Friday, November 18, 2011


I know, I know you all opened this page to read the words of the monster sized man from Amarillo and you wound up with me instead and as you sit there scratching your head wondering who the hell is this? I said to myself…well if you’re going to be that way then I should explain.

My name is Mark Durfee AKA The Walking Man and I live in Detroit. I am a poet without much of a sense of what poetry is, except poetic justice.

Four years ago there was a mayor in Detroit named Kwame Kilpatrick, he was busted for lying under oath during a lawsuit and in the course of events it was discovered that not only had he been schtuping his chief of staff, but about a half dozen other women, none of them named Carlita which happens to be his wife’s name. Now once he was tried and convicted and put on probation a kind Detroit multimillionaire named Peter Karmanos of Compuware fame and a few other kind multimillionaires paid to move Kwame, his wife, (whom Kwame may have started schtuping again because she probably put a leash on that hog,) and their kids to Dallas.

Seeing as Travis is always remarking on his size 6’5 280 and Kwame is exactly the same size, I could feel, with all that weight in Texas, the world shifting too far on its axis, so I traveled down to the Lone Star State and to decide which of these huge hunks of meat I needed to force back to the north to stop the earth from tipping too far. Well the short of it was after a great dirty, dusty and hours long fight, I (who am much smaller comparatively to Travis) but from Detroit, which comes with its own cache of dirty fighting, hog tied the big man from Amarillo and threw him in the back of his own pick up truck (my Honda was too small) and hauled him to what we affectionately call the “D.”

I could have hauled Kwame back but we have had enough of that grazer of feed store swine product. Besides by the time Travis escapes from the evil clutches of the D the feds will be hauling Kwame back here to face 25 or so indictments for running a criminal enterprise while mayor. And then the world as you have come to know it will be right again and the axis will be back in proper alignment. You could acknowledge your gratitude for me saving the planet from tipping over but I am humble enough to know you are grateful without forcing you to say it.

So here is the deal, you put up with one piece of my poetry, make a shit ton (that is a feed store measurement) of comments and I will release Travis and his pick up truck to go back to Texas but only because the Feds really are bring the Detroit Dog back here for a federal trial. In the interim you will have to click through to HERE to not only take yourself to the D but to check up on Mr. Erwin’s welfare seeing as I left him with only his hands unbound sitting at my rusty old computer in zip code (that is Postal Service talk that Travis told me about during our ride North) 48205; which is the most murderous zip code in the most murderous city in America.  So now you are aware of the deal and you and you alone have the power to save Mr. Travis Erwin not only from Detroit but if you fail and I have to keep him here I am changing his squirrel and quail stew diet to one of only leafy green vegetables.

There was a kid named Travis Erwin
who grew up in a place called Pearls Feed and Seed
run by a reprobate named Doyle Suggs.

Now Doyle or Mr. Suggs a wise man of three ex wives
(two he married twice)
was prone to espousing to Travis
a young fella’s need for “getting in the girl” advice.

Erwin, at the time not the brightest bulb in the chandelier,
tried ever trick Suggs suggested at age sixteen years
went every which way Doyle sent him to get his manhood vested.

But by far the sweetest part of the book is that it comes to a right ending.

OK now that doesn’t count as the poem of mine, even though there is a countable iambic meter in there if someone knows how to count that shit. That is what we call a hook so you will spend your time purchasing and reading Travis’ book. Though it’s not Bukowski, in a prose sort of way The Feedstore Chronicles comes close to some of Hanks poetry.

Now to torture you my work is below, it’s an old piece but one of my favorites. It appears in my second book of poetry which you can buy from me if you want it.

Cobblestone Kisses II

I saw a shoeless girl,
about 4.
Dancing on cobblestones
in pure bliss.
Each and every cobble
she touched gave her bare feet
a smiling loving kiss.

I wondered as I watched
Where she got the joy
to dance like that;
fluttering dress,
twirling, blessed
mindless bliss,
in a place so lacking in romance.
Dance though she did,
on and on laughing, loving, living
while she had the chance,
to be dancing carelessly to a music

only she could hear.

I wished I could be that way again
mindlessly joyful with cobbles dear
kissing my bare feet
soothing my mind taking my fear.
Wishing for a childhood
not knowing what lay ahead.
Better yet I’d like the freedom to be
dancing now this moment, this day
letting the smooth stones
take my care away.

Laughter and smiles come
so easy to children loved,
with nothing amiss
all the little ones should
be dancing and twirling in joy
as the cobblestones deliver
their loving bare feet kindest kiss.

© M Durfee


Laurel said...

Lovely poem, and I'm not only saying that so you will free Travis to return to the more moderate climes of Texas. Also, could you slip him some bacon, tomato, and white bread? It's the only excuse for lettuce.

Lissa! said...

I loved Cobblestone Kisses. It reminded me why I should dance more often!! :))

Charles Gramlich said...

Wow, I wish I'd had more sleep last night. I could swear that this sounds like Detroit poet Mark Durfee while there's some Texan over on his page. oh well, guess I'm surely mistaken.

Miriam Forster said...

Oh no! *rushes to make a comment*

Also, that's a great poem. :)

AvDB said...

This entire post is why you're one of my favorite people, Mark. I see no problem with letting Travis camp out with you indefinitely. Carry on.

Travis Erwin said...

There is no excuse for lettuce.

Alice Audrey said...

Fun trade, guys.

Cloudia said...

what a sweet post, or should I say 3 or 4 posts!

"My name is Mark Durfee AKA The Walking Man and I live in Detroit. I am a poet without much of a sense of what poetry is, except poetic justice. "

YOU are awesome and my world is better because I know you, walking brother. . . .

Aloha from Honolulu

Comfort Spiral

> < } } ( ° >


< ° ) } } > <

Karin Huddleston said...

Great post,I absolutely adored the poem.

Now, send Travis back home!

sybil law said...

LET US not be rash... I need to do more investigating before I run to help Travis..

Monkey Man said...

Bliss indeed. We will all no doubt feel it when the world's axis is properly realigned and you find your place back at the old site. Even though some of us may end up sliding on that axis back here to a tune up.

G said...

Verrrrrry Interrrrrresting.

Post that is.

Mr. Shife said...

Good stuff, Mark. Thanks Travis for sharing with us. Hope you don't have to eat too much of that leafy stuff.