOSSAMER



SPIDERS ON THE TONGUE

Spiders weave beautiful webs.
Man sees them in wonder,
silky,
translucent,
backlit by a shining sun. 

Awed at the amazing engineering,
the weaving, done in patience,
the great natural skill.
Perhaps only rivaled
by a flake of snow.

We like the vision of spider’s webs.

Spiders on the tongue of men
weave webs of beauty as well.
We forget in our reverence,
that a spider's web is a death trap.

© 4/11/17
M Durfee

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

WE LIVE BY FEROCITY



THE BEAST

I pace with lions.
They move with pride.
I, shoeless, move soulless.
They are silent in their movement;
I have no fear of noise
or need to pray.

We pacers meet in the middle,
neither is yet meat for the other.
It is hot, they have rugs for coats.
They lay down to rest
thinking my shadow will shade them,
it is not big enough, never was.

They rise, I add more to their misery.
“There is no beast more ferocious than man” I tell them.
My ferocity proves I am man, not lamb.
They stalk off exposed
now that the grasses are gone.
There are no roars of pride.

No calling to uncaged others
of their diminished kind
to free them from their rutted path.
We are equals only in that lack;
the freedom to roar, to call out.
I am still more, I am king of the planet

I do not find satisfaction in being superior,
they could have attacked,
they could have mauled me,
tore me to nothing,
stopped me in my track;
they chose to quit instead.

© M Durfee
4/4/17


45 years ago on 4/4 I was 17. I enlisted. It was a smart move on my part. Even though, at 20, I was battered by a hurricane that broke my left elbow, I have no regrets.





Wednesday, March 29, 2017

LOOKIING TO THE BEST OF US



THERE IS EVER A PLACE

In the tall grass,
mortal places
where the soul may rest;
unhindered by sun and shadow
lay the best of humanity.

Thoughts untouched by hands of doubt,
the exclusion of all mind rotting ideas.
Man seeks to not hide
but hidden, alone—quietly in thought,
away from blaring noblesse born trouble.

There is ever a place that allows the freedom
of peace, quiet, revelation of light from within.
Among the reeds, the silent flight of Kingfishers
drown out the bellow of fisher kings bent on wealth.
Within is where the sea meets shore, quiet meets peace.

© M Durfee
3/6/17 (r3/29)