Saturday, May 9, 2015

THE ROADMAP THROUGH THE WASTE(D) LAND



WHEN POETRY GOES TO POT, IT’S NOT SMOKEABLE
I opened my door to the  lately usual mess of mind,
didn’t much care for most the crap laying around inside.
Shit gets picked up same way as in any neighborhoods trash;
either a good strong gust of nothingness blows it away
or as a scrap metal truck gets its junk
roaming the allies looking for something;  
funk with a few pence of value to strip bare
and leave the rest here and there and nowhere.
Worthless waste lying there somewhere between
the curb and street crown. Littering the landscape
waiting on that gust that moves the dust
and other shit thrown from windows of the mind.

That is where what is left of the waiting me presently resides.
In the place where only the speed splattered memory
of the once living now dead faces of a life,
some well lived
but now mostly imprinted logo’s on T shirts
are (for a) royalty for a moment.
The past once fresh in its grief and glory
now bas relief until the monument’s story
of moldy stuffed toys and slowly sinking mylar balloons
fade the memory to the immemorial.

A child’s memory, mine, becomes not much more than blight
nailed to a tree turned lineman pole, crucifixion style.
The slum dwellers know,
the slum dwellers know
the hard and terrible education
than no school can dole out.
There are no sins though left to die for,
everything from murder to crimes more severe
can be dealt away in the never, never land
of the wherever, wherever land of them
who once shared air with me have gone off to.
After all those crucifixes are all over mindtown
just as are the leavings of the minds of men
wasted in thought over the trash of men like me,
once vibrant, alive
now stripped to the nothingness
of my minds worthlessmess.

© M Durfee
5.9.2015

9 comments:

  1. ... still vibrant, meouwpapa, u can still can see colours of spring ... yes?... Love, cat.

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    1. Honestly meowmomma--the vibrancy is slowing, the ability to see is dying (eyes-blood spots *shrug*) We are still mid May and bouncing between late winter and early summer. Pain on the jints.

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  2. I think my mind works more like a forest. There's a lot of junk laying around - dead trees and last year's leaves - but none of it is wasted.

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    1. Alice if it was only last years leaves and fallen trees I'd have no problems with it but we have those too, I see them from my front porch--it's the other inescapable shit that makes me retreat to nothing.

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  3. Dark thoughts today, Mark.

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    Replies
    1. My reality Jeff. If i don't write about losing it, I will lose my mind.

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  4. I tried to smoke some poetry once. Got nauseated and felt dizzy for days afterward. That shit is strong!

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    Replies
    1. You must have got the synthetic stuff Charles or you were reading dead poets.

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  5. It is important to point to what you see as injustice and cruelty but there is no hope here. I hope you are wrong, but fear you are right and then again, maybe these poems are the other side of your balance. Whatever, it resonated with me.

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So Walking Man I was thinking...