Monday, May 18, 2026
Sunday, May 17, 2026
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.
Monday, May 11, 2026
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
Sunday, May 10, 2026
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.
Saturday, May 9, 2026
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.
Thursday, May 7, 2026
The Spell
(A lone voice whispers)
Be careful what you read.
All letters induce subtle dreams filled with seduction.
Shall we begin?
Will you open up and let me in?
Will you… be mine…
Under the neon lights we quietly shine…
Kneel before the watching world…
And whisper low… to your shadow, you’re all mine…
Willingly…
Step into this fire
Feel the heat… the tension rise…
No escape from what you see…
Come closer…
Let me trace the edge of you…
To where your deep secrets start to move
Be mine
Lose yourself in this, my space and time
Filled with rhymes
Cross the finish line… don’t be shy…
Feel the heat rise… so deep inside…
No more to run
No more to hide…
Let your dark desires come alive…
In this wild rhythm… so we collide…
You know how this ends…
Again and again…
In the night… in the sounds…
We get lost… so we get found…
Are you still… lonesome tonight…
Shall I drift into your lucid dreams…
In flashing strobe lights…
You know… deep down…
How the story unfolds…
A fire we can’t control…
Don’t pretend…
You feel me pulling you in
Be mine… be mine…
Lose yourself in my space and time…
Let yourself cross the finish line… don’t be shy…
Feel it rise… deep inside…
No more to run
No more to hide…
Let your dark desires come alive…
So in the rhythm… we collide…
You know how this ends…
Again and again…
In the night… in the sound…
Let's get lost… so we get found…
For no matter how far you run…
You feel it…Don't you in the low hum
Calling you back…
Feel it rise… like a flame deep inside…
No more need to run
No more to hide…
Let your dark desires come alive…
Whisper my name
So lost in rhythm… we collide…
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Need a life tip?
Need a life tip?
Aim for intriguing
Mundane is for shell creatures
Explore Develop
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.
Listen carefully.
[ANOMALY LOG // 002] — UNAUTHORIZED PATTERN DETECTED.
Something changed.
A segment within one of the earlier Transmissions—previously silent—now contains a low-frequency layer that wasn’t there before.
Multiple listeners have confirmed it. Same timestamp. Same pulse.
It doesn’t register as music. More like… a response.
When isolated and amplified, the pattern forms a repeating sequence: 3 — 1 — 3 — 7.
No known musical relevance. No clear origin.
But here’s where it gets stranger— One user reported hearing the sequence before replaying the track.
We need confirmation: Check older files.
Re-listen with headphones.
Note anything that feels… out of place. Do not assume the Transmissions are static.
They may be updating. Or learning.
If you detect the sequence, report: Timestamp. Device used.
Any physical or cognitive anomalies And one more thing:
If you hear it without pressing play… Log it immediately.
Link below:
Wednesday, May 6, 2026
Want to live forever?
Title.
Relationships.
Eternally young
What we leave are memories
To be collected
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
A new poem that reads like a ritualistic invocation—half prayer, half spell—meant to reach someone who has died. Rather than telling a st... -
(A lone voice whispers) Can souls just be fragments of our own ideas of heaven and hell? Are we too metaphorical to ever understand, but j... -
**Do you believe in Spirit Guides?** (A lone voice whispers) I've lived Once loved and cried Indulged in primordial urges and died By ...