Monday, October 26, 2015


Standing under a near full moon
pissing off my porch, a slum thing,
wondering if I could make me enough piss
to create a rising tide to float me out and away
from this place of ruins and future archeological digs.

I see myself standing on an ocean of urine
silently being carried off as the tide goes out.
Disgusting, disgusting;
who the hell would want to rise on a tide of piss?
I would.
Being the creator of the ever increasing flow is much better
than being the ground cover trickled down on.

© M Durfee

We speak to hopes and dreams,
plans of man and smoke rising
from house fire schemes.
All to deflect attention away
from the overly bruised heart of the poets,
the pulsing pained beat born within from the start.
Poets are born but not all write,
while all writers are trained by some vein or another.
Usually to provide punctuation properly
while attempting to amputate the heart within the poet.
There is no profit in poetry—except in vocabulary usage.
(oh those damned student loans)

Where is poetry mined from,
why does it bleed so easily from some
while others must dig and claw,
opening arteries for words.
All poetry is for them not readily aware
of the unseen other, echoes of visions,
choices, roads, experiences, decisions.

What fear may come,
when the mind is never silent,
the eye never blind,
always looking down, forward, behind,
never still until the last breath
of this polluted place is taken
that final step made across the chasm done.

None, no fear is allowed in a poet’s heart,
only naked crucifixion on the Appian Way
in kinship with a free man,
another soul born of Spartacus’ seed,
who only wanting a homeward sending,
rebelled his way into a living hell prompted by need
yet led himself to the unknown ending,
no comfort at his last breath only a hard won death.

© M Durfee

There is much beauty to be seen and romanticized. I see it as well but there are enough poets out there trying to communicate the sense of it, I am a poet like all others in that box, I choose what I think I need to say at this moment. This is a far from perfect piece but it is of the nature of the only thing required of me; honesty.


  1. Better to be the pisser than the pissee. Absolutely

    1. Charles Righty--i am very very tired of being the ground cover. Detroit's so called recovery is making it near too expensive to live in the slums. Them of power are now repeating the same bullshit over and over again to try to get us naysayers to say nay about the lies. All i ever wanted was peace of mind, heart, life, and most of all the comfort of spirit--now as the sun sets them in power are denying me that.

  2. Enough beer would probably solve both problems - the bruised heart and the way to get enough piss to get out of there.

    1. BEER! Damn why didn't i think of that, it's only rented anyway that would be a course of action for the first piece Alice.

      A poet, most poets I know would be unable to function if they did not have some level of bruising--myself i try to avoid it, but I find there are many people with sticks and rocks outside.

  3. Just writing from the sheer love it ~ Love that last stanza Mark ~ You wear your heart proudly ~

    1. Grace, I had no goals when i started writing for my writing. They came much later in my life, they were not grand, or spectacular goals but they were mine. Now that I have accomplished those simple things--I feel free to write with no constraint, prompt (other than from my own heart at a given moment) or reason other than to continue to perform here in the beauty of all language found on the course my granny set me too so many decades ago.

  4. I think you're from the same part of the astral plain as Patti Smith, which would make sense, pissing and all . . . cheers, man ~!

    1. Eric i can think of a less pleasent dimension to work out of. *tink* Cheers mate.

  5. Mark, I'd rather go outside than in a porta john. I love your honesty-I think... xo

    1. Jodi
      A) you're a country girl at heart so going outside is no issue for you

      B) You're a classy dame, i doubt you like restaurant bathrooms either.

      Honesty is good for a poet, i think most people can see through a liar.

  6. I will respond and then wash my hands.... We've had some high tides this week and earlier in the week the road to Tybee was completely flooded at high tide.

    1. Urine is sterile Jeff, it's the genitalia where the germs and bacteria is. A flooded rive may do for a start but I have a much longer journey in mind.

  7. Mine mingles with the dog and horse piss. An interesting idea to float away on. I believe I would rather sail on a sea of blue than one of yellow though. Hang in there, man. You are a survivor.


So Walking Man I was thinking...