The Dried Died Tree

look at this city
i am my own tree
growing from
loins to belly
and reflected
from the window onto
the buildings
men write papers
and women hold
want to be
the fruit of my own labours
a pull out bed
of tangled sheets
and a ceiling
that i can’t
reach despite
my hands
and capturing rain
before it hits
the streets


her back arches out
the wind blows the
and the photograph
black into


i am a dried – died


About Crazy Irishman

Touted as a working man's poet, Martin Durkin has been writing professionally for the last 12 years. He has appeared in over twenty anthologies across North America, including, "And left a place to stand on", a collection of poems and essays about the late great Al Purdy. Durkin has also published two collections of poetry, "Hypnotic Childhood", and "The Sound of Quish". Over the past 4 years, Durkin has been on hiatus for the most part but has recently come back to the poetry scene creating a poetry site called, where in the past year he has written over 100 poems and created a cross over page on where he gives a story behind each of the pieces written. View all posts by Crazy Irishman

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