Tuesday, October 20, 2015


Under the clouds of a gray fog he labors
looking for justification for his retreat,
there is no assault or bullets
other than his own images attacking him.

He simply stopped
frozen in a moment
then he turned back
down a path his feet knew

He, in a moment of time,
decided that bullshit was bullshit
that the stink of it was not anything more
than molecules of bullshit reaching his nose.

Applause, congratulations,
love from an audience
was just bullshit left after a show he paid dearly to headline.
The beauty of top billing was everything.

“I will never whore myself”
a rousing cry continually uttered in his mind
as he laid down and spread his legs every chance given him.
Money in pocket, contract enhancements, sure fire for a cold soul.

Derelict in the fog he never wanted sunshine again,
never wanted any but the moist air on his skin, never wanted anything—
but a new life that had no words in it, no thought or ideas, no spontaneity,
only the intake and exhale of his eyes still capable of sight and understanding.

He threw his name away, his journey, his dream (he never slept),
he gave nothing up only made the decision to gain nothing more.
His new name  
“what was his name again…haven’t seen him for years.”

He found in the back trail
what he’d always searched for, worked for,
lived and then died for.
The déjà vu of freedom.

© M Durfee


  1. The déjà vu of freedom. It iS really just déjà vu. You're very perceptive in the need to go, the need to stay, then we stay? And you blink again and your time's up and you still haven't done......

    1. Shadow You got that. I sort of figured you would. when i was 18 and assigned to an old US Navy tin can, my division chief, a nice enough Christian guy told me to not get drunk or get a tattoo.

      So being 18 that same night i did both--the drunk has long passed but the tattoo on my right shoulder is a butterfly with the word freedom above it and deja vu (literally seen before) below. Prescient/ maybe because at the time I had no knowledge, true knowledge of freedom. Today it is much more to me than just a word for the wealthy of gold but paucity of morals. It is ability to choose and live within my own choices. I have seen that freedom many times in the past 61 years and at times had to walk away from what had become a pen to be free no matter how highly I regarded being in the pen with others of talent.

  2. When you're drowning in bullshit I reckon it's hard to smell anything but that

    1. Charles as a writer, a published writer, and a teacher of more than pharmacology you more than most can smell bullshit on the breeze. I had gotten to a point in my own journey where I decided I didn't want to be out in the middle of the field where the bulls grazed, napped, and shit.

  3. I feel like you just took us through a whole cycle.

    1. Alice about the last ten years of my life was the underlying cause of the writing. I wasn't egocentric in standing for hours in front of 100-200 people week after week, cutting up bringing poets to the stage and cajoling the fear from them who had something to say but were too timid. I loved that time and the next when I went upscale to a cheese and wine affair with a much smaller audience of very accomplished writers--but all things end as do all roads eventually. this is about my direction chosen and my stopping point right now.

  4. ... what was his name again ... boob ... baab ... o, maybe bob ... I faintly remember ... faintly smells like pot ... o, meouwpapa ... let's save da world ... shall we ... ? Loe, cat.

    1. "Love" I meant 2 say ... I hate spelling mistakes ... :)

    2. His name Was Pete Townsend and his song was Baba O'rielly or some such thing--Meowmomma we can not save the world, someone already did that gig maybe we can point out that it's all OK no matter the compass followed but me--no love, I have no savior complex. Just love for folks like you.

  5. I love how this seems to circle around, capturing a variety of feelings we all experience.

    1. Jeff--poetry is supposed to have a universal appeal in some of its form and function but truthfully this is autobiographical detailing my walk away over the past few years into an more monastic isolation in the slums.

  6. A succinct summary of hope and life... thanks Mark.

    1. Philip to my eyes your comment sums up succinctly one of the views i wanted you all to see, thank you old friend.

  7. Sometimes we have to walk away to find ourselves disposed of all chains of fame and obligation. Oh, but how hard that is.

  8. Myriam oddly enough to most who know me in reality I have never had much of a problem walking away from anything but writing. I don't read or feature in public anymore, no more emceeing open mics or even trying to publish more of my work. But in different areas it is not uncommon for me to write a thousand + words a day--the stage though, that was easy to leave behind for others who craved what I gained for myself, satisfaction that I am not a fraud in the world of words. they can have the fame and whatever fortune they can eek out-I never set any of that as a goal.


So Walking Man I was thinking...