Tuesday, December 15, 2020


I step outside and see the lightning.
It is dry, there is no formal resound
of thunder, only a pulse of light
dancing with itself among the molecules
of this steamy atmosphere where rain once fell.

There is no more awe of air
or all that happens above my pay grade.
Only the grave sight resignation
that much beyond my porch
is far from my control.

I have walked among both
the rain drops and the tombstones.
I am touched by neither;
they have become oddities to me.

Water, undrinkable comes from above,
eroding the stone reminders
of a person once living forgotten,
now decaying ‘neath the marker,
‘cept by etching remembered.

Such is my own plan,
to be undrinkable
to be unremembered.
My own nothingness will be
a solace for my soulless being.

The lightening glows
for a moment
then disappears
I do like the way of quiet lightening.

© M Durfee
(2) 12/2020

Editing is a chore, a tedious, but necessary, undertaking. I am determined to get some of my shit edited even if...well I am determined. God bless you all, near and far, healthy and not, freedom loving or not.

1 more year ought to see us through the pandemic not the editing!



  1. I like the play on death and being remembered and being forgotten as acid rain washes away grave markers.

  2. hello mark, I'm glad to be back here although I wish for clean clear rain and water for you. your porch has witnessed the fire and rain James Taylor spoke of. I lose some of my optimism as I age, but I'm still grateful for enough. fyi my manuscript is finally on its way to discerning agents--not one bit yet but I'm motivated. lots of tightning and edits since you helped me. it's not a masterpiece but I hope it's a good story.

    this is a good poem. you make me sad because I want life to be easier for you, but manohman you write about decay masterfully.
    love always,


So Walking Man I was thinking...