What are you looking for?

 (A lone voice whispers)

Tell me…

When the noise finally stops…

When the advertisements no longer speak…

When the glowing screens go black…

When the crowds disappear into their homes…

Who remains with you then?

Who are you…

Without performance?

Without your carefully arranged masks…

Your titles…

Your curated moralities?

For many walk this earth believing they are free…

Yet every movement…

Every opinion…

Every hunger…

Was quietly placed inside them…

By unseen hands.

Families.

Governments.

Religions.

Algorithms.

Tribes.

Invisible architects of the inner cathedral.

And so few ask themselves…

Which thoughts are truly theirs.

For self-knowledge is not comfort.

No…

It is excavation.

The sacred horror of pulling stone away from your own buried face.

To look inward long enough…

Is to eventually encounter contradiction?

Darkness beside light.

Mercy beside cruelty.

Desire beside holiness.

The wolf…

And the lamb…

Drinking from the same black river.

And still…

You continue.

Because somewhere deep within the human spirit…

There exists a longing not even modernity could extinguish.

A yearning for mystery.

For initiation.

For meaning.

For something greater than consumption.

This is why ruins fascinate you.

Why abandoned churches still feel sacred.

Why candlelight softens grief.

Why storms make poets of the lonely.

Why the sea reminds you of eternity.

You were never designed merely to produce…

Consume…

And vanish.

Your soul rejects such small prisons.

And perhaps that is why you are here now…

Listening from some quiet room…

Some sleepless bed…

Some moving train beneath a dying evening sky.

Searching.

Not for certainty…

But for recognition.

To feel seen…

By something unseen.

And maybe the abyss people fear…

Is not death at all.

Maybe it is silence.

For in silence…

There is nowhere left to run.

Only remembrance.

Remembrance of who you were…

Before the world told you who to become.

So light your candle carefully, traveller.

Guard your inner flame from false prophets…

False saviours…

And false selves.

For not every light leads upward.

Some merely illuminate the cage.

Nosce te ipsum.

Know thyself

And if your reflection trembles in the mirror tonight…

Do not be afraid.

Many things awaken…

Once truly observed.

Blessed be.

What will be…

Will be.

Velumbound.

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy 

Relationships

 Senryu

At the very core

Is yearning to be cherished 

Our endless desire

575

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

A poem exploring the fundamental human need for affection, validation, and emotional connection within relationships. 

Universal Truth:

Line 1.

Vulnerability is the foundation of intimacy.

Human Condition:

Line 2.

The pursuit of love is an infinite, lifelong journey.

Emotional Core:

Line 3.

Strip away conflict, and only the need for belonging remains. 

Image shared under fair usage policy.

Mistress of the Shadows

 

Rebirth

 

Sometimes, all you can do is smile as the world turns. As your old world burns.

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Sometimes, a smile is the only way to find your footing when everything around you changes. It represents acceptance, resilience, and the quiet understanding that an ending is also a beginning.

Press play

 

Friendships

 

Senryu

Title.

Friendships 

Sometimes in darkness

You need a bright human light

To guide quietly 

575

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

            Senryu are 3-line, unrhymed Japanese poems (often 5-7-5 syllables) focusing on human nature, irony, and humor, rather than nature. 

Known as "human haiku," they offer witty, sometimes cynical snapshots of daily life and human flaws.

Image shared under fair usage policy.

Shall we begin?

 

Do you want to read a profound, evocative piece of writing that reads like a modern invocation or a manifesto for a creative spirit?

Presenting a dark, yet ultimately redemptive view of art and language.

With a core theme based on magic as Creative Expression?

Where the central thesis is that "true magic" is not fairy-tale sorcery, but the transformative power of creativity, words, and art?

But is often "hidden" because it is overlooked in the mundane, everyday world.

By the "Convicts of the Mundane".

People trapped in routine lives who could be desperate for this magic.

To then become, "Profane addicts".

An intense metaphor for those who obsessively create or consume art, seeking "redemption or temptation."

A Mythological and Cosmic journey into creativity.

Elevating the act of writing/creation to a cosmic level by invoking The Great Metatron.

Who is often seen in mystical traditions as the highest angel.

The celestial scribe, and the keeper of the Book of Life.

So they can "Tempt the eyes of the Juggernaut".

Implying that true creative expression is powerful enough to catch the attention of the highest spiritual authorities.

Bridging the gap between the mundane ("closed-minds") and the divine.

To embrace the "Philosopher's Stone" as Internal Magic.

Redefining the Philosopher's Stone (traditionally used to turn metal into gold) as a metaphor for the human spirit.

Where true magic is just human consciousness, emotion, and creativity.

Suggesting that this power is often discovered through suffering, failure, or deep emotional pain—the "nightly call" that drives one to create.

The voice of the poem describes themselves (or the reader) as a "pagan mage," a creator who:

"Molds and weaves words into life.

"Gives shape to "energy" and "molten flux.

"Which serves the "magical vibrations known as, creativity."

The Purpose: 

Salvation and Entertainment.

The goal of this creation is twofold:

To Entertain: 

To captivate "curious ones" of any age.

To create.

To Save: 

To act as a spiritual balm, saving people from "self-destruction" and the pain of life ("before their last ride home / In Old Nicks black hearse").

To engage.

Summary.

"Use a lone voice whispers" as an act of reclaiming the sacred in a secular world.

Embrace the act of creation as a high-stakes, magical, and dangerous endeavor.

One that takes raw human experience and bravery to transform something that can heal, inspire, or save. 

It is a call to embrace the "inner magic" and share it, despite the pain that often accompanies its discovery.

Imagery: 

Dark, mystical, transformative, intense.

Tone: 

Prophetic, passionate, intimate.     

Shall we begin?

(A lone voice whispers)

Did no one tell you that true Magic exists?

Just hidden somewhere deep, in most societies.

Sought after by convicts of the mundane.

Soon to be profane addicts, who will cry out in the mists.

Sometimes, awake or whenever they're asleep.

 

In pain or bliss, again and again.

Some crying out for redemption or anything linked to temptation.

But still, it subsists, in so many obscure places.

And upon so many new or old altars, does it reside.

For when it comes out to tempt the eyes of the Juggernaut.

Known as The Great Metatron.

To look.

One of the most powerful archangels, and interdimensional scribes.

In the Book of Life.

It causes so many other emotions, to like atoms collide.

In the deep-minds, behind inquisitive eyes and curious faces.

From all gender and races.

As imagery emotions and engagement runs wide.

For the Philosophers Stone.

The Great Secret.

Could be simply this..

There's an old piece of magic in us all.

But sometimes, it only chooses to come out in those it made to speak.

After a mighty fall.

Maybe like you.

Too.

A new follower who once heard its nightly call.

And now speaks a sacred hidden language, that summons the craft of...

Reconceptualizing the enchantment of the human experience.

Through an incredible naming magical act.

Breathing, molding and weaving words or art into life.

Like a pagan mage giving shape to energy.

A molten flux to entertain the curious ones.

Of any age.

That needs something magical painted or written in verse.

As they turn one of your spiritual pages.

To help save them from their own form of self-destruction.

And maybe anything that might still hurt.

Before their last ride home.

In Old Nicks black hearse.

As you serve your 

new masters and mistress's.

Of the magical vibrations known as, creativity.

By sharing your inner magic as it pleads to be...

Dispersed

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

The Fan

 

This is a poignant, rhythmic tribute to a seminal moment in music history.

The tragic 1959 plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J.P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson. 

A poem trying to capture the "day the music died" not just as a historical event, but as a deeply personal, emotional, and sensory experience for the fans who grew up with them.

Has the passing of an icon left an impression on you?

Salute.

Title:

The Fan.

(An old voice whispers)

The rivers flowed that day

Volatile and wild

They drowned and rocked

All in that came within their way

Each drop

Saturated and overflowing

With such emotions

Like a catastrophic consuming ever swirling ocean

We all cried that fateful dark day

The Day we learned

Our beloved icons had passed away

Superstars of such revered depths

A reason why we all wept

It was February the 3rd

1959

A tragic plane crash some

Time after nine

Peggy Sue

Donna

And Big Bopper

Had fallen from the sky

And become a cropper

That was the dark day

The music died

I still remember it

Like yesterday

The wind

The snow

My heroes

On tour

Oh, how we wept

Rivers of tears

I can even feel those drops

Even after all these years

The Winter Dance Party

Turned into the party from hell

Things were never the same again 

What's his name

Don McLean

Broke the spell and wrote a song

Not long after

In 71

Such a beautiful tribute

It hit number one

For four weeks

Straight

Well, memories still

Sometimes seep

Out of us all

Echoes of distant places and faces

Rivers or streams

Pin drops or silvery trails

Mine returns

Whenever I hear

Chantilly Lace

Donna

Or

That’ll Be the Day

And those old wild rivers return from 59"

To reclaim my face

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy.

All Relationships Questions

 

Story arc - From family, friendships, and work

Are you underrated 

Will you embrace so much more 

Leave and be treasured 

(575)

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Senryu are three-line, unrhymed poems (17 syllables in 5-7-5) focusing on human nature, irony, and humor rather than nature. 

The Heart Shaped Tattoo