Tuesday, September 6, 2016



Dark sky has fallen,
wake up to the night.
Angel’s tear illuminated in shadow
by the electric street light.

Trash blows
in less than hurricane winds;
plantings of plastic
escaped from filthy bins,
flowers of the night
growing with deeded foreclosures;
bank robbery aided
by government paper pushing whores.
Juliet’s balcony
once a place
of what longing love may be
it is now scheduled
to be torn down eventually.

More than angel’s cry.
More than calm dies.
Summer finally over,
gone with a calendar date,
porch monkeys, yard apes
forced off my dark streets
to apprehend the coming season
probably going to the building
but not taking the education.

Old folks
reduced to once a day food,
medicine comes after taxes,
paying for pleasuring the masters
feels so warm and good.
Poor old biddies and bastards
always tense, never relaxes
until the mind sails off to yesterday.
Don’t they feel extremely foolish now
for working their health away,
rest in the paddock, slaughterhouse cow.
Them who never defined life long struggle
never have to pay?
Wealth is privilege.
Nothing more
while too many
know living with less
is the dark kelpie screaming
“Yo fucker, God bless!”

Last call for sensitivity
and knowing that wisdom
don’t mean much
in the late night borderlands
where age is set up to touch
for every dime reduced
elderly to a state of  none such.

This digital stage
moving faster than a train
on magnetic cushions
using bomb grade nuclear power ,
to get that plastic and carbon horse moving.
While the writers and poets
never do aught
but complain again and again
in fancy speech
but—but it ain’t slam or
rap take your
crying crap off the stage.

The times they are a changin’
no shit,
most have been forced
to witness powerless every bit of it.
Brothers sister said we have to mutate
for the common good
but lawdy lawdy
call out the changes as an evil thing
swiftly named, a new age apostate
for thinkin’ maybe the old ways
were good, great,
first rate.

Many were bypassed for a new…
No one cares for the bygone rage.
Roses are red (white, pink, yellow, black too)
Sentiment is blue
Words are dying
slur the language make it fit
we do what we want,
we are immortal—bullshit!
Read that,
or this,
or whatever
as you will, a new day
does not the darkness
nor the tears
of an angel fly away.

© M Durfee


  1. And through it all, the politicians keep crapping (not talking), and the shit pours over us all.

    1. I think that is a spot on observation Charles. They bend the world to their own benefit and have no care or concern for them they rape and ravage.

  2. I could so easily see you reading this at a poetry slam.

    1. and I could easily do that too Alice, but I stopped performing in public at the end of the 2013 season.

    2. Alice, You are so right! Mark would have ROCKED this one. Wish I could hear/see him do it!

  3. Wow...and I agree with the first two comments...our pols have ruined this country...

    1. e Our politicians, the most powerful of them are at the upper end of the Boomer generation. I am at the bottom end but not too far behind, this day and age and ALL that forces the spasms in the global concern need to go. We were not a good generations for public figures.

      Most of them who would have led us to promising leadership roles were assassinated fairly early on in th e60's and 70's.

  4. Powerful words at the end of a season and perhaps an era.

    1. If this current era passes along with them that led the way into it Jeff, I say it can not happen soon enough. I still wonder though when did being middle class become evil?

  5. It is depressing to witness the decaying of the once vibrant Juliet City. These lines struck me most (irony of familiar ditty)

    No one cares for the bygone rage.
    Roses are red (white, pink, yellow, black too)
    Sentiment is blue
    Words are dying
    slur the language make it fit
    we do what we want,
    we are immortal—bullshit!

    I will save my rant specially when and if Trump becomes Pres, ha!

  6. I do not fear for myself Grace. Not for any of them of my generation that generated the current reality of dystopian mayhem.

    I think it is good that I am seeing many lasts...

    I have purchased my last car

    I have (awhile ago) done my last public performance

    I have seen the birth of my last grandchild

    etc etc etc

    I am of the crowd that one may be worse than the other but that our system is utterly broke and it does not govern for the majority only to keep itself alive.

  7. Now that's poetry, the hopelessness of the lost.

  8. Now that's poetry, the hopelessness of the lost.


So Walking Man I was thinking...