IF YOU STILL HURT BURN THE BRIDGE

I HAVE A ZIPPO IF YOU NEED A LIGHT

Often enough the past

is far to remote

from the today

to contend with anymore.

Strike the match and burn the span.

Time never heals a wound

except to the skin,

sometimes not even then.

Better to forget than to forgive

if the latter makes you relive

over and over again pain

that which has long since passed but for that bridge.

Use your words to fight?

What a waste of life’s time,

let go and move away

from what happened yesterday.

Now that we have found

propylene on a moon of Saturn,

Titan to be exact that fake smile

is discernibly plastic not fantastic.

Abusers are abhorred not adored,

live without love in their life

as plastic they no matter their stripe

are really not good for anything from swill to landfill.  

Light the match and burn the bridge down,

my friend, let your hates and animosities simply be gone,

don’t let them future crawl, killing kindness

don’t let yesterday’s pain make you heartless.

© M Durfee

10/7/13.

BALANCE IS CRUCIAL

IT IS WISER JUST TO STAY THE HELL OUT OF THE GLASS

Standing on the rim of a crystal glass half full
I know if I jump I cannot win.
If the escape velocity
of my fall through the empty portion reaches X
when I hit the full portion
it will be as if I landed on concrete.

If I make a seamless entry into the full portion
I will drown having no velocity for escape.
My mind is not made up yet
between death and death
so I think I will simply spit on my feet,
slide around the rim and make the glass sing to me.

©M Durfee
9/19/13

Inspired by Kristi Pietryka

JOURNEY TO OLD

KEEP YOUR HEART DOWN AND PASS THE VIAGRA©

Who will love you?

Is all your love gone for all time?

Will the wildfire of your heart

ever again be more than a spark?

Is a wet rag filter good enough

to keep your love breathing

through the smoke and haze

left from the past better part of you days?

Does love have to be

a white hot horny teenager to be real?

Was that ever love or only the lust?

Is lust what an old man means when he says he loves?

Tell me where to send off again for a pill

to revive my loves ability

to express what once was strong and healthy

now age worn and not very steady?

I have to laugh at my confusion not knowing

if I ever had been the butt  of not funny joke

of males having two brains

and the smaller walnut sized one being the bigger.

HUH?

I never knew my brain was hanging loose

Would get hung over when not in use

even when sober as a church song that’s been gloried to death

and sung to perdition of a congregation saying

how many hosannas have we left?

It is after all a nice day for loving (or perhaps even a little lusting.)

I seem to have a little trouble which I’m told comes in groups of three,

exactly the number of children I have left of my love or was it lust?

I have called truce, loosed the noose a bit on the question

from where does love rise and how long can love survive

and really once gone can love (or is it lust)

return to arise a new thing

as I grow away from thinking of love

as purely a physical emotional feeling.

© M Durfee

8/8/13

Don't ask where this came from. But I liked the rhythm and think it may be an attempt at humor towards "performance enhancing drugs." This one definitely is ripe for over thinking so don't. I probably will not get around to everyone this AM due to an early Dr. Appt. I wish it was a physical with prostrate check included but alas it is just a quarterly general inspection of an ass.

SILENCE MAKES THE NOISE HAVE MEANING

Who am I now

that I am nowhere found

except somewhere in the silence

between the different calibers

of shotgun shack poets

and prospectors

looking for the golden

pound of fame traded for flesh;

the exact weight of seeing me

discovered alive at the noisy party.

Rising to a place

I never wanted beyond

the grace where laid buried

the words I once loved.

words I wanted, which

never had a wealth of peace

for me

while looking for the way

to find their richness,

A wealth I was given,

a prosperity I lost

somewhere along the way

before I was ever

parented by them.

I was too stupid to learn,

a thought my tutor sold me.

I had to educate myself

to weariness

and now

the knowledge of silence

I am told

is not wealth worth having;

and I believe the teacher.

Yet it is the

silence,

that makes

the noise

have meaning.

If you look for me,

though I know

I am forever lost.

look in the silence.

I cannot love away

the hate anymore.

The teacher was correct,

I am too stupid to learn,

I am lost somewhere

In the nowhere of

ignorance of life’s knowledge.

© M Durfee

5/6/13