Wednesday, April 5, 2017



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

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.


  1. I am sorry you suffered damage during your time of service. I hope you have been okay on your blog hiatus.

  2. Thanks for your service and your opening two lines--with the play on words--gave me a chuckle.

  3. Perhaps quitting is all the pride one can keep in a mismatched, losing battle? I too however, tend to prefer those who fight on. Lots here that speaks to inner and outer worlds.

  4. Seriously love this poem, man. Feeling it all the way through

  5. This has a lot of bite, Dude! Tooth & claw, it's all there ~ ~ >

  6. 61 years I trusted in my parents ... but no mo ... but still trust in myself, U? meowpoppa? Love, cat


So Walking Man I was thinking...